Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Ok, there is a much deeper significance to this treasure find than you could possibly imagine.
On April first of this year I was having my monthly Sacred Space Gypsy luncheon with my kindred friend Ron when the topic of Don Quixote came up. (it may have sprang from a discussion on donkeys though I don't quite remember)
At any rate, one of us threw out the question: What was the name of Don Quixote's imagined lover?
For the life of us we could not recall it. Frustrating, eh?
So, we started asking everyone that walked by our table.
And they didn't know either. But, with one huge, shattering (to us) difference: No one....and we do mean no one knew who Don Quixote was.
It started when we asked our waitress if she knew who Don Quixote's girlfriend was. And she replied: Is she here?
It was kind of sad that she wasn't because then we could have asked her her name but it went on in this vein until we realized that no one in the restaurant knew who DQ was. Sigh.
Now, we never expected they knew the intricacies, could quote chapter and verse or could track the epic journey from start to finish but it amazed us that not a soul could admit to knowing him at all. Not even the windmill part.
And trust me, we asked everyone.
Gypsy Ron henceforth declared every April 1st to be Don Quixote Awareness Day. And, as the Universe provides, last evening in the thrift store I unearthed the above booty. Seriously.
And still, no one knows who it is. (Though I will say "famous pirates" is a frequent guess.)
I'm a little sad that Don Quixote is being forgotten. And poor Sancho and his dear, old donkey. Without Quixote, who is to be our knight errant? Our quixotic lover? Our dreamer of dreams?
And if we have even one friend like Sancho to stand by us as we slay our dragons, one friend who, without fail, will support our madness, then we can be said to be truly blessed.
Don Quixote is the book I want to be buried with (Amy-it's on my dresser.)
as I'm sure there will be time to read in the afterlife. Or my afterlife, anyway. (Egad. I hope I don't end up in the non-reading section.)
At any rate, I wonder who it is who thought to carve my Don and Sancho so carefully and painstakingly from wood? I'd like to thank them. And Cervantes, too. It was his dream, afterall.
And, by the by, her name is Dulcinea.
Keep Dreaming the Impossible.