Dear Avalon,

A little over two decades ago, this used to be my digital playground. It could be the pure white beaches of the Australian seaside village that was the hometown of one of my idols (from which this blog originally took its name). It could be a tribute to a Huey Lewis music video from the 1980’s. It could even be some random Photoshop musing that seemed to fall out of the sky to the sound of a favorite Garth Brooks song. Basically, it could morph into anything. These evolutions were usually conceived during sleepless weekend nights when I wasn’t likely to have too much homework (though weekend dance rehearsals were pretty commonplace).

What various people in my life never understood was that it was just that: a playground… and nothing else. Self expression was its sole purpose, but many saw the potential of a career in web design for me, and spent hours telling me about all the doors that plus a degree in computers could open up. What they failed to realize was that, first of all, there is little correlation between computer programming and web design (and I know this as the daughter of a retired programmer who grew up around programmers). Secondly, I don’t know what in the devil gave them the idea that I would take so well to doing something that I did only for self expression for every purpose but self expression!

I subsequently lost interest in web design (and ps. I would still be lousy in that line of work). I lost interest in writing for a similar reason. Any time anyone conjured up an image of what Ehren Elizabeth Grunewald, the professional, would be like, they seemed to always arrive at the same two “skills,” writing and computers… writing and computers… writing and computers… with nary a mention of dance and/or movement and fitness of some sort, regardless of how vehemently I insisted that was my calling. Writing and computers were always the two “talents” for which I would have been least suited in terms of vocation. There was little to no money to be made – realistically speaking – in the creative realms, and the non-creative parts were boring and tedious and didn’t fit who I was on even the most basic of levels.

The annoyance was compounded by the fact that these people seemed to think I hadn’t a clear sense of direction as per what I wanted my future and my career to look like due to the fact that all my peers had moved on in their lives and I was still stuck. But that had nothing to do with not knowing what I wanted to do in my life, however — I always knew movement would be the essence of that since I was very small — and everything to do with the fact that my college experience was quite traumatic and I never truly got over it. I have spent more years than I care to admit trying to get back to that person I was before (albeit a better version thereof), which is what I’d wanted all along. Yet it always seemed to end like the Hotel California — “you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave…”

I am somewhat better now, re-born on July 23, 2018. It was a date that was chosen for no particular reason, though it turned out to have a couple of synchronicities… the last time I competed back home (in New Orleans), my last arrival at our cherished family hotel there, and the untimely death of Sally Ride. It seems all the more appropriate when you consider that prior to moving to North Carolina, my family had been in New Orleans for six generations. My parents met when both worked at Stennis Space Center (then known as NSTL). My father was a mechanical engineer during my earliest years and prior to our move was working at Michoud (pro tip: it’s MEE-shoo) on the space shuttle fuel tank; one of these tanks would be flown on mission STS-41G, the crew of which included Sally Ride.

This year, that rebirth has been met with re-invention of self. In all probability, it is an endeavor that will be far easier said than done, but now that certain outside toxicities no longer can take hold, the first steps have proven far easier than they would have been, even if far from effortless. If nothing else comes of this, a metamorphosis of my creative works has brought a degree of fulfillment I’ve not felt in a while.

The following are fragments of what I’ve become:

I am not ready to share the inspiration for this verse (which is part of a much larger work, I am hoping). I am, however, ready to offer the verse itself as a sampler. Though please keep in mind that it is very rough.

Stieglitz Im Grünewald

Goldfinch sings atop the tallest tree
In the vast green forest where the hidden key
To the path towards deliverance and restoration resides
And will uncouple my soul from this hijacked ride
A dead reckoning through winds of unauthorized change
In dense jubilation of pillaged reigns
Boasting gelid, cacophonous, hollow-eyed pride
Oh, uncouple my soul from this hijacked ride

And an excerpt from another… This one is also part of a larger work — the “theme song” for what I would ideally want to be the first installment in the saga of the re-creation of my “Jane Bond” character.

Just some basic info:

Her name is now Dustin “Dusty” Bayer (yes, Dustin is actually a female name in German; it means “valiant fighter” or “dark stone.”) She drives a Lotus (or a Porshe will do), and she is a member of the fictitious “Enforcer Elite” for the Secret Service of the Common Defense, whose motto is beneficia libertatis secure (“secure blessings of liberty”). Her call sign (tentatively) is EE5. The first story deals with the rigging of a national election via satellite (and for the record, I am not convinced that was the culprit for all the chaos surrounding the 2020 election; sometimes such “conspiracy theories” just make for an interesting storyline in this genre. Also for the record, I don’t do far left/”woke”). Any of these details could change at any time.

Advance compassion fair
Across the scapes of 50 stars
Cast your arms into our care
At last we’ll heal our scars

A victory divine
Inside a heartbeat halted cold
Though the numbers don’t align
A blue wave, we’ll uphold

History strangled by chains linked in lies
Repudiate eidolons for which our fathers died
Oh crisis! The words of nobility feigned
Through unheeded truth
Cassandra skies reign

I should also note that there are two Cassandra’s that resonate with me. The first is Cassandra Harris, and the other, the Greek prophetess whose warnings went unheeded because although she spoke the truth, she was cursed not to be believed. The above verse refers to the latter.