Faithy Manifest

This summer we spent a week in Austria. It was magical. Castles, music, gorgeous mountains, green meadows, Sacher tortes, even a new favorite soda–Almdudler that according to our bus driver/bar tender “makes you yodel.”

Austria, particularly Vienna, was also hot. Really hot. We’re talking 40 degrees Celsius and no AC hot. Our last day in Vienna was planned around air conditioning, and even so, by the time we got to the train station that evening we were desperate to cool off.

We had time to kill before we caught our night train to Venice (Not only can I now say that I have slept on a train, I can say I’ve showered on a train–pretty fantastic.), and so we wandered around the train station looking for establishments that had AC. Turns out the toy store on the bottom floor of Wien Hbf had the best. We spent a blissful half hour cooling off, and while I was browsing I bought myself a souvenir.

But first some backstory. I grew up loving My Little Pony. I had a beloved collection that I played with all the time. The revival, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, is a sacred pillar of my daughter’s childhood. The ponies were there with me in the parenting trenches. I’m not a horse girl, but wow am I a pony girl. They make me happy. I had an MLP key chain on my book bag throughout high school, and I use an MLP Pinkie Pie keychain to this day.

So as I was browsing the aisles in the decadent AC, I found a European brand of toy pony, Galupy. And lo and behold they had blind bags (well, in this case a blind treasure chest) of mermaid unicorns. Are you kidding me? A unicorn sea pony? Shoo-be-doo-shoo-shoo-be-doo!

I bought one for me. I begged my daughter, who was a week away from turning 15, to let me get one for her. Nothing doing. And my son and hubs were not into it either, despite being Bronies. So I took just one treasure chest to go. Even though I could have happily bought a dozen.

As we were waiting for our train, I opened my treasure chest and inside was a pink, teal, and purple toy unicorn mermaid. Oh the joy! The flyer that was tucked inside the box said her name was “Faithy,” and that Faithy’s tail was color-changing. It was too hot on the platform to really tell. I tucked Faithy into my suitcase, and she stayed there through Venice, Locarno, Lucerne, Brienz, and Zurich, and when we got back to our house in Colorado I found her a home on my bookshelf.

Faithy has picked up a surname since taking up residence on my bookshelf. And before I explain and judgement is passed, I need to say that when you are a writer and writer’s block comes for you, you start trying everything and anything to get unblocked. Lately it has been a morning practice of visualizations in the hopes of manifesting my goals. The thing is…I’m really bad at focused thought unless I am writing. Every morning instead of staying on track, my eyes land on Faithy and I smile and think about how and when I might return to Austria, where the Trents are headed next, MLP classic tunes swirl in my head, and some days I reach for my phone and google if Galupy Mermaids or Almdudlers are sold anywhere in the US. My daughter might not be into them, but my nieces… And OMG everyone was into Almdudler.

So instead of fighting it, I’ve incorporated Faithy into my manifesting efforts, renaming her Faithy Manifest. I imagine Faithy Manifest on a tall stack of finished chapters, completed drafts, revisions, and published works. I imagine Faithy Manifest on submission. I imagine Faithy Manifest neighing in over cover designs, suggesting splashy loglines for back cover blurbs.

My aunt has a says that when you are pursing your life’s work the “regalia of your station” will find you. Is Faithy part of my regalia? Or is she just a bobble for my cat to knock over every night? Is she a symptom of infantilizing consumerism? Or is she a talisman that not only connects me to the joy of pursing one right word after another but the joy of fond memories of exploring Austria with the people I love best? I’m not sure, but I’ll be sure to let you know if/when I find out.

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