The queen of Haberdashia
A short story about my inner wise woman
Do you have a wise woman in your heart? Tell me about her if you do! If not, you are welcome to borrow mine. This is the story of the queen of Haberdashia. In the words of Ursula K. Le Guin in Steering the craft: Read it aloud! Read it aloud loudly!
There is a wise woman in my heart. She is five or five hundred years old, depending on her mood. She wears a teapot for a hat and pours pink puffy thoughts to the east, they tickle when she spills. She knits her way forward and stores yarn in her cross-stitch wellies. She keeps a transparent umbrella to watch the bellies of raindrops as they fall. She leaves purple footprints and farts fireflies.
Some days she climbs trees to read bedtime stories to the foliage. When I put my ear against the hoover hose I hear her singing Aretha Franklin songs. She blows me butterflies whenever I go out the door backwards. When she stumbles and falls, she draws hearts around the bruises.
She is bright, she is bold, she is brilliantly brave and will hold my hand in hers when I fall and fumble in days of despair.
She feeds on morning mist and marbled meringues. Her face has more wrinkles than I have ever seen and a thousand twinkles in her eyes. Her white braids trickle down her back like spring streams. She fills the room with laughter that leaves her soft bellies jiggling like an under-baked cake.
She was once the queen of Haberdashia, the king of Discomania and honorary doctor of Slowdonia. The currency of her nations is dance. Come August she shepherds unicorn sheep and harvests mountain macaroons to sell on the make-believe market.
She is bright, she is bold, she is brilliantly brave and will hold my hand in hers when I fall and fumble in days of despair. For every why I ask, she whispers why not. For every ponder proposed, she replies oh pooh! And for every time my heart sings of joy, hers gently echoes in tune.
Have you ever been asked for advice to give in hindsight to the fifteen-year-old you? She is that older me, but now, and I fifty-one. She is my inner compass, my spiritual guide, my daughter, my mother and mothers before that. She turns clearer and dearer for every birthday, every wrinkle I’m lucky to have.
As always, my gratitude goes to Beth Kempton for guiding me to let my words flow and encourage the wonky ones.
Thank you Josefin. This was so entertaining to read. The smattering of humour made me giggle. I love my inner wise woman. She tells me I can do things, to be brave and give things a go....even if sometimes I do not quite do it well 🤣😂. I am about to start a new vocation of employment driving an enormous truck, at the age of 55 in outback
Australia. When I got offered the work and I was hesitant but my inner wise woman bossed me around and said just get on with it! Reading your piece of writing today has inspired me. You have put into words how I feel. Thank you.
Lovely writing but as a trained book binder I love the way you have presented the writing - It's wonderful when writing becomes an art object, especially when the object reflects the writing <3