The Inspired Planet

We were in Lenox, Massachusetts earlier this week and we stopped at The Inspired Planet, one of my favorite places on this earth. If you do not feel spiritual already, you certainly do upon entering. If you do not feel inspired when you are in this place - I hesitate to call it a shop because it is so much more than that - perhaps inspiration is not within your grasp.
The building is actually set into a sort of slope of land, and if its door was round, you would think you were about to enter the home of Bilbo Baggins. In order to arrive at this door, you must follow a dirt path through a whimsical sort of arch, past odd bits of sculpture, and around to the back. At this point, the path slopes downward to a door almost entirely hidden by vegetation - a "seek and thou shall find" sort of entrance. Inside is a hodgepodge of tiny rooms, some on different levels, rather like architectural afterthoughts. Asian music plays. Crammed into these rooms are artifacts, icons, postcards, symbols, carvings, textiles, jewelry, tribal, folk and religious art, talismans, bits of history, and articals from celebrations and every day life in cultures around the world. Here and there, glass cases hold tiny, rare items.
But the biggest treasure at The Inspired Planet is its owner, Dudley L. He knows the use and history of every single item in his shop, no matter how arcane, and he shares his knowledge generously.
I bought a marble from Bali, a mother-of-pearl spoon from some tiny Indonesian island, a turtle made from a strange exotic pod, silver earrings, incense from Mexico and Java and several postcards from far, far away. I didn't buy another dozen or so items that piqued my desire and curiosity. I left, happily, with a small bag of treasures and a large dose of inspiration.

Microrave

A few nights ago, after a long day of doctor visits, cleaning, cooking, and facebooking, I decided to relax with my favorite kettle corn and a book. At my advanced age, this is one of my favorite nighttime pastimes. Never, in my wild, ill-spent youth would I have believed I'd be content with a book and popcorn, but there it is. I have joined most of my peers in boring, sedate old age. Alright, alright, I hear you all - I'm not sedate.

But I digress. Back to the kettle corn which I put into the microwave. I listened to it merrily pop as I got into my flannel nightie. But when I tried to remove it from the microwave - and this is really the whole crux of microwaving, the removing - the door would not open. I called my spouse for help. Picture, if you will, the two of us - I in my nightgown, he in his sweats, I armed with a fondue fork, he with a butter knife, as we pried and banged and jiggled. Nothing worked. The door remained firmly shut. I could smell my kettle corn, so near and yet, so far. I went to get the big gun, ie, the hammer. Percussive maintainence has often worked for me. I gave the door latch a couple of good whacks. I heard the microwave chuckle as I whacked my thumb.

That didn't work either. There was only one thing to do and we sucked up and did it. We went to K-Mart and bought a new microwave. Let me just say here that this is not my favorite way to spend an evening. My favorite way to spend an evening would be to be getting a massage while on the phone to my agent telling her I simply could not fit another book signing into my schedule. I'm just saying...

So we hooked up the new microwave and put the old one, still containing my perfectly popped kettle corn, out on the curb. The next morning, it was gone. Who in their right mind, upon seeing a microwave oven disposed of on the curb, takes it home? Who thinks, "Oh, someone left a good microwave on the curb. I could use that!"?

I can only hope they managed to open the door and enjoyed a fine, if slightly cool, bag of kettle corn.