Hello

Anna Colibri | Writer & Digital Marketer

Ms. Mouse and Mr. Lamb

by // Leave a Comment

Ms Mouse, Mr Lamb, Alison Wong, Anna Colibri, San Francisco, writer, illustrator, digital marketer
Ms. Mouse & Mr. Lamb multimedia illustration by Alison Wong

“A lady should never feel anxious about her behavior. The status is bred in the bone. To show anxiety is to lower oneself. Anxiety is vulgar.”

― Eloisa James, A Kiss at Midnight

There once was a mouse with shiny black eyes and grey fur so sleek it shimmered in the moonlight. Her body was full of rhythm and her mind was full of dreams. She longed to wear red evening dresses, black top hats, and silver-tipped canes, but she contented herself with cream-colored suits, sensible pumps, and Jackie O-style pillbox hats.

She made her living by means of a well-paying position as an executive assistant at a venture capital firm owned by the loveliest, brightest green toads. She worked long and hard but without apparent strain. Everyone she met said she was smart, beautiful, and stylish — and it was true, all true. She even, due to a daily dab of French perfume, smelled fresh and alluring. In short, Ms. Mouse, for that is what she was called, was a very attractive and talented female.

She led a good life. She was devoted to her dance classes, and, even when her work demanded long hours, she missed them under only the most extreme circumstances. And she was not without a private life. She was invited out by clever and distinguished animals of all sorts always parting from her suitors on excellent terms, remaining indefinitely the best of friends.

If ever Ms. Mouse was tired, she read Victorian novels or kept up with the latest periodicals. When she felt lonely, she lunched with friends or went to the ballet. Along with remembering birthdays and important milestones, Ms. Mouse made sure to keep up the with latest in politics and culture, and so she was a sought-after conversationalist and considerate friend and family member. She was known to enjoy donning dungarees and walking along trails in the forest or by the sea. Yes, it was a good life.

Her work required Ms. Mouse to attend a variety of evening events. At one such event, a festive occasion held in the penthouse of some very distinguished downtown offices, Ms. Mouse found herself in the concerningly familiar and breathless position of negotiating talking crowds, tables of food, and swirling servers. While the pearls she wore were a comfort to her, these events always made her feel as if her soul were at least one half inch removed from her body. She was just beginning to settle in and enjoy a round of cheese in one paw and a glass of delicately salmon-hued champagne in the other, when her employer, the handsome Mr. Toad, introduced her to a beautiful, snowy-white lamb with perfect black hooves and soft brown eyes.

Mr. Lamb, for that is what he was called, was seeking funds for a vegan business. He was the gentlest of lambs, and infinitely courteous. Mr. Toad was a little less so, but perhaps his high color and wet lips provided an explanation. As Ms. Mouse and Mr. Toad chatted with Mr. Lamb, a well-dressed server with a silver tray came by to offer tiny pastries filled with goat cheese and dried cranberries. Mr. Lamb delicately refused the offering, but not before Ms. Mouse caught a look of longing in his eyes that told her he was hungry.

Mr. Toad, also-observant, had an entirely different reaction, and he did not hold back. “Why, Mr. Lamb, you look hungry! Why not have a pastry? It’s not as if we’re offering you a side of beef, though I do think a bit of rare meat would do you good,” he said with jocularity. “It’s just a little cheese, humanely produced so my caterers tell us! Right, Ms. Mouse?”

Mr. Toad spoke loudly enough, and with such conviction, that the attention of adjacent revellers was caught, and Mr. Lamb looked quite uncomfortable. Mr. Toad, now that he had the floor, simply didn’t contain himself. “I say, Lamb, the vegan thing is going a little far, don’t you think? Have some cheese and a little champagne to wash it down and join the party. Don’t be a downer! Don’t you agree, Ms. Mouse?”

Mr. Lamb maintained his dignity, though his shock and hurt couldn’t be entirely disguised. You could see it in a quivering of the nostril and a heaving of the chest. Apparently this was not the first time he had been called out in public for his veganism.

Ms. Mouse understood his feelings, not because she was herself a vegan but because, all things being equal, she would have popped her cheese round right into her whiskery little mouth, knocked it back with a big swig of champagne, and helped herself to one, if not two, of the tasty-looking pastries. She felt within herself a communion of restraint and something in her went a little limp with regret. And then, shaking, she felt an up-righting jolt of anger at the injustice of public humiliation.

“Mr. Toad,” she said, laying a paw on his well-muscled bicep. “With all due respect, I cannot allow it. Mr. Lamb is by conviction and practice a vegan. He is here, as you well know, to get funding for a project to support all vegan business owners. We must give him his due dignity.” And with that she laid down her cheese and champagne, took Mr. Lamb by the arm, and swept him out of the room and towards coat check.

All the room was left stunned and silent. No one would have ever imagined Ms. Mouse taking such strong action.

After their escape, the two were left standing on the cold curb hailing taxis. Mr. Lamb took Ms. Mouse by the paw and looked deeply into her eyes, his own moist with tears and feeling. He held her closer than he should, and more intensely. “Ms. Mouse,” he said. “I must thank you for defending my deepest, most cherished values, and now I must return the favor. Ms. Mouse, in order to do so I must know, you must tell me without delay — what in your life needs defending?”

Ms. Mouse was shocked. She had, by contradicting her employer, risked her livelihood and reputation. Her future was now uncertain, and the knowledge of that had left her shaking. There was, she felt, little left to lose. And so she told the truth.

“Mr. Lamb, my soul is that of a dancer. I long to wear red evening dresses and top hats and carry silver-tipped canes as I dance across stage after stage lit by hot, white spotlights. I want to feel every muscle in my body burn, I want to drip with sweat and feel spent, panting as a result of my efforts, and to, finally, hear the roar of a crowd that has thrilled to my every perfect move.”

“Why, Ms. Mouse, have you not done so?”

“Because, Mr. Lamb, I have been afraid to expose myself to taunts and jeers such as those you experienced tonight. I have dreams, sir, but I have always feared that, under the longed-for hot, white spotlight, instead of approbation I would be met most nakedly with public censure.” She said the words stiffly, feeling the straightjacket of their meaning.

“My dear, if I may be so bold, it is obvious that you are a mouse of great courage. Why not be courageous on your own behalf as you have been on mine?”

Standing there, trembling on that cold curb, Ms. Mouse pressed herself a fraction closer to Mr. Lamb while their mutual regard swayed like sea plants in the deep. The petals of her heart began to stir and loosen. Together, they knew that without a doubt, Mr. Lamb was right. Ms. Mouse’s only true course was to dance to the outermost edge of her passion — and not just on her own behalf but on the behalf of everyone who has ever dreamed.

The Fish and the Flower

by // Leave a Comment

alison wong, anna colibri, the fish and the flower, san francisco
The Fish and the Flower multimedia work by Alison Wong

Once upon a time there was a beautiful small village nestled within a forest of varied trees and dappled light. The tidy little village was everything you could want: old stone buildings, tree-lined streets, pots of flowers, and lively shops and cafés.

The town square was built into the smoothly sweeping curve of the little laughing creek that marked the edge of town and provided the village with fresh, sweet water. The villagers had long ago built a path by their creek so they could enjoy walking along it, sit on little benches and listen to the tinkling sounds their creek made, or gaze into the depths of the pretty forest across the way and the heights of the glorious mountain range beyond.

Charming stone bridges, themselves planted with pots of flowers, spanned the creek here and there, so it was convenient to cross over into the forest. The villagers enjoyed picnics in one of several serene and sunny meadows and harvested mushrooms when they were in season. The hearty and hale among them took long walks through the forest and the fields and into the mountains.

One of the most interesting aspects of the town, and one that made it — in certain circles — rather famous, was that in their creek there lived two rare and very different species. It wasn’t unusual for botanists and zoologists to visit the village, so rare were these two phenomena. The first, exquisitely beautiful, was a plant — not ordinary in any way. It was by genus a lotus, the most unusual lotus in the world.

Their lotus was a luminous silvery white, large and so fleshy its flawless petals looked like a child’s skin and made you long to touch them. During each full moon, the lotus released a scent. Everyone who smelled it described it differently, but most agreed its aroma held elements of civet, jasmine, and May rose. This lotus, special to the pretty little village, was the only scented lotus discovered anywhere in the world.

The villagers were pleased and proud to have such a plant among them. The other species, also unique to them, was a source of far less pleasure and pride. The villagers, in fact, viewed it as an enemy. It was a fish, resembling a catfish, that lived in the creek and was always to be found proximate to their lovely lotus. This fact was a source of irritation. It was distracting, even detracting, to admire the lovely lotus when, swirling around it just below the surface of the water, swam an ugly, slimy fish.

Apart from its ugliness and the fact that, as far as anyone knew, it lived nowhere else in the world, there was nothing special about the fish. It wasn’t tasty to eat, and certainly it never smelled good. The villagers tolerated it. What else could they do?

One day, a scientist came from the city to study the fish and the flower. She came for the perigee moon, a moon that, as a result of its cosmic alignment, is brighter and larger than any other type of moon. She wanted to learn about the effects of this large and bright moon on the lovely lotus.

What she learned surprised everyone: while the lovely lotus showed no change as a result of the perigee moon, she observed the village fish feeding off the lotus’ pale green, tender, and luminescent stem. Further study revealed that the lotus was the ugly fish’s only food! This revelation was too much.

The villagers met and decided the fish must be gotten rid of. And so they started killing it. Everyone, from the youngest child to the oldest adult, was encouraged to kill the village fish — unless to do so would be to harm the lovely lotus. It wasn’t an easy process, and it took years to complete, but finally it seemed that the village fish was completely gone. None were left to nibble on their precious lotus.

As expected, the lovely lotus, once rare, began to flourish. In fact, it clotted the creek and on a full moon the scent of civet was almost unbearable. All those luminescent white flowers, fleshy as they were, pushed and rubbed against each other, and when they did, they bruised each other’s petals. The bruises turned into oozing sores.

It looked sickening, and it was. The creek water, once so fresh, sweet, and tasty, was infected by the ooze running from the sores on the lovely lotus’ petals, and made it taste, mercifully faintly, of rotten meat. The villagers, once so happy and robust, began to turn pale, and the edges of their gums turned violet. Their teeth and bones began to rot, and they, too, developed oozing sores. The worst of it was that they were all so sad, angry, and confused that they could barely move.

They only left their homes to gather food. Had you been there, you would have seen the villagers wandering the streets, often yelling at each other or mumbling to themselves, sifting through garbage, pillaging one another’s gardens, and crawling across the fetid creek to seek mushrooms and anything else they could scavenge from the forest floor.

Their bones hurt so much it was agonizing even to eat but, bad as things were, they did not want to die. Through this haze of pain and despair, the village elders of course realized that something must be done. And so it was decided that they must kill the once-lovely lotus as it was obviously poisoning them. They were so weak and they argued so much, that the task was heroic, but, little by little, they pulled each and every lotus from the creek, threw them on the banks, and watched them die.

As their lotuses died, their health slowly returned. By the time the last lotus was gone, they were almost entirely well. Over time, they replanted their gardens and flowers, and village life once again resembled what it had been before that fateful perigee moon. The villagers returned to the carefully maintained path by the creek and once again sat and walked by the friendly, laughing waters. When the weather was fine, they crossed the pretty stone bridges, brightened with pots of flowers, into the forest to have picnics or look for mushrooms.

So much time had passed that many of the villagers were too young to remember the fish and the flower. Those who were either old enough or still alive to remember did not want to talk about it.

Ingrid Bergman You’re So Pretty

by // 2 Comments

Ingrid Bergman, collage, Alison Wong, Anna Colibri, writer, digital marketer, san francisco
I Am Ingrid – Multimedia Collage by Alison Wong

I saw a film about Ingrid Bergman last weekend called “Ingrid Bergman in Her Own Words.” It was a documentary that included not only her words, but home movies of her as well, recorded in the misty past before video. In some ways the film was almost amateurish and thus at odds with a woman whose epic career included Casablanca and two oscars. But I think the amateurishness was part of the charm, and let us see the woman in an unexpected light.

My friend and illustrator, Alison, said watching cine film movies evokes memories (At first I had no idea what she was talking about because here in America we call cine film super 8.). The English are understated and literal, referring to “moving film,” (cine = kine = movement), and here we Americans like things to be “super”. Well, whatever you call it, film is behind us, because now we, English and Americans alike, record everything with retina screen ready iPhones.

And we don’t film home movies, anyway. We take selfies in all their forms. My feelings about retina screens and selfies are mixed.

So a little bit about Ingrid Bergman. She was born in 1915 and both of her parents were dead by the time she was 12, along with quite a few close friends and relatives. Her early life, then, can safely be described as tragic. She was also born in Europe during a time that positioned her to live through two world wars, McCarthyism, the Korean War, Vietnam, and the sexual revolution — along with an incredibly productive time in the film industry.

Photographs and film, along with her diaries and letters, were how she held onto her past. Making films and acting were how she made her way through the present. She said that if she could not act, she would stop breathing.

She had four children and, at one point or another in their young lives, she abandoned each of them. Each time, there was a man involved, and/or long stretches of filming on location. It’s hard to say what motivated her more to leave her children — love, work, or fear of being alone. There were hints that Italian film maker Rossellini was a controlling and difficult misstep in her career.

Whatever the motivation, she both chose to have children and to leave them to focus on her relationships and her work. She was twice divorced, and her first divorce led her to be ostracized for a period of about seven years from the Hollywood film community. The American public rendered its verdict: guilty by reason of bad morals.

Today, of course, women get divorced all the time. Today, of course, women are “allowed” to have careers and to be mothers. They are even encouraged, at élite levels, to lean in. Poor women don’t have that luxury. In their case, what looks like leaning is actually hunching as a result of heavy burdens — no nanny in sight.

Ingrid Bergman did not lean. She stood tall and owned her choices, but she was maybe one generation too early. You could consider her a trailblazer, or you could think of her situation as tragic. Interviews with her children showed them to admire her greatly and love her dearly while expressing regret that their mother was in some ways more of a friend and beautiful visitor to them than a parent.

As a single mom, relationships are hard if you are committed to your children. You feel torn between trying to nurture a new relationship and being loyal to your children. Your partners will often seem to love you despite your children. It would be so much nicer if they could love you in part because of your children. It’s probably a lot to ask, so women (more than men it seems) make compromises and hard choices.

Managing your career is hard, too, if your career is a passion or if you have a passion on top of your career. It’s so much harder to “have it all” than Sheryl Sandberg would have you think, and Ingrid Bergman didn’t try. Ingrid Bergman had colossal talent and a true passion for acting that she made an absolute priority to share with the world.

I don’t know how torn Ingrid Bergman felt, either because she never wrote about it or because whatever she did say about it didn’t make the cut. Whatever the true nature of her relationships with her children, the cine film home movies of her made those relationships look by turns graceful, appealing, and fun.

But then again, she was an actress. Alison said cine film evokes memories, and I agree, especially when they are of Ingrid Bergman, who is incandescent on film no matter how scratchy. But what the cine film did for me, at least in this context, was evoke curiosity. Watching her home movies awakened within me questions about the true nature of being a mother, worker, and lover.

As a woman with more ordinary resources and a more ordinary set of circumstances, what can I learn from Ingrid Bergman? Are there areas in which I could be stronger, and more courageous? If I showed her same level of focused determination, what would the impact be? What would I lose and what would I gain? What if lots of women stepped into their choices the way she did? Would the world be different?

With her very sad youth and a love life that was replete with both loss and joy (which love lives tend to be!), I know things weren’t easy for her. Even if you decide she was selfish, it would be hard not to acknowledge her strength and courage.

It takes strength and courage to know yourself well and confidently act on that knowledge — despite the wishes and concerns of those close to you.