Last I was in Austin, I had decided to purchase a piece of local art that I would keep forever and ever, and as an ode to the fact that Austin seems to be my ‘magical place’ (thank you Baby Jane!). I chatted with one local artist – from whom each piece which interested me was sold out. I saw one lovely piece of art work and never found the time to return to the shop to purchase it; a little piece I have thought about regularly since my initial return to Ottawa.

One of my first stops in Austin was to seek out the later, and to my luck, it was the last one left and the one I had hoped to find. This is a handmade protection packet, a part of the religious culture in Latin America. See the Saint in the middle? I don’t know who that is, but s/he’s pretty. Also, s/he’s surrounded by money and seeds ensuring fertility (hurrah!), protection, increase of funds, repelling of evil, seeking of patience & longevity, transformation for protection & complete cleanse (a direct middle finger to LA’s master cleanse, I am certain).

I love it, and it’s already up adorning one of my walls. Like the weirdo I truly am, I am scared to pull her / him out from her / his safe plastic covering and so s/he is currently like one too many sofas, covered, protected, sterile. Soon, I’ll manage the courage to free her / him from this particular confine. Also, I will find the courage to peek beneath and locate her / his gender, as this is most important.

If s/he is possessed with some evil magic, I will call Jared Padalecki to exorcise the evil entity. I shall also feed and bathe him, as required by Supernatural contract. Note: He of the Great Genetic Tribe or Whatever I Initially Called Him is in fact a Texan. I told you they breed them differently down in the South. HI!

Magical place, why?
Because magic happens there for me – Austin is filled rich with amazing, eclectic and wonderful folk, each of whom I miss already. All of whom made fun of my Maha-unique Longhorns secret handshake (the wiggly fingers @ temples), one of whom called me ‘tatonka’ for it (Native American for ‘Buffalo’), two of whom posed for this picture in celebration of it.

Magical because on my first morning at my hotel, I woke up to find that someone had pinned the poem Morning next to my door.

Magical because I went for a walk and lost my way for six glorious hours where I met Baby Jesus and his peeps hanging atop the Little Mexico‘s patio roof and of whom no one stopped to cock a brow or take a photo or yell ‘REALLY? SERIOUSLY? OK, HI!’.

Magical because I stopped to eat the fresh figs I discovered…I am renaming myself Christopher Tatonka Columbus…growing on the front lawn of the home of an old woman who waved at me through her window whilst melodramatically cocking her shotgun…I’m Canadian.

Magical because the Resistencia bookstore is kitty corner to the man who creates art from iron and steel and it’s so huge, that it makes Quentin Tarantino’s head look relatively tiny (HEY TARANTINO! You need to stop. Go to Austin. Visit Roadhouse Relics. Purchase. You are welcome.)

Magical because it is filled not with coffee shops or cafés, or pretentious…as I for adding the accent to the word ‘café’…and annoying genetic and generic Starbucks and Timothy’s etc. ad infinitum, but rather Caffeine Dealers, to each and every one of whom I proposed marriage on hand and knee right before I stole half of their honey for the ailing throat and sinus sl*t still killing my body.

Mostly magical, because at near the end of my 6 hour walking ordeal, I realized I was not lost at all, but rather surrounded by signs that pointed the way to the one thing that keeps us all found and at home.