The Neutral War: a holiday ficlet.

It occurred to me, here in the No-Person's Land between the holidays that we're living in right now, that I owed y'all a holiday ficlet last weekend. So I figured I'd better pay up this week.

But what to write about? I thought about it for a few days. Then Kat texted Amy and me a link to a Substack post by John Paul Brammer, an author and illustrator, opining on Pantone's ridiculous (or tapped-into-the-conservative-zeitgeist-of-the-moment, take your pick) choice of Cloud Dancer as their color of 2026.

Then I remembered that at the end of Beach Magic, the final book in the Elemental Keys series, that as a result of resetting the Earth, the world turned kaleidoscopic. 

And then I recalled that I'd made a glancing reference to that event in a previous holiday ficlet. (A ficlet, you may recall, is a very short story, between 750 and 1,000 words long.) 

In rereading that ficlet just now, I was relieved to learn that I hadn't painted myself into a corner. I was sure I'd said the world had already gone back its normal coloration, but I hadn't. Phew! And just because the Earth had been reset, it didn't change the people living on it. There would be complaints.

Here we go.

🌈

Sunglasses firmly on, Paisley Smithers squinted before opening the door of her home.

IndividualOne | Deposit Photos

When the world had first turned Technicolor, it had seemed almost charming. It was certainly new and fun. As an interior designer, she was used to her world upending every time a new trend came along. Cottagecore, grandmacore, cluttercore, alien core – she'd seen it all. In fact, she'd been asked to design it all. She had even liked them all, once – depending on the client, of course.

But that was three years ago, before everything got so bright outside. "Kaleidoscopes have their place," she had begun saying to her clients, "but when it's so colorful outside, I think it's better to have a calm space to escape to, don't you? Let’s look at some beiges or some grays. Neutrals."

She arrived at her office and sighed in relief as soon as the door closed behind her. Paisley had recently redone the space in a soothing greige. It had previously been done in baby blues and sage greens, but even those almost-neutrals had begun to grate on her.

So she squealed with delight when she checked her email and saw the newest Color of the Year. Cloud Dreaming! A "billowy white imbued with a feeling of serenity", the announcement stated. "A symbol of calming influence". A way to encourage the world to reset.

The world had just had a reset, according to the people in Hollywood working on that Elementals movie. But there was a growing sense that it had gone too far. Paisley didn't follow the news much, but she was aware that some conservatives had begun suggesting that it was all a communist plot. They had stopped calling the other side Radical Left Lunatic Scum in favor of Radical Left Rainbow Huggers.

Her phone's alarm went off, reminding her of her appointment with new clients in Malibu. She picked up her booklet of color samples, donned her sunglasses again, and headed out the door. These people were Hollywood types, she knew from her brief conversation with them. She hoped they wouldn't be too difficult to work with.

🌈

She parked in the alloted spot just off the road and headed through the gate. Nice, she thought. Right on the ocean. Although the fauna here seemed even more otherworldly than elsewhere, the palm trees weirdly shaped as well as strangely colored. She hoped she could convince them to use calmer colors inside.

"Hi," said the short, stocky man who answered the door. "I'm Collum. You must be Paisley."

"Indeed I am," she said. "Pleasure to meet you. Will your wife be joining us?" It was always better to get buy-in from both members of the couple.

"She's in the living room. Rainey, Paisley's here!" He led her through to the main living area. 

"Lovely view," Paisley murmured. The room overlooked a sparkling blue pool and the kaleidoscopic ocean beyond.

"We like it," said the tiny woman who rose from the sofa, extending a hand to shake. "Please, sit down. Coffee?"

"Water would be fine."

Rainey gave her a crooked grin. "A woman after my own heart," she said, and headed toward what Paisley assumed was the kitchen doorway. "Collum? Anything?"

"Beer," he said, and sat down.

"Should have known," she called over her shoulder with a laugh.

Paisley used the pause to gaze around the room. It was done in tasteful colors and gave off an air of serenity. "I'm not sure why you called me," she said as Rainey returned with the drinks. "It looks like you've had a designer in here already. Are you looking to do a gut reno? A kitchen redesign? Or maybe knock out that wall and make this fully open concept?"

"Oh, no," Rainey said. "Nothing that drastic. No, we just want to brighten it up in here a little."

"We want to make the inside of the house reflect what's going on outside," Collum said.

Paisley's eyes widened. "You mean," she said slowly, "you want to add color to this space."

Rainey nodded vigorously. "That's exactly right. You've got it!" She looked at Collum, who bobbed his head in agreement.

Paisley felt a bit faint. "I don't know if that's a good idea. A lot of people seem to be getting tired of what's going on outside. All that color. Buyers are looking for neutral interiors now, and if you're thinking of selling at some point…"

"Not gonna sell," Collum said. "Ever. This is our land."

"So this is your forever home?"

Both Rainey and Collum nodded happily.

"Well," Paisley said with a short laugh. "This is not at all what I was expecting. May I ask why you're so adamant?"

"We want to preserve it," Collum said.

Paisley frowned. "I don't understand."

Rainey interjected, "It's not going to stay this way forever. The world, I mean. It'll go back to looking the way it did before."

Paisley blinked. "It will? When?" She recollected herself. "I mean, it sounds like you two have some insider information."

Collum chuckled. "You might say that."

"We don't have a date or anything," Rainey said. "But it’ll be pretty soon. I mean, we need to finish the movie, and then we need to figure out how to make the new Keys…"

"And the new Door," Collum said.

"And the new Door," Rainey echoed. "But yeah. Soon."

"Will you help us?" Collum asked.

The moment felt like a turning point. It seemed to Paisley that these people were asking her for more than advice on paint colors and flooring. It was like the fate of the world hung on her answer.

Such a silly notion! She shook her head to dispel it. "I'd be happy to," she said brightly. "After all, my first name means 'colorful'."

The couple stood. "Awesome! Welcome aboard," said Rainey.

"Buckle your seat belt," said Collum.

🌈

Okay, so to be clear, I am not saying that a sequel to the Elemental Keys books is on the way. I did leave a door -- or Door -- open at the end of Beach Magic, but I have nothing in the works presently. This is just a holiday ficlet.

For now.

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Yes, alien core decorating is actually a thing. No, I am not redoing my place in any sort of "core" aesthetic. Santa Fe Eclectic still suits me just fine.

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These moments of anything-but-neutral blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Stay safe! And happy New Year!

Solstice musings.

 Happy winter solstice! Blessed Yule! 

Yurumi | Deposit Photos

Today is the day with the smallest number of minutes of daylight this year. From here on, the days get longer. It'll still be cold, but at least we'll have a fraction of an hour longer each day to experience it.

Tigs and I are having a less-than-chill Yule. This morning, I abandoned him to attend a winter solstice event at the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture here in Santa Fe. The guy who was supposed to give the solstice blessing couldn't make it due to car trouble, but I did see the sun's first rays peek out around the mountains behind the museum. 

Lynne Cantwell | 12/21/25

That's either Sun Mountain or Moon Mountain. Pretty sure it's Moon Mountain. But don't quote me.

Anyway, I had time to see the newest exhibits, buy a 2026 wall calendar (yes, I am so old that I still use a wall calendar, thanks), and see part of a performance by a troupe of dancers from Acoma Pueblo before rushing home to let in a worker to reassemble part of my deck. The guys who built it used finishing nails or staples or something not very sturdy, anyhow, to attach the fascia boards below the banco seat, and they literally fell off this past week.

How it started. Then it fell off entirely.
Lynne Cantwell 2025

Tigs was a little too interested in the gap; it wasn't wide enough for him to get his head in, but it wouldn't stop him from trying -- so it needed to be re-fastened. With screws this time.

It's done now, but it did throw a crimp into my morning.

Anyway, as soon as I write and post this, we'll have the rest of the day and evening. Dinner will be pork tenderloin, mashed cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts with Parmesan (thanks, Trader Joe's!). Might watch a movie tonight; I meant to rewatch The Princess Bride after Rob Reiner's death earlier this month and haven't done it yet, so that's a possibility. We'll see.

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Two things I wanted to comment on, though, before I'm off to pursue frivolity. 

1) Earlier this month, although I just saw it today, the Washington Post ran a story about how religious leaders are seeing a trend among people in their 20s returning to religion -- and not necessarily the religion they were brought up in.  That's a gift link, if you care to read the story. Two things struck me:

• Although the story highlights Catholicism, the writer mentions that "esoteric" religions like Wicca are drawing new members, too. The point -- although it may be largely anecdotal and is never explicitly stated -- is that these young folks are turning away from mainline Protestantism and evangelical Christianity because they're not finding the answers there that they need.
• Then there's the woman who is joining a Catholic church based apparently on some erroneous assumptions. "Because the Catholic Church is the church Jesus Christ started, the teachings stay consistent over thousands of years," she says. Well, um, no. Jesus didn't start the Catholic church; his followers did, or the followers of his followers. St. Paul did as much to push the Gospels as anybody, and he had never even met Jesus (although he said he heard Jesus' voice in a revelation on the road to Damascus, and because we're so close to Christmas, I will refrain from mentioning how such a claim would be met today). Her idea that the "teachings stay consistent" is also wrong, of course; one example is the first Council of Nicaea, which decided which gospels to canonize in the Bible and which to throw out. But okay -- this woman is young. She'll learn.

2)  Sometimes the Mensa newsletter has some interesting links, like this one to a Psychology Today article, "The Existential Crisis of the Gifted". I read this article a few weeks ago, and a lot of it resonated with me -- including this opening paragraph: 

The existential crisis for the gifted often begins as a subtle, recurring awareness, a quiet hum that says, "I am more than this." Or some varying version: "I am in the wrong place," "I do not have any equals here," "I am wasting my potential." From time to time, you feel the deep, cellular knowing that you were meant for something more expansive than your current circumstances allow. These instincts are not groundless. Your unconscious has accumulated information about your giftedness for years, from the moments when you grasped concepts others struggled with, when you saw patterns invisible to those around you, when you understood the unspoken dynamics in a room. And yet, here you are, perhaps in a role where you simultaneously burn out and bore out, burdened with responsibilities but given little authority, your days filled with tasks that require you to dim your brightness to fit in.

"In a role where you simultaneously burn out and bore out" is a fairly accurate description of my job at the big law firm. And thinking back on the jobs and other situations I've become dissatisfied with, I can see now that I was in positions that didn't allow me to fully shine, partly because I'm a woman and partly because I'm intelligent. And my acknowledging that doesn't make me a snob.

One of the most precious things I've gained as I've aged is knowing that I have no further need to hide my light under a bushel basket. I learned to do it as a kid and continued to do it for decades -- but no more. I've had a lot of experiences; I know a lot of stuff; I think faster and make mental connections faster than most people. That's just who I am. 

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Anyway, happy Hanukkah, merry Christmas, and happy whatever-else-you-may-celebrate!

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These moments of bloggy equality (day/night and so on) have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Welcome, Yule!

The newest Frankenstein: a review.

Sorry that I forgot to put up the usual and customary "on vacation" graphic for last week. But I assume y'all figured out that I was gone.

This week, I want to talk briefly about a movie I watched last night -- the newest remake of Mary Shelley's Gothic horror novel, Frankenstein; or, a Modern Prometheus. 

Movie poster image stolen from Wikipedia

I'm not a huge fan of horror films these days -- too many of the new ones are slasher flicks -- but I have liked Guillermo del Toro's work in the past. I thought Pan's Labyrinth was very cool, and I liked The Shape of Water well enough to buy it (high praise for me!). So I knew I needed to watch his version of the Frankenstein story eventually, but I'd been putting it off. My favorite Frankenstein movie is Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein, after all, and I knew this wasn't going to be anything like that. 

(We pause now to recite some of my favorite dialogue from Young Frankenstein: 

• "What hump?" 
• "Ovaltine?" "NOTHING! THANK YOU!"
• "Blucher!" neiggggghhhhh!

That's enough for now. Thank you for your indulgence.)

It has been lost on generations of students required to read the original novel that the Creature isn't the real monster in Shelley's story -- it's Victor Frankenstein, the Creature's creator. Del Toro gets it. And unlike many film directors of the past, he gives the Creature's version of the tale as much weight as he gives Victor's. Victor tells his side of the story to the Danish captain whose ship, stuck fast in ice in the frozen North, rescues him from the Creature's latest attack. But then the Creature -- who has suffered multiple attempts to end his life, discovering in the process that he cannot die -- climbs aboard the ship and tells the captain, and Victor, what happened to him after surviving the fire that Victor set to destroy him.

The Creature had holed up in an abandoned mill attached to a home, and through chinks in the walls, he watches the family who lives there care for each other. He develops an attachment to the blind grandfather, and poses as a traveler to spend the winter with the old man after the rest of the family departs for warmer quarters. This is not far afield from Shelley's story. The blind man cannot see the Creature, so he bases his interactions with him on his gentle nature and naivete. He teaches the Creature to read. He also teaches him the Christian tenet of forgiveness. But when the family returns, they try to kill the Creature, setting him on a path to find his father in the hope that Victor will make him a companion.

But after the fire, Victor renounced his life's work, and he is in no way interested in making another creature. So the Creature, enraged, chases him into the frozen North to kill him.

Unlike in Shelley's novel, however, del Toro's Creature has learned about Christian forgiveness. And Victor has realized he was wrong about his creation; he's not an it, but a human being. Victor apologizes to the Creature -- to his son. And the Creature in turn forgives Victor.

It's not all sweetness and light from there -- the ending is still tragic, as befits a horror movie -- but it's a lot more hopeful than Shelley's ending. In the book*, Victor is consumed by hatred of his creation, and that hatred kills him. There's no apology; by the time the Creature catches up to him, Victor is dead. The Creature creates a funeral pyre for his maker and then leaves to kill himself.

I'm not enamored of Shelley's Victorian morality, but I'm not sold on del Toro's relationships-turning-on-a-dime ending, either. The movie is two-and-a-half hours long, and I get that del Toro needed to wrap things up pretty fast. But a little foreshadowing of Victor's change of heart toward his son would have gone a long way for me.

So my favorite ending for the story is still the one in Young Frankenstein, in which Frederick, Victor's grandson, and the Monster swap brains. Frederick ends up with the Monster's giant "schwanstucker", delighting Inga, while the Monster gets Frederick's sophistication and his intended, Elizabeth, who fell for him in this immortal scene: 

Madeline Kahn was gone far too soon.

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*Don't @ me about spoilers from Shelley's book. It was published in 1818.

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I probably should mention the acting in del Toro's movie. Oscar Isaac is a force of nature as Victor; I loved him in Marvel's Moon Knight, too. And Jacob Elordi turns in a wondrous performance as the Creature.

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We are not going to talk about the fact that Young Frankenstein is 51 years old.

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These moments of monstrous blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Stay safe!

Another New Mexico artist I'm a fan of.

I've gushed here on numerous occasions about Georgia O'Keeffe, but there's another artist with ties to New Mexico of whom I'm a fan. You may even have heard of him: Gustave Baumann. The New Mexico Museum of Art here in Santa Fe is running an expansive exhibit of his work through February, and I stopped by a few weeks ago to see it. If you're going to be in Santa Fe this winter, it's worth a visit.

Baumann was born in Germany in 1881 and moved to the United States with his family when he was about ten years old. According to Wikipedia, when he was 17, he worked for an engraving house in Chicago while taking night classes at the Art Institute. He returned to Germany for further studies, but by 1908, he was back in the US, earning a living as a graphic artist and producing color woodcuts. He spent some years in Nashville, IN, as a member of the Brown County Art Colony. While there, he was hired to illustrate a volume of poetry by James Whitcomb Riley, the celebrated (at least back in the day) Hoosier poet, which was published in 1912. The exhibit has a copy of the book on display. They didn't say I couldn't take a photo, so I did. 

Lynne Cantwell 2025

Lynne Cantwell 2025

In case you can't embiggen the second pic, here's what it says: 

James Whitcomb Riley, an Indiana native and the most revered poet of his day, and Baumann, then living in Nashville, was commissioned by the Bobbs-Merrill Company to illustrate his poem All the Year Round. The book featured color scenes of daily life in the rural county, one for each month.

Often overlooked but truly noteworthy, the bold lettering of each poem (skillfully carved backwards) suits Riley's folksy stanzas "to a T." The book was hailed as an innovative and artistic achievement, but even though it was priced at only $2.50, its sales were less than hoped for.

 I do hope you can embiggen the pic, if only to see that the museum staff waggishly printed the word "backwards" backwards.

In 1918, Baumann moved to New Mexico, arriving first in Taos and then in Santa Fe, where Paul Water, the then-curator of the New Mexico Museum of Art (which was new on the scene at the time), convinced Baumann to stay by giving him studio space in the museum's basement.

I was beginning to feel like I'd been following Baumann around. I grew up on the other side of Lake Michigan from Chicago and attended Indiana University, which isn't far from Brown County. And of course now I'm here.

The curators' whimsical nature shown in that label for the poetry book is well suited to Baumann. He created charming annual holiday cards and carved marionettes and painted backdrops for puppet shows, many of which are on display. He also helped another local artist, Will Shuster, create the very first Zozobra, the marionette that has been filled with "glooms" and burned every year since 1924. (The first one was only about six feet tall. They're a lot bigger now.)

None of this is to diminish the effort that Baumann put into his primary craft. One part of the exhibit is devoted to showing the layering technique for Baumann's print, Old Santa Fe. It required eight woodcuts, each with a different color of ink, to produce this result: 

From the New Mexico Museum of Art's website

For those of us, like me, who have made simplistic prints by carving a potato, the precision required for this kind of work boggles the mind. 

Anyhow, go see it if you're in town. The exhibit is on until February 22, 2026.

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Update on cooking Thanksgiving dinner on an induction stove: It was fine. Although the first thing I made, pumpkin pudding, took a little inventiveness. I've made this for years; basically it's pumpkin pie filling baked in ramekins instead of in a pie crust, which saves both calories (if you're counting those) and carbs (if you're counting those). It requires baking the ramekins in a water bath, which is a standard technique for baking custards. Anyway, the first step in the recipe is to heat a large kettle full of water to boiling.

Well. My kettle is ceramic. I bought it years ago, after I got tired of replacing metal kettles that always rusted inside. Ceramic can go right on an open flame, but it won't work on induction.

I ended up heating the water in a pot, then pouring it into the teapot to pour into the pan that the ramekins were placed in. I needed the spout to keep from splashing water into the filled ramekins. Anyhow, it all worked out fine -- although now I need to consider whether it's worth buying a steel teapot for the once per year that I make pumpkin pudding.

The rest of the meal went fine; I cooked the turkey loaf with the convection feature, and it turned out perfectly moist. The stove claims to automatically recalculate temperatures from regular recipes to induction. Now if somebody would make a stove that automatically calculates convection bake temps for 7,000 feet, I'd be all set.

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I'll be out of pocket next weekend, so no post from me. See you around here again on December 14th.

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These moments of waggish blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Stay safe!