"Is this real, or has it been happening inside my head?"
"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?"
-- Dumbledore
I recently spent many days drinking in the magic of Disney, and one day basking in the magic of Harry Potter at Universal Studios.
Hogwarts is amazing, inside and out. No detail was left unattended to. The portrait hall was full of talking, moving pictures.
(And you'll have to forgive me here, they don't allow flash photography, and the light was quite dim -- these are pictures are far less than tack sharp.)
Dumbledore's office was several stories high, and featured a 3-D, talking hologram of the wizard himself.
The sorting hat barked orders at passersby.
The ride inside Hogwarts is also a state of the art, 3D experience. I've never seen anything like it.
Hagrid's Hut stood near the castle.
And the peaks of Hogsmeade are charmingly disheveled and snow-capped.
No matter that Florida provided a hot, sunny day for our visit -- Hogsmeade was full of snow and icicles.
(Pumpkin juice and Butterbeer are delightful remedies for a hot day, by the way.)
JK Rowling insisted that Universal hire the set decorators that worked on the Harry Potter films, and even the inside of the shops are quirky and piled to the ceiling with parcels and strange objects.
I was a bit perplexed as to why there are only three rides in The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and why the entire portion of the park is only a couple of city blocks long.
Don't get me wrong, it was stunning. But it seemed to short change the epic story of Harry. Why is there no Hogwarts Express attraction? Wouldn't a roller coaster through Gringott's bank be fun (and scary!)? Most of the storefronts in Hogsmeade feature amusing window displays, but are for display only -- you can't go inside.
One of the few things that my sweet four year old could partake in was the demonstration inside Ollivander's wand shop. All of the Hogsmeade shops are small, as Rowling depicted them. And that means that you must wait in line until a space opens, as only 20-25 people are allowed in at a time.
(And let's not forget that Ollivander's is supposed to be in Diagon Alley, which I was rather surprised to see was not there at all.)
Inside the dim, cool shop, the door closes behind you, and Mr. Ollivander greets you. The audience stands silently as he peruses the onlookers.
He came up to my son and said, "Ah, yesss. I think you'd better come with me, my boy."
He explained that you might think you can just select a wand and use it for magical purposes, but no.
The wand chooses the wizard.
He gave my son several wands to try and various magical tasks to perform, all of which went awry. Clearly, because he had not found the correct wand yet.
And when the correct box was opened? A light from above. A choir.
This wand, made of "oak which is steadfast, loyal, and strong, with a core of dragonstring, which is excellent for healing and protection," would serve him well, Ollivander pronounced.
My boy was awestruck. Ollivander -- and the wand -- had chosen him.
That's exactly how I feel about this little company of mine. Yarn chose me. There were several times when I specifically said to my husband, "I will never want to get into dyeing yarn. That is too much work, and it's too messy."
And quite obviously, that made no difference whatsoever. It didn't matter that I said, "I won't be doing that." The yarn chose me.
I never woke up thinking, "If only I could start a yarn company, I would be truly happy," because I already had a job I enjoyed.
Here's my challenge to you: what might be trying to choose you? What are you saying no to that you can't quite push out of your mind? What would you do if you weren't too scared to try?
