Who is Malenka, Polish Princess of Peace?

Malenka, may avitar, my alter-ego, my imaginary self was born on a potato farm in Poland. Her hard days of digging potatoes as a youth only toughened her spirit and resolve -- and put a permanent glow on her rosy cheeks.
She wears her luscious golden hair in thick braids that cascade over her shoulders. Dressed in green silk shirts that set off her emerald eyes, black jeans and gleaming black riding boots, at 6 feet, Malenka turns heads wherever she goes. She has never had any issues with weight.
An amazing equestrian, Malenka travels everywhere on her sleek black Polish Arabian, Calligrapher's Inkwell (barn name, Calli). Trotting along beside them are her two faithful hounds, Liliput and Charleton.
Malenka spends most of days helping people. She can intuit their deepest desires and most pressing needs, always finding solutions that bring them peace.
Years ago she married her true love, the dashing Italian prince Paolo, a brilliant screenwriter/musician/tennis player. As a young man Prince Paolo, while hiking in the Apennines, discovered an enormous gold nugget, so the couple is set for life, never having to work for a living.
Prince Paolo and Princess Malenka live happily but simply in a crumbling villa in Tuscany. Because Prince Paolo is extremely handy with tools and they both love to do renovations, they're slowly turning their home into a stunning, yet environmentally sustainable, showplace.
Angora goats and alpaca roam the rolling hills of their estate; the couple pays local women extremely well to weave and knit their wool into warm, beautiful garments that the Prince and Princess donate to various charities.
They raise herbs and organic produce that Malenka loves to develop into fantastic healthy meals. She often invites the entire village to sumptuous feasts.
In her spare time, Malenka throws and glazes exquisite pottery, paints the ever-changing Tuscan landscape from her balcony, writes award-winning novels and an advice column for Salon.com.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

My Crooked, Nonsensical Career Path: Chapter 1: Child Labor

Shall I begin with dusting the knick-knacks?
I think yes.
Because I earned 25 cents a week
And became such an avid reader
That it led me to later, more lucrative pursuits
An explanation: the task, so dreaded, so heinous,
So every-freakin’-Saturday-morning –without-fail
It resulted, also without fail, in an internal peristalsis
Whose urgency was not to be ignored
And yet, once ensconced on the pink potty seat
Heavy tome in lap – sometimes fairy tales, or adventures
Mostly something to do with dogs or horses
Staying so long my legs fell asleep
Lost in the confluence of words on page
Staying way after the necessity had been completed
But …
Once a year we did the hardwood floors
With a product called Renuzit
I took my time on the stairs, soaking in the noxious fumes
The fragrance so heavenly (and may explain, I’m thinking now,
Some future health problems, also assisted by obsessively trailing after the mosquito truck on summer evenings on my bike)
I earned a little more working for my father
When he’d buy a house at auction
A house that had been unloved, steak grease on walls
And filthy carpets
But I earned a dollar, and rough hands, and getting to hang out with Daddy

© 2011 Marilyn Stevens

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