This is a story that happened in this Milky Way Galaxy of ours, in my childhood neighborhood, on the street I grew up on— not far, far away at all.  (Well, somewhat far away considering we now reside on a speck of land on the Pacific Ocean in one of the most remote parts of the world…but I digress.)

The year was 1979, so I (of course) stood on a large, eggshell-white, super soft, shag rug, while looking at my family all dressed up.  I was feeling mighty pretty in my tutu costume and fully rocking the blue eye shadow and my hair was in a fancy bun.  My mom was sporting not one but two fancy buns and she was dressed as my favorite Star Wars character, Princess Leia. (Truth be told, pre-Ewok days, Princess Leia was the only one I really liked in Star Wars and I found it odd that Luke Skywalker turned out to be her brother. Just sayin’… But at this point, I was only familiar with the action figures and she was one of the only ones I liked, and pretty much the only “doll” my brothers wouldn’t try to rip heads off of.)

This particular warm October, Malibu, California night was one of the only times we all dressed up for trick-or-treating. Emphasis on “only”— costumes were not an annual family event, and even on this night we didn’t all coordinate.  I know my brothers were dressed up too, but I can’t recall as what.  And I’m almost certain this was the first and last year my parents were in costume.  We would be heading to my friend’s house for a party and potluck, a house that welcomed you with the fragrance of rosemary bushe that flanked the driveway and where the backyard had a fun spot to play under the avocado tree.  At the party, I would be told that I was a beautiful ballerina enough times to believe it.  We’d go to the potluck and eat; and then my brothers would roam the neighborhood with their friends, aiming to fill up their pillow cases with candy all the while escaping their peers who had cans of shaving cream and weapons of eggs. (This was way before the thought of an egg shortage existed and even in Malibu you didn’t hear about how the living conditions were for the chickens who laid those eggs.)

These were the days when you still checked candy and could even take it to the ER to be x-rayed (was that healthy???), but dozens of kids ran free up and down streets and would miraculously survive even though there was a lot of mischief.  At some point early in the night my parents stopped by a neighbor on our street to trick or treat.  The man who answered the door happened to be Luke Skywalker, just not in costume.  So when he saw my mom as Princess Leia he was so excited that he apparently invited them both in his home. He had to be excited because he didn’t even mind inviting Darth Vader (my dad) in too.  Luke Skywalker called to the others in his home to come and see my parents.  Later, when my parents told us kids about their encounter, I was a little too little to get it.  The legendary Luke Skywalker, as in the real Mark Hamill, thought my mom made a pretty great Princess Leia.  I have to agree.

My earliest decade of life, and growing up with two older brothers, there was a lot of Star Wars toys, toys they call “vintage” and “classic” and “collector’s items” today. But they were just our toys and vehicles for our imagination.  And Luke Skywalker, Hans Solo, and Princess Leia were good; and Darth Vader and the Storm Troopers were evil.  Simple times.  And our neighbor down the street was quiet, and unassuming, and, truthfully, I often confused him with Scott Hamilton, because he was on the rise then too, and they sounded really similar when I was just a kid.  So I would say, “Oh, that is where Scott Hamilton lives.” And my brothers would be super annoyed and correct me, “No that is where Mark Hamill lives.” And just to be safe I learned to say, “That’s Luke Skywalker’s house, right?”

Fast forward a few decades and my daughter had just watched the original three Star Wars episodes on DVD, to which she gave the review, “Those weren’t really so scary because they were made in the nineteen-hundreds.” I laughed hard for a good 5 minutes after that comment. Fair enough.

This same daughter and I have said to each other since she was littler than a blue-eye-shadowed-ballerina, “I love you to the moon and back… again… and again… 100x over…to infinity…” So one night, while tucking her in bed just after she had watched Star Wars, I said to her, “I love you to a galaxy far, far, away, and back.” She gave an appreciative giggle and then with all serious enthusiasm said, “Mom, you should make that into a print.”  So I did.

And I made it for you, for the people in your life that appreciate Star Wars and whom you love.  You can purchase them, in a few color options, here.

Maybe you’ll tell them the story of how this got made and it all started in 1979… or not.  Truthfully, your own story of why, and who– well that one is best of all.

Maybe another time I’ll have to tell you about the time my uncle was roommates with George Lucas in film school…

(No, really.)

You can order these copyrighted prints here: http://www.worshipart.gallery/gallery/galaxyfarfaraway