Wonderland

Recently (less than a month ago actually), I read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I still need to read Through the Looking Glass, but I have to say that although Wonderland really did seem like a bizarre place, the book reminded me nothing of the cartoons or movies about Alice in Wonderland that I've seen. There were glimpses of the more commercialized version that gets shown all the time, most of the time I found myself wondering what the heck I was reading.
It's times like that that I wonder how often do artists work get taken for what they were really intended to be. How many people get introspective on why a wall or a dress is blue. Was the writer trying to showcase some internalized depression that he/she wanted the world to see but despite his/her skill could not seem to vocalize correctly...or was it blue because the author simply liked the color?
How many of us are walking through our own version of Wonderland? How often do we go through life trying to make sense of things that are just truly bizarre and should be looked at thusly?
And how often are we grateful to get back to a place where everything makes sense again?
I finally finished my kidlet's gift. It doesn't match up as well as I'd like, but I'm hoping that she won't mind.