Filed under: Dreams, Thoughts | Tags: snow, tarot, weddings, marriage, la dee da
It’s another snowy day. Like rainy days, it feels like the ideal time to lie in bed reading about the history of the Tarot or writing down dreams from the night before. Strange dreams the past couple of nights. I dreamed I moved into a women’s boarding house. I dreamed I was reading what I called “The Unbearable Lightness of Being Scones.” (In fact, there is a book I saw at Hastings on a shelf of New Releases called The Unbearable Lightness of Scones. I used to read Milan Kundera obsessively, so this strange spoof caught my eye & apparently my unconscious.) I dreamed about walking down a path covered in snakes, and giving away my container of Chinese takeout, because there were just too many worms in it. I dreamed some hoodlums were plotting to steal my old roommate’s red bicycle, so I kept an eye on it from my bedroom window. I dreamed that after putting it off and putting it off, I finally gave birth. My breasts were filled with milk and with the merest touch, they were overflowing. Let me tell you, that was a weird sensation (having never, myself, given birth before).
This is a conglomeration of dreams from the past several nights. I don’t know what’s going on in my head that my dreams are suddenly so stimulating. For a while, I kept dreaming about shopping and trying on clothes. Those dreams finally went away. They were becoming tedious.
Right now I am sitting at my desk with a bottle of Kombucha, delightfully green. I have nothing specific to say; yet, there is so much to say and share. A friend of mine got married this weekend & I must steal a little space here, just a couple paragraphs, to tell you about it, because some things are just too beautiful not to write about.
It was a dreary day, drizzling then snowing, but I was told that in the little chapel, as they said their vows, the sun came out & lit up their kiss. We didn’t attend the ceremony, but we were at the reception where everyone crowded into a little green house on Elm Ave & laughed & danced & ate & ate & ate.
E. looked, as Steph described, “like a little girl’s dream!” She had flowers in her curly golden hair, the dress was exquisite. She was the princess we all wanted to be when were three feet tall, still twirling our skirts. She had found her perfect Prince Charming. I almost cried watching them dance.
It was a beautiful night. Everyone was so happy. At one point, I was in this cluster of women talking about weddings—our weddings, other people’s weddings. L. was saying she attended a wedding that was “just sad.” No one believed the marriage would work. Huge, unfortunate mistake. We talked about the contrast between a marriage like that & one (like E. & G’s wedding) that is so perfect it’s practically a real, living fairytale.
I have to confess, most of the afternoon, I was giddy with anticipation of having the opportunity to dress up. I wore a floral dress with a lace scarf wrapped around my neck & drank enough wine to keep me warm without leggings on in the snow. Steph & I curled up on the rug whispering & giggling & having girl talk so intense I had loosen my scarf & fanned my flushed cheeks with a fluttery hand.
That was my Saturday. On Sunday night, we had Tarot readings at J.’s. She leant me a couple books on the Tarot which I have been flipping through most of today. I’ve also started sketching pictures of the cards in my free time, sometimes while listening to Ram Dass recordings. A lovely combination, I think. My Daily Tarot blog seems to have steady readership right now, and I’m really proud of it, even though I fell behind this weekend. I am determined to make it work.
This is my Monday, not much to report. I have some more blog-writing to do tonight & I might watch something on Netflix Instants before trudging through the snow again to visit Fabio at work.
Filed under: Just life, Literature, Thoughts | Tags: ceramics, clay, grounding, pirates, snow, storm, storms
Snow Storm - Joseph Mallord William Turner c. 1842
Joey gave me a slab of clay after a talk in the kitchen about feeling fluttery and insubstantial, everywhere & nowhere. He thought that something creative and hands-on would be a good practice in grounding. He also happened to have 20 lbs of clay.
We’ve had some heavy snowfall. It started last night, and it hasn’t stopped. Not once. This is the storm they were calling “The Big One.” They say it will continue until Saturday. I took advantage of being stuck indoors to enjoy my clay. I’ll post a photo of my creation one of these days. It is a failed Buddha, but I have to say, I really like it. It momentarily resembled the rough-looking, cubist figures of Jacques Lipshitz that look like creatures risen from the muck.
The ceramic shop across the street went out of business a few weeks ago, but Joey is confident we can manufacture a kiln & fire our masterpieces in the horse shoe pit or even the grill. I know nothing of such things, but he seems to be knowledgeable in that area.
As for this storm, I finally braved the elements after dark to bring Fabio dinner at the other hostel. The snow had turned into a thick, cold rain. The “tunnels” created in the snow to give access to the sidewalks had become canals & I had to wade a river to get there. I entered the G.C. Hostel from the cold, like a shipwrecked sailor washed up out of a stormy sea.
Fabio handed me a towel. I pulled off my shoes and peeled off my socks to put them near the radiator, then sat on the couch reading & warming up. Maybe it’s the books I’ve been reading (namely, Fanny: Being the True History of the Adventures of Fanny Hackabout-Jones by Erica Jong) mixed with the weather that made me feel like everyone at the hostel looked a bit like a pirate or sailor. It had to do with those beanie hats & the anchors on their gloves & the pipes they smoked. It seemed, for that short period of time under the flickering lights of the G.C., that Flagstaff was not the town I thought it was, a piece of high desert resting on a 7,000-ft mountaintop with not a body of water in sight. I thought it was a murky seaport, and the establishment I was at was an inn & tavern where fog carried heavy pirate boots in from a storm. It was a place where stories were told & treasure maps were discussed in gruff whispers.
I wasn’t me, but rather a gypsy fortune teller with a lace shawl wrapped around my neck and shoulders, asking for a box of matches to light candles around a tarot reading. My husband was the kind innkeeper who brought me tea & hung my socks on the radiator to dry.
I walked back home, pushing against the wind, the falling snow prickling my bare skin. I walked back through slush with plastic bags over my feet. It was a swim to get to my door. Inside, shivering, I peeled off my wet clothes, lit some incense & a candle, wrote about the Knight of Cups & considered this dismal weather.
As miserable as it is, I have to admit: there’s something captivating about a storm. I can’t stop wishing I were a pirate.
P.S. please read my new blog: http://dailytarot.wordpress.com. It is updated daily.
I used to want to be like the women I saw at street fairs with dreadlocks and unique stone or beaded jewelry who burned incense on the table near their wares and talked about mysterious forces and karma and auras. As a little girl, my friends and I would light candles when we weren’t allowed to play with matches and try to cast spells; or, if I was playing alone (which I often was), I’d imagine meeting a witch or fortune teller who might become my mentor; or, coming across a shop that never existed before me stumbling onto that street, and buying some magical product; sneakers that would allow me to come first in every race, or some magical trinket or bauble that enabled time travel or invisibility. “Ere! Take this potion, me dear, fer naught but the colour o’ yer eyes, a mere token comparr’d to the dreams I’twill surely grant ye.” Something like that.
Since then, my idea of magic and new age phenomena has changed. I like to think it’s evolved, but the truth is, I don’t know what I think about anything any more. I do know, however, that I have sort of developed a newfound interest in Tarot cards.
So, I decided to start a new blog project. This is one of two projects. The second is a writing blog that will launch in early February. I’ll still be using this blog, of course, but please take a look at my new project:
Everyday Tarot, http://dailytarot.wordpress.com.
It will be updated daily for the next 3-months or so. A description and explanation is provided in the Introduction.
Still, I wanted to be like the women I saw at street fairs with dread locks and interesting stone or beaded jewelry who burned incense on the table near their wares and talked about mysterious forces and karma and auras. As a little girl, my friends and I would try to caste spells; or, if I was playing alone (which I often was), I’d imagine meeting a witch or fortune teller who might become my mentor; or, coming across a shop that never existed before me stumbling across that street, and buying some magical product. Sneakers that would allow me to come first in every race, or some magical trinket or bauble that enabled time travel or invisibility. “Ere! Take this potion, me dear, fern ought but the colour o’ yer eyes, a mere token comparr’d to the dreams I’twill surely grant ye.” Something like that.
Filed under: Just life | Tags: chiropractor, classes, college, food poisoning, Goals, pesto, posture
Food poisoning last night. May have been caused by pesto “chick’un” sandwich from vegetarian restaurant/coffee house next door, or hummus at the bagel shop. The most violent response my body has ever given to food. I haunted the bathroom from around 3a.m. to 7a.m., sometimes curled up on the floor, exhausted. Called in sick to work & spent day in bed, catching up on sleep, reading, feeling queasy. Between sickness and bikram yoga, I think my body has pretty much been purged of any residual toxins.
Aside from an unpleasant night on cold tile in a tiny bathroom, the year is off to a good start & even this unpleasant “cleansing,” if you will, may actually be a positive thing for my body. If I can get past the yuck of it all to believe it.
Signed up for one-day calligraphy workshop at the college, in accordance with my 2010 To Do List. Found out I can audit the Turkish-Egyptian Dance class for only $25/credit hour. Mentioned this to someone who said, “Audit? But…you won’t get credits for it…” But I learn to dance. Think I’ll just audit all the classes I want to take. More affordable. Degrees are silly, useless things, anyway.
Will consider that perspective more thoroughly later.
Starting new blog/writing project soon. Slight delays due to laptop adapter pooping out. Battery dead on my little steno pad-sized Acer. Using husband’s laptop now. Becoming acquainted with confusing Norwegian keyboard.
New blog will be dedicated specifically to the practice of writing, or more accurately, writing about writing. More information on this coming soon.
This blog, Id happens, will continue to be my personal blog. I love it too much to leave it.
In other news: was very concerned about my poor posture. I’m a sloucher & very wobbly when attempting to balance in yoga. Went to chiropractor who gave me a warm elixir that hissed and bubbled (magnesium) which relaxed my muscles and increased my flexibility to an astounding degree, showed me several useful exercises, ran what I think was a lawn mower over my body, jabbed me with a stapleless staple remover (I think) and worked wonders. Nervous, at first, sitting in waiting room with other patients, white-haired, hunched over canes. Two weeks later, so happy I went. Became a taller woman because of it.
Anyway, that’s that. ‘Til next time!
Filed under: Dreams, Literature | Tags: books, diderot, Dreams, intuition, philosophy, the coffee traders
Several weeks ago, I had a strange dream.
It took place in the desert, by a crumbling sandcastle ruled by David Bowie. In the dream, an evil sorceress was forcing me to drink my own blood. I must have escaped and I was instructed to seek a wise man named Diderot. He was going to teach me to fly. The dream ended with me holding a book of flying instructions and, while still holding the book in both hands, I was running in an attempt to lift off the ground.
It wasn’t a typical dream for me. When I woke up I considered the name, Diderot, and just guessed that it was a cross between Cicero and Sir Didymus, one of the characters in the movie Labyrinth (starring David Bowie).
So, yesterday afternoon, Fabio & I went to a used bookstore. I already had something to read, so I took a seat in the cafe, glancing at the books in the display across from where I sat. My eyes landed on a hardcover book that seemed to stare back at me. The title was Diderot: The Virtue of a Philosopher. Diderot. Diderot…The name was so familiar. I rolled it around in my mind for a while before remembering the dream. I stood up abruptly to reach for the book, flipped through it, looking for…some sort of sign. A strange light emanating from the pages. Music that played only when the book was held open. Nothing. I just read that he was a philospher and a writer and flipped back to the front pages of the book where the price was written in pencil in the upper right corner.
A friend had just recommended some books and let me borrow them a couple days before, so I didn’t feel like I needed any extra reading material. Besides, I didn’t really have much money to spend on books. This one was $10 which seemed like a fortune to me in that moment, and I really wanted to get some groceries later. Anyway, did I really want to read some dusty philosophy book? I thought not. I set the book down on the table and resumed reading The Coffee Trader, one of the books Bridget had given me. I lost interest in Diderot almost entirely.
After a while, Fabio came and sat across from me at the table, and I showed him the Diderot book. We share our dreams with each other every morning when we wake up, and he remembered mine. I told him I wasn’t getting the book, maybe even adding “it’s too expensive” as I put it away, though I don’t remember if I actually stated that. When he was flipping through the book, though, he pulled out a bookmark–something I’d missed. There was a famous quote on it by Erasmus that I’ve seen many times before: “When I get a little money I buy books, and if any is left I buy food and clothes.” Fabio brandished this quote at me and I just smiled and went back to reading. I was too absorbed in coffee trading, debt and deception to get the hint.
Well something happened…
I had another dream. In this dream, I was sitting in my unconscious; or, at least, what I guess to be my unconscious. There was nothing surrounding me, just pitch blackness, and I was listening to a voice. The voice was chastising me for “not following Divine instructions.”
This dream, more of a strange experience, really unsettled me. My sleep moved into more dreamlike dreams, but I clung to this voice, feeling nervous, wondering about it. When I woke up, I told Fabio about the voice & what it said. I timidly asked, “Do you think it’s because I didn’t get that book?” I guess that’s when I woke up woke up.
I got dressed quickly, without even thinking about showering, and we walked to the bookstore together. The book was still there, in the same spot, bookmark intact.
And now it’s on my writing desk. Waiting, I presume, to teach me to fly.
I keep forgetting today is New Year’s Eve. I’ve had several reminders–emails, blog posts, holiday hours, noise-makers and merry wishers. But still, every time someone says “Happy new year” or “Have a good new year!” or “See you next year!” I respond, “Huh?”
It’s a minute or two before I hastily add, “Oh! Right. Yeah… You, too.”
I keep thinking it’s already January, or something. There’s nothing special happening for me tonight. I certainly don’t have plans, except that I want to kiss my husband on the lips and maybe I’ll see the Pine Cone Dropping, but I’ve seen it before & it’s not all that thrilling. Besides, it’s cold out there.
It isn’t that I haven’t been anticipating the New Year. In fact, it really feels like things are going to happen in 2010. Good things. Like, all my dreams are going to come true. Like, love will strike like lightning. Like, the world will crack open to me like a delectable milk chocolate orange, offering all its sweet sections.
It’s just been really busy the past couple of weeks. I’ve been working non-stop, and even though it’s been a lovely holiday, it has been tangled up with everyday obligations, work stuff, and even Christmas seemed like the event of a moment. It was one hour when Fabio woke me up after midnight for presents. The bed was covered in tissue paper and ribbons. Everything glittered. Then, we went back to sleep; my alarm clock went off at 6; I left for work; and clocked in before 8 a.m. on Christmas Day.
Don’t get me wrong. There was dinner, decorating, secret Santas, and sitting on the sofa with the Griswold family on T.V. There were trips to the cinema and 3D glasses. Earlier this month, I made some matzo ball soup. So, I had a sort of Chanukah, too. It just feels like there has been so much activity that everything is sort of lost. It’s all static.
As for the New Year, I’m not making any resolutions (although, I do have the typical hopes to eat healthier, exercise more, and post in my blog more regularly). But instead of resolutions, I created a 2010 To Do List, Deadline: 12/31/2010.
Here it is:
• Attend the annual Pima Writers’ Workshop in Tucson, AZ (again) and submit a manuscript to be critiqued
• Develop a more disciplined writing practice; submit my work to magazines & other publications.
• Go horseback riding
• Visit Taos, New Mexico
• Meet my in-laws and explore this beautiful planet: The England-Italy-Egypt Vacation/Honeymoon
• Take African dance classes
• Take a calligraphy class
• Read A New Earth and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
• Apply to CSF
- Learn to cook chocolate mousse with rum
It’s a short list of carefully selected dreams. Let me explain.
Included here are several things I’ve been wanting, aching, yearning to do for a long time, but I’ve put off for whatever manufactured, illegitimate reason. For instance, horseback riding & going to Taos are dreams that I’ve squashed and smothered and cannot kill. I’ve cried and agonized and blamed others for the fact I haven’t been able to ride a horse or see a city that I felt was calling to me, even though these things are within my reach, so close. I stare longingly at brochures or websites dedicated to one or the other, but I find excuses: I don’t have the money. My parents should have let me take horseback riding lessons when I was younger & now it’ll never happen. I can’t get time off. I don’t have transportation. There are other priorities right now.
Well, phui! My dreams should be my priority. I don’t want to keep these experiences on hold any longer. The back burner, turned to zero, is not where these goals belong.
A few weeks ago, I saw the Disney & Pixar film, Up. Forget, for a moment, that it’s a cartoon and set aside any bias you may have regarding such a medium, because it carries a valuable lesson. I cried pretty much through the entire thing. Those tears were caused, in part, because Fabio & I have dreams of adventure and one of those same glass bottles labeled “Paradise Falls” collecting loose change. The movie profoundly disturbed me, because it depicted such a huge population–a population of which I could easily be apart. So many people sacrifice their dreams until it’s too late. It’s scary, dammit. Sure, at the time, maybe “something comes up” or “things happen,” and “what can you do?”
But it’s a fell perspective, and when I turned to Fabio with my eyes all puffy and red saying, “how could they let that happen?” He said, it was their folly for not making their dreams the priority, for determining that something like a blown tire would stop them from getting where they really want to go. I’m taking responsibility for the fact that I’ve denied myself my dreams in the past. It won’t be my future, and it certainly won’t be my Now.
So, I guess I do have a resolution, and that’s to not let anything come between me and my dreams, including myself.
That said, happy New Year!
I am very excited to announce that I contributed to this year’s Holiday Gift Ideas for Writers, Editors, Librarians & Bibliophiles list at inkygirl.com. You’ll find my suggestions in Part One.
If you still have Christmas shopping to do, take a look. There is something for everyone. I remember drooling over last year’s list when I first discovered Inky Girl. The list encompasses pretty much everything a writer could possibly want, short of workshops & publication. I especially love the assortment of fingerless gloves out there right now; perfect for typing through the cold, winter months.
When I was a little girl, I cut off the fingertips on a pair of pink gloves, but never wore them for fear my mother would find out and scold me. I finally bought a pair this winter (the kind that morph into mittens) but, alas, they are not very writerly.
There’s still some Christmas shopping left for me to do this year. If anyone else knows of sites with good ideas, like Inky Girl, please post a link or leave a comment.
Thanks & happy holidays!
It has been a strange winter already, and it has only, really, just begun.
At the start of this week, we woke up to steady snowfall that lasted until the next morning. That night, we could hear snow blowing off the trees and rooftops. The lights in our bedroom flickered. In the morning, the streets had disappeared. There were just fields of snow. It took ages, it seemed, for the roads to be plowed, the sidewalks to be shoveled.
Fabio and I were cat- and house-sitting again. We had to wade waist-deep through snow drifts to get there from work. I saw people sliding across the streets on skis. The world has a different quality now. It looks different. We move around through mazes of low, snow walls.
The snow isn’t the reason I describe this winter as “strange.” It just feels funny, and there have been some minor incidents that seem a little…odd or off.
One morning (at work), Tyrus reconstructed the gas stove using tinfoil, butter knives and salad dressing (seriously). He cooked barbeque on an open flame while the snow dropped down and blizzard warnings raged across the weather channel. After watching these antics & finishing work, I returned to cat-sitting and hung my damp, snow-covered jeans on the heater to dry. Bad. Idea.
I was online, utterly absorbed in copying down a recipe for salmon wraps and looking up cream cheese alternatives, when the fire alarm started blaring. When I looked up, my jeans were smoking. I yanked them off the heater and ran to shut off the alarm. The jeans were still smoldering after I shut it off & I had to stamp out tiny flames. One pant-leg is singed, the other has a charred gaping hole.
There was a strange coincidence this morning. Fabio & I were on our way to the bank, and there was a woman stuck in the snow. She had two young children in the car & we offered to give her a push. When that didn’t work, Fabio retrieved a couple shovels so we could dig her out. All of this proved ineffectual, unfortunately. It was the underbelly of the car that seemed to be stuck on the ice, so she just ended up calling someone for help. We resumed our trek to the bank. All the while, we stomped on sheets of ice for that satisfying, Crunch!
We arrived at Chase Bank to open a new joint-account. The banker stepped away to get some forms. I glanced at the photograph on his desk of his wife and kids thinking, She looks familiar. Then Fabio says, “Isn’t that the woman we helped out of the snow this morning?”
My eyes probably bugged out and I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped. When I took a closer look, I recognized not only her, but also the two kids. We confirmed this with the banker when he got back, and everyone had a good chuckle.
Weird.
The snow is starting to harden, losing that magical, glittering quality. The roads are turning to grey and brown slush, and the sidewalks are icy. Tomorrow, we’re supposed to get some fresh snowfall. The weather reports predict snowfall through the weekend. I’m glad.
I don’t want it to stop and part of me feels that as long as the snow continues to come down, the odd occurrences will also continue. I don’t fancy setting my pants on fire again, but I am sort of enjoying the madness.
Someone I met briefly on my travels described spaghetti as the most romantic meal two people could share. This was on a garden patio at night, with strings of lights hanging across a high wooden fence, a wasted game of Pictionary spread out on the table. I said, thoughtfully, “Hu, because of that scene in Lady and the Tramp?” He scowled in response, but the truth is, spaghetti is a romantic meal, and maybe it is because of Lady and the Tramp (a film that, I must confess, made me blush as a little girl). The fact remains.
However, the thing about spaghetti is, no matter how simple, inexpensive and romantic, if you fall into a spaghetti-dinner-routine, it can get a little boring. During my three-month hiatus from this blog, there have been some significant changes in my life: (1) I got married. (2) My husband and I have fallen into a spaghetti-dinner-routine.
Although we don’t have spaghetti night after night, every night, we do eat it quite frequently.
We usually have a traditional red sauce with spaghetti or angel hair pasta.
In order to add a little variation to our evening meals, I attempted a white béchamel sauce (from scratch). Since I haven’t posted any recipes in a while, I thought I’d share this one.
Note: I use the “eyeball” method when I’m cooking, rather than the measuring-cups-and-spoons-method. So, I apologize for not including exact measurements with my recipes.
Ingredients:
milk (can be substituted with vegetable or chicken broth)
vegetable bouillon (or vegetable/chicken broth)
butter or margarine
flour (not too much!)
salt and pepper
Italian seasoning*
lemon juice & lemon zest*
cheese* (I did not use this in my recipe, but feel free to give it a try)
*optional
Begin making the sauce when the pasta is almost done cooking.
Melt several tablespoons of butter or margarine over low heat. Add a generous handful of unbleached flour. Mix well. Add milk (warmed over low heat) or broth (for two servings, about 1.5 cups), crumbled vegetable bouillon, Italian seasoning, lemon, and cheese. Mix continuously. Add milk or broth if the sauce becomes too thick. You may add flour if the sauce is too thin, but do so cautiously! Too much flour creates a sticky paste instead of a sauce. Also, remember, the liquid will evaporate the longer it stays over the heat.
When the sauce reaches its desired consistency, it’s done. Pour the sauce over pasta & enjoy!
Just for fun:
