…is a treasured rarity. After a three-hour (or so) conversation over food and drinks and even dessert, I came home with a light shining somewhere near my solar plexus. Excuse me while I go savor the feeling of a good-people day. (Or is it a good people-day?)
Snow tends to stick to the skylight in the bedroom (which is one of only two windows in the room), cutting back on available light quite a bit. On the other hand, turning up the desklamp’s gooseneck so that it shines at the skylight, a trick I often use in general, makes light reflect brighter. Which is especially useful towards the evening. Score!
Coming back from the T after lunch with a loving friend, I walked through that magical moment where each branch of every tree is covered with fluffy snow. The trees are starkly black and white. Soon the snow will settle and weigh itself down from the branches. Fleeting moments like this are good reminders of the value of daily mindfulness.
I keep wanting to write things both sunny and full of love, but my spirit has been snowed under. I keep wanting to trust that interpersonal interactions will turn out ok, but they keep not doing so. I keep wanting a job already, but… well, actually there are some leads, and that’s at least hopeful. But mostly I’m snowed under, and climbing out of the bank seems increasingly futile, and I’m beginning to feel warm under all the snow.
Cures for what ails ya (or me, anyway, specifically today, more specifically when the ailment is wintertime depression and life’s turbulence):
Long walk with a good friend, conversation, laughter and groceries. Ocean’s Thirteen. Making a good-hearted effort to connect with someone, even if it brings no result. Getting things out of the house that need to be got out of the house. Reading fluffy sci-fi. Napping with the cats.
Mental and emotional clutter: successfully reduced. Though at a price, as it’s 3:30am, and I get up in five hours to go listen to a lovely Tibetan man tell me about meditation and related practices. On the other hand, there’s nothing quite like the delight of middle-of-the-night quiet. As quiet as we get around here, anyway, what with Nochka tearing around the room in feline ecstasy (this is one of her three or four usual states). Aki watches her indulgently – such behavior is beneath him except when it’s not – and bats her away when she gets too close.
Have you read and liked Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere?
Then run don’t walk to read “The Invisible City; or, Dick Mayhew and his Marvellous Cat.”
I don’t remember ever recommending “fan fiction” to anyone. This kept me glued to the screen.
Yesterday I took down one of the shelving units in the bedroom. There’s a great book purge going on (good excuse to host a party sometime soon!), and the shelving units are stacked two high, and this one was blocking the radiator. Its lower half is still blocking the radiator, but I’ve discovered that corner – the farthest corner from my bedside vantage point – is where the sunlight lands when it enters through the slanted skylight.
In the old country we called these sun bunnies. They move around the room, and if they’re made by something in motion – the face plate of a watch, or the little crystal hanging in my skylight and throwing rainbows onto the walls – they move quick like bunnies. This almost never fails to brighten my mood; if nothing else, it means that the outside world is full of inviting sunlight. After yesterday’s downpoury drear, a clear shiny day is particularly welcome.
Today I will wear a dress, and stripey tights, and take a walk, and sing. What’s with the spring-like weather, anyway? Does this mean we get winter until May? And yet, New England has me by the heart.
I grew up a three-hour train ride from Odessa, a Urkainian resort town on the Black Sea famous for its Jewish population and the denizens’ sense of humor. (Some of the best Soviet stand-up comedians…. well, sorta stand-up comedians… came from there.) My family had friends there, and we went there several times when I was growing up.
The most memorable of those trips was one when I got a kidney infection from swimming in the sea, with its notoriously dubious and changing pollution levels. I do not recommend the experience to anyone; nevertheless, I remember Odessa fondly.
Now, check out these photos from 31 December. Pretty, if stark; but the color of the water! Gah!
An hour ago I woke up from a nightmare in which we (whoever “we” is) were on a road trip somewhere in a camper, stopped for a picnic in a park, let the cats out, and Aki got mauled by a bear.
But wait, it gets better! The bear, an adolescent cub really, took him in both its front paws and twisted him a bit — something I doubt a bear would be able to do. I remember thinking that there were no sickening breaking sounds, and that this meant there was hope. I somehow wrested him from the bear, and he was lying in my arms belly up, eyes wide like Puss in Boots’, staring at me. I was asking some dog-walking jogger ladies where the nearest animal hospital was, feeling very vivid shock, when I woke up to Aki on my belly, purring sleepily as he had been doing for hours.
He never lies on my belly for hours; I’m usually too tossy-turny. But he did, and I was still enough for his highness, and I think this was my first nightmare ever about him.
I’m glad that nightmares aren’t a regular occurrence, because man, they sure are intense when they happen.
Of course, now I want to go on a road trip with the cats. But the idea of a gas-guzzling camper has always bothered me, and who knows how they’d do in a Honda Fit?
It seems that lately most of what I do is bide my time, waiting for events to happen that are almost entirely out of my control, holding it (what’s “it”?) together with duct tape in the meantime. Life’s on hold, and that’s a dangerous combination with unemployment: too many hours in which to think. So I’ve been learning Flash, reading the books I can concentrate enough to read (surprisingly few), plotting home improvement projects, executing personal improvement projects. I have exhausted my supply of TV-on-DVD-and-internets, and that’s probably a good thing. I’ve been sleeping more than usual, which has enabled thinking for hours with my eyes closed without falling asleep. Neat trick.
An evening in the company of powerful and warm people sure helped! The tasty cheese and homemade baklava didn’t hurt, either. For the first time in days, my head is clear and my heart at peace. Tomorrow… will come tomorrow. Tonight I enjoy the quiet.
The cats have been sleeping on the bed more. This is a clear win.
These wishes from Neil Gaiman’s journal have been going around:
May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.
All of that would be nice. So far, I’ve surprised myself.
