"The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead."

-W.H. Auden

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Valentine Bug

Is that a mummy-shaped cookie jar? You bet it is!
Flu shots notwithstanding, we've been brought low by the flu bug this Valentine's day. At least we had some pink heart-shaped cookies, though, and some adorable aliens as well...
Take the color where you can find it, on yet another grey and drizzling day.

Monday, February 12, 2018

The Enchanted World

If three mystical references to 1987 weren't enough already, tonight I give you The Enchanted World.

I don't know for sure when these books first began to be published (even wikipedia dates them to a vague "the 80's") but for me they figure importantly in my memories of that year.

The Enchanted World series was only available through mail-order, and - having always been one to burn the midnight oil - I recall seeing the rather intriguing commercials in the wee hours of the night. There were several, but this was my favorite:
They were beautiful books which (alas) did not fit into our budget, but my cousin Anna's parents were more indulgent. The books were sent one per month, and by the the time I arrived at Anna's house that Summer, she had several. Wizards and Witches, Fairies and Elves, Ghosts, Night Creatures, Dragons, and Water Spirits, I think she had by then. They were Anna's prized possession, and of course I dove right into them.

They were utterly fascinating, not the least because they were chock full of art.
So much of this, to me, blended with the atmosphere of Anna's house, and of course the mysterious aura of Anna herself. We'd burn incense - Gonesh #6 Perfumes From Ancient Times (mine, bought from the hippie record shop*) or violet Spiritual Sky (hers, bought at the renaissance faire). In fact, the combined scents from all the incense we had stored in Anna's room made the entire hallway smell like a temple. Add in Anna's lace tablecloth cloak, her glowing-eyed anthropomorphic tree and Stevie Nicks' Blue Lamp  and you may start to get a clear picture of what things were like that Summer, down near the ocean where ghosts drift close at hand.

I don't know how many volumes of The Enchanted World Anna eventually collected. It was maybe 14 or so before she stopped. I was never able to order a set of my own, but happily, years later, my mother-in-law gave me her old set. All the favorites are there, with the exception of Night Creatures. It pays to marry into a family of bookworms.
Lacking Night Creatures, It's one of my hopes this year to procure a copy. Then one day I'll pass the books on to my own children.

Not quite yet, though.

*Sundance Records In San Marcos, when they were in the little shop downtown. Where I'd once bumped awkwardly into Stevie Ray Vaughan (I didn't recognize him at first because he wasn't dressed like a pimp.)

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Wicks And Sticks

Cyphre...first name Lou, I presume
Continuing with the theme of 1987, I have occasion to ponder this little oddity named Cyphre, for that is the year I brought him home.

The first time I'd gone with cousin Anna to the mall in Lake Jackson, she'd made straight for a candle shop called Wick 'n Sticks. She was deep into her Stevie Nicks phase at this point, so she was drawn there like (forgive me) a moth to a flame.

It was a neat little store, and the neatest thing was a collection of glass-eyed candle holders. Some were faces, like Cyphre here, or animals, or spooky anthropomorphic trees of different shapes and sizes. The eyes would change depending on the color of votive glass, so the display models flickered eerily in otherworldy hues.

Back then I was going through my Steely Dan-Voodoo-Breakfast At Tiffany's phase, but even so I found these enchanting. Eventually Anna talked her mother into buying one of the medium-sized trees. Myself, I'd have to wait. I never did have any spending money.

The trip to Anna's came to an end, but my interest in creepy candle holders did not. The next time I was in San Antonio, I discovered a branch of Wicks 'n Sticks at North Star Mall. Alas, my mother's generosity did not extend to a $30 anthropomorphic tree, but I could swing $15, and Cyphre was on sale.

I was a bit worried, though. My mother thought he looked like Michael Jackson, but being the sort of kid I was, I knew Mephistopheles when I saw him. Even if I hadn't been obsessed with the movie Angel Heart (watched surreptitiously on a friend's cable) I would have got the hint in his name.

Did I really want a representation of a demon in my bedroom? Was it not just asking for trouble? I was going to a Fundamentalist school at the time and was being warned of such things daily. No doubt this helped make my decision. I gleefully bought him and carried him home. As a hedge against bad luck, I declared he was a genie instead.

It's something I learned early on. We all fight demons in our own way.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Blue Lamp

Some months ago, I mentioned dreaming it was 1987 again. The dream ended, but the feeling somehow remains. There was nothing especially memorable about that year, yet the memories flit around unreasonably, like moths battering a window pane.

In those days, my cousin Anna was a huge fan of Stevie Nicks. So much so that she'd go around wearing her mother's antique lace table cloth and a pair of enormous boots. One of Anna's favorite songs was called Blue Lamp. This may seem strange to relate to 1987, as the song was released on the Heavy Metal soundtrack in '81, but of course we weren't allowed to see the film back then. Our brothers had the soundtrack, though (of course they did) and Anna's Stevie Nicks obsession gave the song a prominent place that year.

Now it's more than 30 years later, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I've had the song stuck in my head for weeks. The lyrics have a poetic, mystical bent  - slightly tinged with anger - of the kind especially appealing to young girls.

"There was no message to be found anywhere in sight
Inside or out
I had looked everywhere but the only lamp left on in the house
Was a blue light"

While this lyric may evoke loneliness for some, to me it was always a comforting image. Perhaps because I thought - and still do - that the blue light was actually the message. I like this idea, that a light may be a message as much as any written word.

According to Nicks herself, the blue lamp is a real object, a Tiffany lamp that was gift from her mother.
Stevie Nicks and The Blue Lamp
In the song, the lamp is a concrete object, but has also become a symbol. As Nicks has described it, "a light at the end of the tunnel" as well as her mother's love.

While I can't relate to the idea of having a loving parent any better than I could in 1987, I can certainly relate to the idea of light as a symbol of hope, a sense of not being alone. Back then I was just beginning to come to terms with my chronic sense of solitude.

"Downstairs the big old house is mine
Upstairs where the stars still laugh and they shine"

While I honestly can't say what Nicks meant by this line, I know what it meant to me. The image of an empty house and shining stars meant freedom. I imagined being completely on my own, moving about under my own power. I could seek out any adventure. I would no longer need permission. And the stars would keep me company.

"And the light that shines through the shining night
Is the lamp that I carried from my mother's home
And the light that burns through the window pane
And the love remains"

The act of carrying a lamp becomes something bigger, weightier. A legacy or heritage, perhaps. Maybe a transfer of feminine power, or love itself.

I intuited this much in 1987, even if I didn't quite have the words for it. I still don't have the words for it, to tell you the truth. But there must be a reason the song is stuck in my mind after all these years. These things don't happen without reason.

There is still a lesson to be learned somewhere.

The Visitation, Part 2

Photo of the Andromeda Galaxy, 1899
In last night's post, I wrote about the way my great-aunt Nina paid a visit at the moment of her death. In the ensuing years, Nina would turn up again, often in dreams, but at least once or twice, I believe, in a more physical way.

Usually, Nina's appearances in dreams were urging me to check up on her husband. Nina's husband was by then nearly blind and mostly deaf, but with an oldster's peculiar bursts of energy, he still found the wherewithal to embark on some harebrained schemes. Sure enough, when we'd check up on him, he'd be heading full tilt toward the verge of disaster. Nina and her husband were very devoted to each other in life, so it was not surprising she would have kept an eye on him in death, even if she had to prod her sister's wacky grandaughter to do it.

A more personal message came in 1996, not long after I was married. I was sound asleep when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, not noticing I was in my mother's house, far away from where I'd actually gone to sleep. I opened the door to find great-aunt Nina standing there, looking as vibrant and healthy as she ever had. Behind her, the dark sky was filled with a glorious array of stars and galaxies.

"Nina!" I said, now realizing this must be a dream,"Oh my gosh, how are you?" "Oh, wonderful. Just look at this" she said, gesturing at the expanse of stars. "I haven't been this happy since 1944." (1944 being the year of her own wedding.)

I told her I was glad to hear it. She replied, meaningfully "yes, but this is your day." I knew she meant that the living should embrace the pleasures of the living. She said she wanted to tell me that my new husband was a nice boy. "and he has beautiful hair. Tell him I said that, he'll appreciate it."

So I did and he did.

Things went quiet for some years, especially after Nina's husband passed away. But then on the night of January 14, 2015, there was this (text copied from another site where I'd written it down):

(Note: earlier in the night, I had asked whatever compassionate diety might be listening if they could help me out with some advice. I was hopeful, but not necessarily expecting anything.)

The dream begins in the parking lot of a place I used to live. There is a woman there whom I don't know, but we are talking. She says, "I lost 20 dollars in this parking lot once." I replied, "well, lets look around, maybe another one will appear." Sure enough, there is a $20 bill lying on the pavement. I pick it up and hand it to her. We talk about how amazing it is, the way things just seem to materialize in that parking lot. I say "I wonder how it happens? What is the rational explanation?"

Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by my great-aunt marching into the scene. Great-aunt died in 1991, but she looks as sturdy and practical as ever. She cheerfully waves a finger at me. "You!" she says. "You! Always wanting a rational explanation! Things materialize. Things fall from the sky. Fish. Frogs. Horsemeat in Kentucky. What's the rational explanation? Let me tell you" - she waves her hand to indicate the heavens, or the world around us - "there isn't any rational explanation!"

She then makes a joke about hoping the ingredients for oatmeal cookies would appear so I could do some baking (great-aunt loved baking cookies) and moved off back where she came from. The next thing in the dream, I was looking in my handbag and found a very strange sheet of paper with a poem on it (which I won't repeat here, as it seemed meant to be private) but which I suspect was the advice I'd asked for earlier in the night. 

When I woke that morning, the first thing I thought was "well, if I hear about oatmeal and raisins appearing from nowhere, I'll know once and for all this is true." I was only half joking.

A couple of days later, my youngest child was watching a TV program called The Odd Squad, a sort of humorous X-files for kids. I was going about my business, when I was brought up short, in shock. The clip playing on television described exactly that.

The clip is here

In the way of the Cosmic Joker, and messages from beyond, no one ever specified the event couldn't be fictional. I was struck just the same.

What's more, the events surrounding the strange dream poem have since come true, and continue to come true.

What's the rational explanation? According to the shade of great-aunt Nina, there isn't one, so don't even bother asking. Just bake some cookies and be at peace with this irrational universe.

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

The Visitation, Part 1

not an actual ghost
It's February again, the birth month of my witchy great aunt, Nina. In her honor, I'll tell you of her visitations from beyond the grave. I think she'd get a kick out of it.

Nina was my grandmother's sister. She was a round German lady who lived in an impeccably neat, flower-covered cottage. Great-aunt Nina was so calm, she was practically Zen. Her kitchen was full of fresh-baked cookies and her garden and orchard were astonishingly abundant. She gave off the feeling of being at one with the earth and happy with it. She said she never worried about anything she couldn't change.

When Nina was in her 70's, her health took a turn for the worse. Her kidneys were failing. I sat with her in the hospital and she seemed in good spirits, although she told her doctors if she were to die, they'd better not dare bring her back. At that point, they were still trying to find the best treatment; Nina was not,it seemed, at death's door quite yet.

I was staying at my mother's house for some reason, I can't remember why, but I was there, alone in the house, when I heard a noise. It was a rattling, banging sound. It seemed to start in the living room or kitchen, then traveled, almost methodically, rattling and banging from room to room. This made me nervous - I knew I was alone but this sounded an awful lot like a person, blindly searching for something.

I thought, perhaps it's a mouse? Mice can make strange noises, can't they? But I'd never seen a mouse in that house, ever. When the whatever-it-was began to rattle the door handles up and down the hall, I began to lose hope in the mouse theory. It would be hard to imagine a mouse going from room to room trying the doors. Meanwhile I was huddled in my bedroom, telling myself that the fact that none of the doors had been opened meant that it was not likely a burglar on the prowl.

I opened the door to my room and looked out, but saw nothing. I left the door open in case there was a mouse, I might see it run by. Anyway, I couldn't bear the thought of my doorknob being rattled again.

The sound was now in the bathroom, where various cans of hairspray and bottles of shampoo were being knocked around. Suddenly there was a crash, as the bathroom shelf fell off the wall. That was a heck of a determined mouse. Now the sound moved into my mother's room where I could hear it shuffling around the closet and rattling the jewelry box. It was at this point that I gave into something I already knew but didn't want to know - that the whatever-it-was was looking for my mother. I could hear it in my head, like an inaudible shout. "Where is Dolly?" it was saying, using my mother's nickname. "I have to talk to Dolly."

The jewelry box was rattling furiously. It was a very specific sound, as if the presence was trying to remove a certain drawer from the box. I knew what was in that drawer, too - the only existing photo of Nina and her two sisters as children. I still didn't twig to what was going on, though. Well, I was still young then, only nineteen. It was easier to imagine I was going mad. I'd never been confronted by a newly minted ghost before.

Having no luck finding my mother anywhere else in the house, what happened next is the only thing that could have happened. I was curled up under a blanket on the couch when the whatever-it-was came into the room. I can only describe it as a ball - a large egg-shape really - of energy. I could see it in the same sense I could hear the inaudible shouts; that is, I could perceive it somehow, though not by the usual means. I knew where it was and was not. I could have traced its outline, if I'd so desired. I did not desire, though.

The shape said "where's Dolly? Where is your mother?" In response, to my eternal shame, I screamed.

I think I shouted "she's not here now go away, go away GO AWAY!" as opposed to wordless shrieks, but that might be wishful thinking. The shape hesitated a moment, perhaps slightly annoyed, before turning and leaving. There were a few more rattles, then it was gone.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and then the next moment, thought "Oh, god, what if someone's died? What if someone's died and I just screamed at their soul to leave?" I went to the clock and checked the time. The whole kerfuffle had lasted about 5 minutes, so it had begun at 12:20 PM.

I thought about Nina and crossed my fingers. She wasn't that ill, I told myself. It couldn't have been her. But alas. When my mother came home a while later,, she told me the sad tale. The medicines being given to Nina had caused complications, and her organs had failed suddenly. My mother had not been there when it happened. She'd stepped out to tun an errand. What time had Nina died, I asked.

12:20, Mom said.

....

I was deeply ashamed. After Nina's funeral, I hung back at the gravesite to offer a formal apology. She could visit me any time she wanted, I told her, and I would never turn her away again.

In response, I heard a chuckle in my ear. I heard Nina's voice say, "Stop looking down, I ain't in no grave." Which, I realized later, is exactly the kind of thing Nina would say.

Not long after this, Nina appeared in a dream. She said to tell my mother she wanted her to have the set of ceramic angel fish that decorated the cottage wall. This was important to her. She said my mother would know why.

Dutifully, I gave mother the message. Normally she takes a dim view of such things, but she accepted this without question.  She said "yes, I gave those to her as a wedding present when I was a little girl." I'd had no idea.

Nina has continued to turn up on occasion over the years, and it's always interesting when she does. But that will have to wait until next post.

Neon


In 1840, the first sign of the Great Comanche Raid in Victoria was a flaming arrow. In an odd sort of commemoration, a neon arrow set this barbecue joint's roof ablaze nightly for 50 plus years.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

The End Of January

Goodbye, January, with your many moons and your icy winds and your cold, cold heart.

Monday, January 29, 2018

The Nightmare

The coincidences, they're piling up, maybe not in the most of pleasant of ways...

Just yesterday, I discovered there is a body farm not too far away from here. While I understand the necessity of such studies, I confess to finding the thought a bit chilling. All those bodies decomposing out there, among the rocks and dust.

When I heard this, the first thing that came to mind was a nightmare I'd had long ago. I couldn't remember the date of it, but as it happened, when I found my old journal last night, the entry was there, written in the early hours of January 29, 24 years ago exactly:

"I had a terrible dream - creepy - that someone was killing women and leaving their bodies on the cliffs outside of town. There were numbers of them, all killed 2 weeks apart. It had been 2 weeks since the last murder, and the whole town was scared, full of whispers and rumors.

When I woke, the neighborhood dogs were howling. It's a full moon tonight."

According to the calendar, the moon wasn't quite full that night, just as it's not quite full tonight. These coincidences give me a bit of a shiver. Sometimes fate gives you bookends of a sort, or else they are gateposts, where the strangeness gets in. I'm not sure which kind these are yet.

I predict it will be a restless night, waiting for the dogs to howl.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Temple Bells

Tonight I was rummaging through a box of various items when I spotted an old green notebook.It was my 1994 diary, which was interesting, in light of last night's post.

I opened it at random, to an entry that (unbeknownst to me at the time) would prove important to my future.

"Very cold today. I didn't go out once, except to get the mail. There was a strange letter from Victoria, TX, addressed to my true name. Mystified, I opened it. It was from N. This was a surprise. I didn't know she had moved.

She'd sent her number, so I called her and ran up my phone bill. It was a good conversation, though, it was really nice to speak to her again. She was outside on her balcony smoking cigarettes, and the sound of wind chimes echoed into the phone, like she was sitting in a new age temple or a psychic bookstore. I imagined her there in Victoria, beneath the wind chimes in the misty rain, flicking her lighter again and again."

This letter was the precipitating event in a series leading to my own move to Victoria less than 2 years later.

The Cosmic Joker, for his part, couldn't resist getting a poke in, either. The date on the entry was January 28, 1994. Exactly 24 years ago today.

Lest I ever think I'm the one writing this story.


The Inconstant Muse


1. Something Happened

It was a cold, lightless day, perhaps it was January; the weather had that distinctive, hopeless feel. I was in my mother's car, coming back from San Antonio, I think. On the corner of Magazine and Butcher streets, I remember seeing black branches and telephone wires outlined against the sky. There was nothing special or unique about this moment. There is no reason it should have lodged itself in my memory. Bur there it is.

The moment fades, or rather fails to continue to exist.  I am sitting in my apartment. Through the windows I can see remnants of the lowering gloom. Fear is running though me like electricity, like the nichrome filaments in my cheap space heater. There'd been no segue from there to here, no awareness of movement, only nothingness, a numb and fathomless void.

I take out my notebook and write the words "something happened", as if this could help me reconstruct the missing time. It couldn't, of course. It still can't. I can only recall suddenly being there, in that dismal place that smelled of rat-chewed paper. What can you construct out of nothingness, beside the alarming certainty that for a moment you had ceased to exist?

2. The Curious Tale Of The Invention Of Prozac

It was a couple of years later, in the middle of Summer, I caught a bus to Waco. It was hot and sunny that day. I wore a crop top with a sunflower print - sunflowers being the thing that year - and jeans with navy blue flats. I had a tiny handbag and eyeliner that matched my shoes. It was an ill-fated romance I was having up there in Waco, though it might be more accurate to call it a waste of time. Whatever it was, the ride to get there was 6 hours of sheer and utter boredom, although if you think about it, the sort of excitement you'd get on a bus is probably not the sort of excitement you'd want to have anyhow.

I've never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle, and back then there were no clever phones to occupy your time. On the way to the station, I'd stopped at the new grocery store on the south side of town to grab a bag of Gardetto's and a magazine from the rack. There was no sense in being hungry as well as bored. Thus fortified, I got on the bus.

It wasn't until halfway through the trip I'd started flipping through the magazine. That particular bus took a long and torturous route once it left Travis county, so unless you enjoyed looking at dilapidated buildings and cedar brakes there wasn't much to see. Memory tells me it was beginning to get late in the day, although that might have just been dimness from the tinted windows. If I had to guess, I'd say it was about 4 o'clock.

That was the year Prozac Nation: Young And Depressed In America was the hot bestseller, which I hadn't read because I was already young and depressed in America and didn't feel the need to read about it. Elizabeth Wurtzel was everywhere though, and she was in this magazine, too. I remember her photo next to her byline, wearing a lavender-colored blouse. The article was about the invention of Prozac, how she'd gone to research the story of the drug that had saved her life. I read the article, which was somewhat of a disappointment, and nothing much interesting happened on the rest of the trip. I left the magazine on the bus when we got to Waco and that was that. Whatever else was in the magazine, barely a hint remains with me now.

...

Years pass. Waco, with its dour atmosphere and concrete skyline, recedes into my history. The dismal apartment recedes, too, thank god. I move away, and life goes on.

And yet. The memory of that bus ride and that article come back to me again and again. They show up in unguarded moments, prodding at me like a troublesome ghost. Here is where I wish I were a better writer, because how can I truly describe the eeriness of these moments? The way it brought to mind writing in my notebook that "something happened"? The way what should have been a simple memory seemed as if it were hiding something I should have known all along?

Around 2010, with growing uneasiness, I finally decided to look up the article. Perhaps it would give me a clue as to what was wrong. The magazine had a large and thorough archive that was easy to search. Nevertheless, I could find no such item. I looked up everything Elizabeth Wurtzel had ever published. Again, there was no such thing. I searched for other writing on the subject, but there was nothing that was familiar in any way. Frustrated, I looked up the actual history of the invention of Prozac, and discovered that almost everything I'd remembered reading in the article was wrong.

And then comes the funny part - because the Cosmic Joker has a way with these things - I realized that the author photo I so clearly remembered wasn't of Elizabeth Wurtzel at all, but Elizabeth McGovern, the actress. No sighted person could possibly mistake one woman for the other, but here I was, with both images in my mind, somehow without questioning it. How could this happen?

There was an obvious explanation. I must have fallen asleep on the bus, even though I'd swear I hadn't, and dreamt the article. No, this isn't a usual thing to happen to me, but who's to say it can't, after all. Nothing mysterious then, only an ordinary foible, mistaking a dream for reality.

Except...except...I realized (and records bear this out) that the store where I'd bought the magazine and snack wasn't even built until a year later. This is the point where the dream theory falls apart. I rarely went to that side of town unless it was to go to the bus station. I only used the bus when seeing Waco man. I was no longer seeing Waco man by the time the store was built. And the only time I'd buy those kind of snacks or magazines is for a road trip. Anyway (for what it's worth) I remember it as clear as day: me in my sunflower top and my navy blue shoes, excited about seeing my boyfriend, waiting in the express lane, plucking that magazine out the rack, the smell of the brand new store, the high windows, the light on the south side of town.

There is no boredom, road hypnosis or toxic traffic fumes to confuse this part of the memory. It is untrammeled. And here the eeriness comes over me again. I would swear - will swear - I got off the bus with the memory of reading that article. But now I have to ask...when exactly did the false memory sneak in and replace apparent reality? And what happened to the reality?

Where does memory go when it disappears?

I suspect only Mnemosyne knows.

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Mystery To Me


I remember, when I was small, 2 or 3, or maybe 4 at the most, riding in the back of my sister's '72  LeMans. It was green and fast. She and her friends would cruise the back roads at night, out in the country where the cornfields grew. The eternal restlessness of the teenage driver.

I wasn't necessarily wanted on these trips, you understand, it was my mother's habit of passing me off to my siblings. Not that I minded, of course. The green LeMans was much more fun. From my cozy spot in the back seat, I'd gaze up at the stars, or across the fields where the airport beacon shone. It was all so mysterious to me. The darkness, the wind, the teenage chatter, the girls' perfume, the music on the radio.

This song was popular, or maybe they had a tape, I don't know. But this song brings it all back.


Sunday, December 31, 2017

Happy New Year

Lighting a candle tonight and praying for a happier new year.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

I don't have much to say but this...


I've been gloomy, I've been depressed, so depressed that I've resorted to surfing Missed Connections on Craigslist, as it may be the only place more lonely and wretched than my own mind. But today, among all the sorrow and regret, something appeared that gave me hope:
7ish yrs ago, you (a Yellow Teletubby) and I made out at Malaia on 6th - w4m (Austin)
This is a long shot, but as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Picture the scene. It's six or seven years ago, I can't remember exactly. A Friday or Saturday night on Sixth Street in Austin, Texas. It could have been fall, winter, or spring, but without a doubt, not Halloween. Upstairs at the now-defunct Malaia World Lounge, under the open sky through the retractable roof, the crowd pulses to Euro-pop and Latin house music. The dance floor is crowded, but not too crowded; my friends have space to circle up in a protective shell where we can dance, watch each other's purses, and rescue the more vulnerable among us from unwanted male attention. At this point, I've pregamed at a friend's apartment and have probably drunk several vodka sodas downtown.

As I'm dancing with my friends, you arrive with your crew. It's clear that you're rolling in an entourage; you're all dressed up in Teletubby costumes, despite it definitely not being Halloween. The whole gang is there: Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, and that crafty fucker, Po. You make a splash, people laugh and cheer, it's funny. You strike my attention immediately; you're the yellow Teletubby, La La, who exudes a bright, positive energy. The crowd parts, then swells, until we're pushed into close proximity, as though the dance gods themselves were willing this to happen. Then our eyes meet and, like magnets, we're drawn to one another. We kiss frantically, pawing at each other's clothes; I flick your antenna. Times ceases to have meaning. The club, the music, the bikini'd go-go dancers, and my friends' whooping and hollering, fade into background static.


Then all of a sudden, we break apart. Hands pull me backwards; we're leaving, where's your purse, close your tab, the E-bus is coming! I turn back for one last glimpse, but it's too late; I see a yellow head bob through the crowd, fading into the distance, and then you're gone. Was it a dream? Did it even happen? Did you like, already own the Teletubby costume?


Either way, I thought of you randomly today. 
What can I say, but I do hope she reconnects with her passionate Teletubby. I hope it will be all that she dreams. But mostly, I'm just glad that someone is reminiscing about a life even stranger than my own.

Weirdness lives. Perhaps I can get some rest now.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Harvest Moon

October's harvest moon rising, at the end of our road.

Festival Of The Liminal Space

At the carnival, in the Autumn, at twilight.

In The Tunnel


 In the dark and murky tunnel, down by the river.



Thursday, September 21, 2017

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

With only one full day of Summer remaining, it's time to think back over the last couple of months. Were they memorable? Were they well-spent? If only Mr. Tastee were here to help us mark the passing of the season.

Even though fatigue had been my constant wet-blanket companion all these weeks, I've tried to do my best. You know me, I always want to find the extraordinary within the ordinary. Despite all the fear and troubles in the world, there must still be a little magic, somewhere.

To prove this point, we have pictures.
For instance - and as previously mentioned on this blog - on the first day of summer, my youngest found this Hand of Fatima bracelet. 2 weeks later, my husband found another Hand of Fatima near his workplace. When you're in the habit of asking for signs, don't you love it when they're this direct?

And here's another fortunate symbol, via the drug store shoe department.You may think these triquetra sandals are too flashy to be in good taste, but it's just possible the sparkle allows the gods to see them more easily.;)
Bigger on the inside - Later, my 6 year old made this TARDIS with a cut-out door, so when you open it, you can see that the space inside "contains the whole world."  Clever boy.
On our rambles, we discovered many fairy tale places, both real and fantastical...
 And there were colorful fireworks and colorful treats.
 There was even unexpected drama at the arcade.
And at the end of the day, there is always the mystery of shadows
 Even the sun and moon got into the act.
Yes, it was a good season, I think.