Mademoiselle

Blood Of A Virgin lip tint*

When I was a young girl, I lived and died by the fashion magazine. I eagerly sought out big, fat issues of Vogue and Cosmo and Mademoiselle. The dream-world of fashion editorials, for all their artifice, seemed like so much potential. That's the allure, of course. That this could be you, for the right products and the right price.

The articles I also absorbed with great fervor. A handbook, nay, a shortcut to sophistication. So what if you're 12 years old from the boonies, you could learn to manage your jet-set lifestyle while flitting from your cold water flat in the Village to your pied-a-terre in Monmartre. You hardly needed money, even. A pretty face was your best accessory. Just stick a pair of chopsticks through your messy updo and a swipe of color across your lips and voila, you were ready to go.

It's compelling stuff. Ridiculous, but compelling, especially when you're very young. Funny how things look from the vantage point of age.

There was one article in particular I remember, and that's what's on my mind tonight. It must have been in Mademoiselle, as they would occasionally print such a wistful, philosophical piece. The writer was a young woman who had run into her old lover unexpectedly, and had Feelings about it.

The lover was a sexy (it's implied) Englishman who was Far Too Old for her, so of course it could never work, but they happen to bump into each other at an understated yet glamorous cafe and so they have coffee and madeleines and talk about things. When their meeting ends, the couple again part, sadly and longingly but knowing it's for the best.

I'm dredging this up from 30 years ago, so details are fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure this is where I got the idea that eating madeleines was symbolic of doomed romance. Also, the article gave me ideas. It filled me with the sort of anguish one only feels as an adolescent, wondering if such a grown up thing would ever happen to them. Not only having such a lover, but having a past with that lover. A yearning, gnawing, hopeless affair. What was it like? There were so many experiences I'd never had.

What I never imagined was that I'd grow up into the kind of person who doesn't enjoy this sort of thing at all. That I'd have the kinds of relationships that were so difficult to extricate myself from that no trace of wistfulness could remain. Or that when a man would break up with me, I'd soon regard our relationship as akin to a bout of food poisoning. When he would return, he'd be surprised to find I felt about him no differently than a bad muffuletta from the deli; why on earth would I want another bite?

So it's with great regret I must inform my younger self that she won't be having sad madeleines with old Englishmen while looking winsome in her shades and cashmere coat. Or her pouf skirt and ballet flats, for that matter, marvelous lipcolor not withstanding. She won't even be drinking wine out a bag with Kevin or Bryan or Ben. The past is a county that's fun to roam, but ex-lovers lay behind a locked gate without a key.

Not even a hand of glory or the blood of a virgin can open it.


*I admit I stole the idea for the art, but at least I did use my own lips. 

Orion

4 AM and the stars were so bright, Orion could be seen among the trees.

Down In The Canyon

A while back, we went for a walk in a nearby canyon. It's a public hiking trail, but it was an uncomfortably eerie experience. We all felt it. Maybe it was being hemmed in by the narrow canyon walls. Maybe it was vibration, echoes, infrasound, or just being in the crevice of this long dead fault. I don't know, but here are some pictures.

Really it's just like a river of rocks, rocks and more rocks, but we kept getting dizzy or feeling a squeezing pressure on our eyes like we were in a fishbowl. Teen son said he felt the place was very negative, even sinister, but again, that could be down to infrasound...

 But I suppose one never knows.

Night Of The Katydids

It's come later than usual this year, but come at last it has, the night that the katydids first begin to sing.

Usually it's in the first few days of February it happens, on a warm, dry night that feels curiously free. That's when you know for sure Winter has finally given up its grasp. Even if the cold comes again, it will only be half-hearted. It is the true turning of the year.  

By this time last February, the mountain laurels were in full bloom. I went down to the creek today and saw not a hint of blossom at all. As it's been so often lately, the timetable of the year is a bit off, as if nature is adjusting to a new calendar, turning on an axis that's just a little different than it was before. I think about cycles of creation and decay; I see the signs all around, of a sort of falling-apart-of-things. I wonder if a clock is winding down somewhere. 

Even so, we still have this lovely warm night, just on the verge of Spring, when the Earth begins to come back to life. 

Valentine Bug

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.

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.)

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 Wicks '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.

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.

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 a teen. 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.