I’ve been putting all my energy into the book so haven’t had the bandwidth to check in here. But it occurs to me I’ve developed a nasty habit of only reporting the bad stuff, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret.
Lately, despite all the mishegos in our country and in the world, I feel incredibly grateful.
As soon as the sun pours into my bedroom every morning, I spring out of bed, a free man in Paris. Better yet: A free lady in Brooklyn. Yes, I run through my financial anxieties, my hanging cliffs of what-ifs. But then I leap into my routine. It goes something like this.
Turn on coffeemaker while Miss Gracie meows angrily. Pee while Miss Gracie meows angrily. Feed Miss Gracie to end said angry meowing. Settle back into bed with mug and remind Miss Grace with Pavlovian scratches and kisses that cuteness levels raise exponentially when angry meowing ceases. Ogle the last bit of sunrise, as well as (confession) Foster Kittens. Then put on grown-up lady bra, fetch a scallion-cheddar scone from the Italians next door (Piccione! they cry. Ask Grace why), and sashay down the street to my new writers’ space. Continue Reading →
My mother’s mother was not a cozy person. This was to be expected, for no one in my family was cozy. I did not understand I was the type of person who clamored for coziness until I was much older, and by then I’d acquired so many sharp edges that scarcely anyone wished to be cozy with me. This, I believe, is how cat ladies are bred, not born, although I prefer to refer myself as a cat woman. Perhaps this is what happened to my grandmother, as well. Certainly she shared an army-buddy solidarity with her cat Calico that the rest of us never experienced with her.
I’m not sure if I longed for my grandmother’s love or simply to be my grandmother. Alice May, as her few remaining peers called her, was the only true adult in my family, and I duly deferred to her. More than that, I revered her, though at age 11 I already towered over her. Somehow her diminutive stature only made her seem more powerful, as if she were as wise and as peculiarly packaged as Yoda himself. Come to think of it, with her big blue eyes and large, gnarled hands and sunken mouth (Alice May’s dentures never quite fit), she looked like Yoda overall. To the Star Wars-obsessed child I was, the effect was amazing, if utterly subliminal.
As evidenced above, I have finally begun working on my book again. This makes sense, for Mercury Retrograde is an ideal time to revisit long-simmering projects. (The negative aspects of Mercury Retrograde in Aries have been fully documented on this blog lately.) Stay posted, dear Sirenaders, and feel free to cheer me on; I could use your good wind. Feel free to request my cheering in the form of a Ruby Intuition session as well, for Mercury Retrograde is an ideal time to tune into the divine intelligence of the universe, and I love reading for people during these times.