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She Puts the Lotion in the Basket

December 8, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, City Matters

On weeks like this one I shudder to consider the National Geographic-style narration that could accompany the activities of this 21st Century Brooklyn Female Writer.

The subject rises before the sun, drinks a brown hot liquid filtered from beans she crushes in a small machine. She enters a separate area of her hut where she bends over what appears to be a flat silver box. There she remains for hours, emitting an odd clacking noise with her fingers, stopping only to drink more hot liquids and to eat nearly raw cow. A smaller animal flanks her, and the two communicate through seemingly random patterns of blinking and head-butting. Otherwise the subject does not look up until the sun sets. Then she eats foliage she forages locally, congregates with members of her herd around a large, flickering screen, and drinks a potion of fermented rye berries. Upon returning to her hut, she follows the smaller animal into a blue and gold nest, where she remains still until recommencing the routine before the next dawn.

The Church of Hibernation

November 8, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, Church Matters, Quoth the Raving, Weather Matters

No less than Confucius says that when you love your job, you never have to work a day in your life. But yesterday as I cleaned my house to prepare for Ruby Intuition readings and film events, a big part of me was clamoring for a field of grass without any electronics or obligations in sight. No less than William Carlos Williams says that, with any lined paper, sometimes it’s best to write the other way.

I muscled through the day anyway, even derived pleasure from it, but by its end my protesting back suggested rest was powerfully in order. I’ve learned, finally: My spine is smartest. So I went to bed early even for me, a permakitten on my feet, a golden tumbler of rye by my side, a thick 19th century novel in my paw.

This morning it is 43 degrees. I am making scrambled eggs with kale and Mr. Curry’s​ nan and tomato chutney, my new favorite weekend breakfast. I am wearing flannel slippers and a purple apron that arrived by post this week. I have a high stack of screeners and books in my office and a gorgeously full larder, thanks to a pal who ferried me to Fairway​. I even have a huge jar of Oslo’s Thor coffee beans, the very best for French presses. I am by myself but feel encircled by the kindness of friends on every plane.

I’ll see you kittens in April or on Monday, whichever comes first.

Get This Party Started Right

November 3, 2015 in Age Matters, Cat Lady Matters, City Matters, Essays, Spirit Matters

Lately Mondays kill me, they really do. It’s a terrible feeling, especially as I’ve never been this sort of person before. When I graduated college I swore two things: That I would find an occupation that didn’t require a separate wardrobe—“beware of all enterprises that require new clothes!”—and that I wouldn’t be a 9-5 Working Josephina.

Two decades later, I still wear whatever I please and I still work very off hours. On the rare occasions that I am forced to ride a rush-hour train I feel dismay of the “oh, the humanity!” variety. Aside from washing my clothes at the laundromat, nothing makes me feel so much like my life has failed to meet my expectations. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy