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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-Purple, All-Purpose, All-Soul Kittens

November 1, 2015 in Cat Lady Matters, Snapshot, Spirit Matters, Theater Matters

It’s 5:00 am, I’m drinking really gorgeous French-press coffee with a splash of heated cream, my permakitten is mawing her breakfast, and we’re both impatiently awaiting the sun, who’s not planning to grace us with her presence for another 90 minutes.

It’s that time of year. Today is All Saint’s Day. Yesterday was Hallow’s Eve or Samhain, the festival of the dead and the end of harvest. And with the clocks turning back, this evening has lasted an extra hour.

It’s safe to say the veil is lifted.

My overfamiliar and I have really felt it. At 3 am yesterday we were gently tugged awake by guides who normally let us rest. At first I was cross—it had been a terrifically taxing week and I needed the sleep—but as I floated up to full consciousness I could feel the magic pulsing all around us. Gracie’s head swiveled everywhere: she saw plainly what I only sensed. From my kitchen window the cityscape twinkled brighter than usual.

I needed that fairy dust. Change is still afoot, and I welcome any wind on my back to ensure it’s beautiful, not just brazen. So I piled autumn fruits and gourds upon my altar, lit some sage, and threw on the purple and gold mumu that has been my uniform this fall. I visualized purple light all around me, just as a clever witch suggested, and lit a small fire in my impromptu cauldron (a purple bowl. Lately all I crave is purple). Then I created some space. I chanted and wept, and honored all the deaths I’d experienced this year—good situations that had soured, the departure of my dear auto Sadie, lovely friends who’d left the Earth. I meditated on some energies that had outlived their utility—sexual jealousies, internalized glass ceilings, the traumas of the ancestors—and gave them to my cauldron. I drank wine and ate apples and basked in the most hallowed voices in my record collection: Nina, Ella, Aretha, Stevie. I invited the dead to join me. Then I burned more sage, and bathed in salt and oils, and said goodbye to everyone.

After that, I floated through my day. I put on long layers of tweed and wool and fur—purple sneakers and lipstick, even—and tried for the fifth time to score Hamilton tickets at the Richard Rogers theater on Broadway. I cheered for the winners without regrets; ate a bowl of hot beans and pork and rice at a Mexican diner; and walked home over the bridge. I felt lighter, I really did. When I got back the house was wonderfully empty.

And now we’re ready for a new day.

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