Our backyard patio is a bit of a shambles given all the rain we’ve had of late. The potted plants are struggling – drowning may be a more accurate description. A once-majestic potted banana tree looked to be completely rotted out, in spite of my pampering and care of it in our garage, where it overwintered in frost-free relative-warmth. Thankfully I spotted two little green spikes just poking through the soil, and I covered it with plastic in an effort to keep the rainfall due this weekend off of it for a few precious days.
On a recent evening, before the full moon, but not far before it, the house begins glowing as the light moves from the sky to indoors. It is the moment of dusk, often a moment of magic – when the world begins its leisurely stroll toward the slumber after the turn of a day.
Perhaps this post would be better placed nearer the evening, but on what is scheduled to be a rainy day, I’m keeping it here. May it provide a place of peace, of calm, of the tranquil promise of summer.
Greetings to Friday the 13th in the aftermath of the full Strawberry moon! The universe is trying us all, so I’m doing my best to focus on the peaceful and the beautiful, like the starlight in these dogwood trees, an actual reflection of the sun’s light, but it feels more enchanting to consider it echoes of starlight and moonlight. Making magic in one’s mind is the surest form of escape when faced with such a disturbing world.
These marigolds were in the ground for less than 36 hours when they were completely decimated by a greedy and destructive groundhog. There are fixes for groundhogs in these parts, and once it’s in Andy’s hands, there’s not much that can help any critter. Don’t fuck with the flowers is not a secret message in our backyard, and if my screeching and chasing you with a broom like some deranged witch ddidn’t clue you in as to your unwelcome status, there are other ways to convey it. Lasting ways. You think I’m the bad-ass to worry about, but it’s always been Andy. Good luck to you, and good day!
It’s been at least a decade – and probably longer – since I planted marigolds. Their ubiquitous use has always downgraded their status in my eyes, but lately I’ve been embracing the tried and true, and marigolds are hardly little annuals that offer an explosion of reliable color. They are also said to deter pests, which is why they are often planted in conjunction with a patch of vegetables. Apparently they are also coveted by groundhogs, which is unfortunate, for us and for the groundhog. Andy doesn’t waste time dealing with unwanted intruders, especially those who disturb the approach of summer beauty by the pool.
A musical pop memory a quarter century in the making, ‘Lucky’ by Britney Spears is the song of the day here, harkening to her early career when it was just bop after bop in an endless array of pop music fantasy. The video here gives all sorts of drama, revealing cracks in the by-then not-that-innocent facade. While I never hated on Britney, I never full-on loved her either, though I have a soft spot for this one, which came out in the summer that I met Andy. It was a grand summer – rainier than usual, and rain portends luck. So do four-leaf clover clusters, for which I didn’t have a chance to search in this little patch I happened upon the other day.
We haven’t even reached summer yet and the fatigue of this rainy season has me feeling spent. Sunlight was forecast for today, and my soul is craving it. The clover has had its fill of the wet stuff and we need to dry our frustrated tears. A world in disarray, and of course the full moon decides to appear now of all times.
A full Strawberry moon, and whatever that might mean. May God grant us mercy during this spell of lunacy. Don’t wait up all night to get lucky; the two-headed coin makes its own luck.
I want to live in a world where manufacturers use stickers that don’t require Goo Gone, soaking, scraping, and a hairdryer to get them off the top of a fucking plate.
It sounds like we’ll be singing it up this fall as in addition to the conclusion of ‘Wicked’ comes the revamped ‘Kiss of the Spider Woman’ starring, wait… Jennifer Lopez? I’m not yet mad about it, but I’m not overtly thrilled. With studio sparkle, Lopez can sometimes sing. The trailer doesn’t quite give me enough faith that she can pull it off, but Chita Rivera and Vanessa Williams both made indelible impressions without having powerhouse vocals, so I’m giving JLo the benefit of the doubt for now. This looks like it has promise, and I have wanted to see a thrilling version of this musical for years. Maybe it’s time, maybe this fall…
We have just celebrated our 30th consecutive weekend of precipitation in the Albany area, so hooray for us! Yesterday was beautiful, so we’ll take what we can get, and let’s get on with the weekly blog recap… (Forewarning: my crankiness was because of the rain. Only the rain.)
Do you remember that scene in ‘Clue’ when the group stumbles upon the fourth or fifth murder in a row, and they walk into the room, take it all in, look disgusted, and simply walk right back out?
That’s how I feel looking out the window and seeing the 30th consecutive weekend of precipitation since November.
Disgusted.
Exasperated.
Tired of God punishing us for… whatever we did in November that would merit such a … oh, never-fucking-mind.
“The fairy-tale hero has a body which can perform miraculous deeds. By identifying with him, any child can compensate in fantasy and through identification for all the inadequacies, real or imagined, of his own body. He can fantasize that he too, like the hero, can climb into the sky, defeat giants, change his appearance, become the most powerful or most beautiful person – in short, have his body be and do all the child could possibly wish for. After his most grandiose desires have thus been satisfied in fantasy, the child can be more at peace with his body as it is in reality.” – Bruno Bettelheim
“In fairy tales, internal processes are translated into visual images. When the hero is confronted by difficult inner problems which seem to defy solution, his psychological state is not described; the fairy story shows him lost in a dense, impenetrable wood, not knowing which way to turn, despairing of finding the way out. To everybody who has heard fairy tales, the images being lost in a deep, dark forest are unforgettable.” ~ Bruno Bettelheim
“The forest is queer. Everything in it is very much more alive, more aware of what is going on.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
Our posting schedule for The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale picks up again this weekend, as we return to the project I did twenty years ago, and I attempt to make sense of how two decades of time wreaks its havoc on the body and the mind. There’s a lot of wear and tear here, there and everywhere these days. Revisiting such blasts from the past is something I’m trying to embrace as I approach fifty. The universe has been whispering to slow down, and while I usually fight the universe in my infuriating way, it’s usually easier to listen and heed.
A few words of advice, then, to a selfie-obsessed youth culture that likely has no need for such words: if you’re going to be vain, be vain when you’re young.
Take all the pictures. And take them of all your body. Listen to the wisdom of Moira Rose. I was way ahead of my time, taking my first selfie (a Polaroid) in 1986 (wearing a Reebok sweatshirt when it was all the brand new rage) and not stopping since.
Now, looking back to twenty years ago, I celebrate my vanity for ensuring that this word and torn physical vessel was preserved in some photographic fashion. It feels important, as every day seems to take away some form of physical living that once felt easy.
There are typos here and in my work because my eyesight is getting quickly and progressively worse (hence the need for progressive lenses that don’t seem to be doing what they’re supposed to be doing). My waist size has shifted toward the problematic and elusive 33 inches, which still seems to be a size that manufacturers don’t always make. My hair has gone from salt and pepper to predominantly salt, which is also bad for my blood pressure, even with the Lisinopril pills I’m on. And yet, somehow I’m more at peace with my body and my life than I’ve ever felt before. There are small regrets, mostly of discomfort and annoyance, but I’ve been lucky to be more or less healthy (according to my doctors). Looking back doesn’t trigger envy or the wish to return to my youth, because I value what little wisdom I’ve accumulated too much to go back to before.
Maybe I’ll freak out when I’m a little closer to 50 – but with a birthday in August how much closer can I get? In the meantime, there is the memory machine of this project, and stumbling upon a few more photos that weren’t printed out the first time around, and which I am sharing here.
