Friday, April 14, 2005
Cloudy and humid
Happy Birthday, Gayle!
Today’s Circadian Poem: “Good Friday” by Brenda Braene.
Some friends and I kidded around yesterday. They said I’ve gotten so good at painting walls and repairing, et al, that I should hire myself out.
I said, “Yeah, I’ll call it Paints N Poems – I’ll paint your wall and write a poem about it, too!”
I don’t think so.
Painting was not easy, as the temperature and humidty rose during the morning. It slowed the drying process and made the paint sticky and gloopy. But I got on the two coats (Clear Moon) and today’s all about the Snowy Egret Trim on the two windows.
Ever notice I keep using Clear Moon on the full moon?
In between coats, I wrote five pages on the outline of The Fight for Lilac Circle – mostly character notes. It’s supposed to be a short story, but if the notes are five pages long . . .in any case, it’s also inspired by The Situation, but from a different point of view and with a twist.
At the very least, in spite of the emotional fatigue it causes, I’m also trying to write my way out of it.
And . . .I bought another bookcase. I had these wire things in the bedroom which held a lot of books, but I hated. So I hunted online. Nothing I wanted. I hunted through stores. Nothing I wanted. On impulse, I went to the big Salvation Army next town over – even though it’s not Mercury Retrograde. I just had this feeling.
Walked in. First thing I saw was a dark, sturdy wooden bookcase that was exactly the specs I wanted. For $24.
We had a fun ole time making it fit into the Ford Escort, but it’s here, I gave it a little TLC and scraped gum off one shelf, the cats approve, and, once the East Wall is finished, it’s going in.
Because, you see, there are THIRTEEN bookcases in the living room, and I simply can’t fit any more.
Also at the Salvation Army was a beautiful two piece hutch – seven feet tall with glass doors and cabinets and stuff and six and a half feet long with drawers. For $75. Unfortunately, I have no place to store it out here (storage is in the city – it would cost more than that to haul it down there, and, frankly, it’s bigger than unit. And I am NOT renting it its own unit.
It’s painted an ugly black and chipped now, but the lines are wonderful, and with some stripping and restoring, it would be a stunning piece.
I hope it finds a good home.
I wish it would be MY home.
Spilled coffee all over my desk this morning. I was in the midst of scolding a cat for something, and the cat was sure she’d be blamed for this, too, but it was all my fault.
I’d like to take a six month sabbatical, where I simply don’t have to worry about anything and can structure each day as I please. As a freelancer, I can often do so, but I want to take the worry factor out. I’d still get a lot done, but maybe I wouldn’t be so tired. Although, with the B-complex adjustment, I’m already feeling MUCH better.
Reading Edmund White’s book about Paris, I realize that I often wandered New Orleans with that same lack of purpose as his title. I simply walked the streets, for hours and hours, to see where I would end up, stopping to enjoy anything that caught my attention. However, unlike White’s muser, I wasn’t melancholy, nor did I feel lonely. I was stimulated, and I felt as though I belonged. I didn’t forget to eat, and I wasn’t shy about entering cafes or restaurants where I was unknown. I wasn’t unknown for long. And, since I am a relatively shy person, that’s because New Orleans is so New Orleans. Although, I have to say, I have much the same experience in Edinburgh. I spend hours wandering, but I don’t feel lonely or melancholy. I feel connected. I like wandering, or, as an author whose name escapes me at the moment put it, “yondering.”
One of the reasons The Last Drop is also known as “my office” when I’m in Edinburgh has to do with the very first time I was there, in January 1994, checking out theatres for the production that would travel there in August. I wandered in to The Last Drop for lunch, on a dreary, rainy day. I ordered lunch and coffee, and began to write. Next thing I knew, the dinner crowd was coming in, I’d written the bulk of a new play, and the staff had completely cocooned my writing space. They were happy to have a writer take up residence in a booth and stay.
I stayed and chatted with the staff, and from then on, The Last Drop was my Edinburgh home. Later in the same trip, as I got to know John Gates of the Oxford (thanks to Ian Rankin, who suggested I go there), that became my other touchstone in town. I know if I ever have an emergency while in Edinburgh, my pals at both The Last Drop and the Oxford will help me out. And now that I’ve spent a good deal of time there and built a network of friends and acquaintances, I feel even more comfortable roaming around, day or night.
Off to do the trim on the North Wall and get started on the East Wall.