I've been under the weather for the past few days, and am still not feeling all that well. I'm weary of lying in bed or on the sofa, tired of movies, and even reading is becoming an effort. But I can't get outside to do the things I want to be doing, so I'm sitting here in the garret feeling a bit like a sick child who is bored and getting grumpier by the moment.
When my children were sick, it was time for a new toy.
We adults often forget about toys. I'm not really talking about toys like Iphones or expensive gadgets. I mean real toys: modeling clay and Tinker toys, a dollhouse, an Etch-A-Sketch.
A few of my toys I can see from right here in my chair: a little horse ready to mine for gold, a light-up tiara, two magic wands made for me by my son, a Corgi miniature made by my daughter, a whimsical Dachshund business card holder, a tiny red wagon carrying a couple of paper stars. I tried to take photos but they came out as out of focus as I feel, so I'm sparing you the blurry edges of this flu.
I think I'm declaring tomorrow official new toy day. I'm going to stop by the toy store on my way home from the office and pick out something new to play with.
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
reading pile
I've been saying I was going to list the books in my reading pile, and since I came up to the garret to get another book to read (I just finished Charles Baxter's The Feast of Love), it's a good time to do so.
Right now I'm looking at:
Wayne Caldwell's Cataloochee
Leif Enger's Peace Like A River
Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense of Snow
Sandra Kring's The Book of Bright Ideas
Sara Gran's Come Closer
Chris Bohjalian's The Double Bind
Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Mineral
Angela Davis-Gardner's Forms of Shelter
That's just one of the piles, and some of the titles are angled so I can't see them, so that's not quite all of the ones in this particular batch.
I'm picking Smilla's Sense of Snow for the next read. It's what called to me as I scanned the stack.
In spite of all these books waiting, I'm interested in recommendations - so be sure to tell me what needs to come live in my pile!
Right now I'm looking at:
Wayne Caldwell's Cataloochee
Leif Enger's Peace Like A River
Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense of Snow
Sandra Kring's The Book of Bright Ideas
Sara Gran's Come Closer
Chris Bohjalian's The Double Bind
Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Mineral
Angela Davis-Gardner's Forms of Shelter
That's just one of the piles, and some of the titles are angled so I can't see them, so that's not quite all of the ones in this particular batch.
I'm picking Smilla's Sense of Snow for the next read. It's what called to me as I scanned the stack.
In spite of all these books waiting, I'm interested in recommendations - so be sure to tell me what needs to come live in my pile!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
the between-places
For every one of us there are moments of revelation at the nexus point where opposites meet: dark and light, joy and sorrow, knowing and singing. In these days of growing light, when spring is still far ahead and the grip of winter is ever present, the opportunity to sample the opposites and stand at their still center is potent. These experiences do not have to be sought after; they arrive, magically blending elements together to seek us out... thresholds of awakening where the soul is alert and watchful for omens of change, auguries of joy, promises of belonging.
-Caitlin Matthews, The Celtic Spirit
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
waking to neighing and dreaming short stories
Two nights ago I was wakened by neighing. I woke up, not sure I'd really heard the sound, when Salina neighed again, right outside the bedroom window. I woke my husband, who went out to check the barn. The neigh had been very clear - come out now.
My husband found we'd left the gate to the front field open. The geldings had discovered it and went out for a middle of the night frolic. Salina wisely woke me up and they were led back to their paddock and the gate closed.
I'm a sound sleeper, a vivid dreamer, except if something's wrong. How perfect that Salina knows that about me. Aside from everything else, it charms me completely that Salina's paddock extends far enough that she can actually come to my bedroom window and neigh.
Last night I dreamed of a friend's apartment in Paris. Somehow I had visited her without a current passport, and was worried that my old one would be checked and found lacking on my return to the US. Crazily, in the dream, I thought, oh well - the worst that can happen is I'm stuck in Paris! I imagined briefly what it would be like to live out my life there.
Most of the dream involved looking room by room at the lovely apartment. The living room was small but with very high ceilings and a huge window that led out into a quite large back yard. The yard sloped up to a rock face, around which were planted many blooming, dripping perennials. A corner of the yard sloped down to a small pond, and my friend explained that she was still working on designing a terraced dock, with places where she would plant ginger grass. I suggested dwarf-sized fruit trees which would hang over the pond so that she could row beneath them and pick fruit in its season.
Back inside, she had papered one wall in many sheets of thick, jewel-toned paper edged with lace. It made a rich block of color that reflected onto the rest of the room. The kitchen was simple but stocked with the utensils one needs to make a good meal. On the other side of the kitchen was the front door which led right into the busy Paris street. The room had nice windows for people-watching, and I wondered if she might turn it into a writing room - or would the activity outside be too distracting. I stood for a moment in the window and watched the people pass.
Up the stairs a gorgeous crimson and cream carousel horse was suspended by a cord. The movement of air as I walked up the stairs caused it to turn slowly in a circle. The bathroom too was tiny but functional. On my way back down I marveled that the horse had transformed into a dolphin. This was apparently a special feature of this hanging art - it transformed for each ascender and descender of the stairs into a symbol just for them.
The stairs shifted near the bottom to a second stairway that led to the bedrooms. My friend's bedroom was like being underwater - many shades of blue hung from the ceiling: small sheets of silk and sateen fabric. It was quiet and peaceful and she decided to lie down for a nap. Two other friends were resting as well, but not asleep. I made my way to the guest bedrooms, small but perfectly adorned with antique quilts and warm lamps and thick pillows.
On my way back through the first bedroom, my friend's sister arrived to greet us. She was very tall, an older, very elegant French woman who came to us in turn, held our faces in her hands, and divined without a word from any of us who each of us were and what we had come to Paris to discover about ourselves.
Someone noted the beautiful antique parasol she carried, and as she opened it to show it off, it crumbled, and the quaint old Paris she represented seemed to crumble with it. Suddenly she transformed into a wild-haired, temperamental artist, who stormed into the guest bedroom to rest.
In the end to the dream, the two sisters slept, one peacefully, the other restlessly. The worry about my passport faded in the moment, and I breathed out a small sigh of relief and decided to enjoy the visit, now that I knew why I was there.
(It's probably relevant to know that my birthday is on Leap Day, and I have one coming the end of this week. I was in Paris for my sixth real birthday, a journey that I made alone and which represented my first real step forward as an adult in the world. The first night in Paris I had a panic attack and suffered a case of head-to-toe hives. But then I woke up, looked outside the tiny window, and made the choice to discover something new about myself in a new city. This Friday will be my 12th real birthday. I suspect this dream marks some changes between then and now.)
My husband found we'd left the gate to the front field open. The geldings had discovered it and went out for a middle of the night frolic. Salina wisely woke me up and they were led back to their paddock and the gate closed.
I'm a sound sleeper, a vivid dreamer, except if something's wrong. How perfect that Salina knows that about me. Aside from everything else, it charms me completely that Salina's paddock extends far enough that she can actually come to my bedroom window and neigh.
Last night I dreamed of a friend's apartment in Paris. Somehow I had visited her without a current passport, and was worried that my old one would be checked and found lacking on my return to the US. Crazily, in the dream, I thought, oh well - the worst that can happen is I'm stuck in Paris! I imagined briefly what it would be like to live out my life there.
Most of the dream involved looking room by room at the lovely apartment. The living room was small but with very high ceilings and a huge window that led out into a quite large back yard. The yard sloped up to a rock face, around which were planted many blooming, dripping perennials. A corner of the yard sloped down to a small pond, and my friend explained that she was still working on designing a terraced dock, with places where she would plant ginger grass. I suggested dwarf-sized fruit trees which would hang over the pond so that she could row beneath them and pick fruit in its season.
Back inside, she had papered one wall in many sheets of thick, jewel-toned paper edged with lace. It made a rich block of color that reflected onto the rest of the room. The kitchen was simple but stocked with the utensils one needs to make a good meal. On the other side of the kitchen was the front door which led right into the busy Paris street. The room had nice windows for people-watching, and I wondered if she might turn it into a writing room - or would the activity outside be too distracting. I stood for a moment in the window and watched the people pass.
Up the stairs a gorgeous crimson and cream carousel horse was suspended by a cord. The movement of air as I walked up the stairs caused it to turn slowly in a circle. The bathroom too was tiny but functional. On my way back down I marveled that the horse had transformed into a dolphin. This was apparently a special feature of this hanging art - it transformed for each ascender and descender of the stairs into a symbol just for them.
The stairs shifted near the bottom to a second stairway that led to the bedrooms. My friend's bedroom was like being underwater - many shades of blue hung from the ceiling: small sheets of silk and sateen fabric. It was quiet and peaceful and she decided to lie down for a nap. Two other friends were resting as well, but not asleep. I made my way to the guest bedrooms, small but perfectly adorned with antique quilts and warm lamps and thick pillows.
On my way back through the first bedroom, my friend's sister arrived to greet us. She was very tall, an older, very elegant French woman who came to us in turn, held our faces in her hands, and divined without a word from any of us who each of us were and what we had come to Paris to discover about ourselves.
Someone noted the beautiful antique parasol she carried, and as she opened it to show it off, it crumbled, and the quaint old Paris she represented seemed to crumble with it. Suddenly she transformed into a wild-haired, temperamental artist, who stormed into the guest bedroom to rest.
In the end to the dream, the two sisters slept, one peacefully, the other restlessly. The worry about my passport faded in the moment, and I breathed out a small sigh of relief and decided to enjoy the visit, now that I knew why I was there.
(It's probably relevant to know that my birthday is on Leap Day, and I have one coming the end of this week. I was in Paris for my sixth real birthday, a journey that I made alone and which represented my first real step forward as an adult in the world. The first night in Paris I had a panic attack and suffered a case of head-to-toe hives. But then I woke up, looked outside the tiny window, and made the choice to discover something new about myself in a new city. This Friday will be my 12th real birthday. I suspect this dream marks some changes between then and now.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
sidereal time
This morning I climbed the stairs to the writing garret, plugged in my laptop, and began to review the research notes and plot notes I've been making on the second novel revision. I quickly found myself reading about sidereal time, in which the day is marked using the hour angle of the vernal equinox rather than the sun. Star time, it's called, and the very idea sent my mind spinning in all sorts of mystical directions. The idea that a sidereal day is four minutes and some odd seconds shorter than a solar day has me wondering, in my non-mathematical way, what happens to those four minutes. Somehow, star time must make up for those lost minutes in magic or mystery or simply radiance of the moment.
With all this in mind, I went downstairs to get ready to feed horses and donkey. I'd just read Victoria's Teachings of the Horse post about her zen horse Silk, and had commented that my two older horses, Keil Bay and Salina, sometimes meditate in the sun as well, noting that they do it in the morning after feed/hay, and often again in the afternoon, at two different spots in the field.
As I walked into the bedroom, I was stunned to see through the open mini-blinds, Keil Bay, Salina, and Cody lined up three abreast, gazing over the house into the morning sunlight, totally still, entranced. Rafer was lying flat out asleep beside Salina, and Apache Moon was standing similarly entranced in the copse of trees behind the horses.
I've never seen such a thing, their lining up like that, much like Muslims praying to Mecca, but praising instead the morning sun after a chilly night. I stopped and stood in the bedroom, trying to figure out how to get my camera without disrupting the scene. In the next second I knew this was one of those scenes that would never make it to a photograph. It lives only in the moment.
I stood and breathed. And then without even thinking what I was doing, whispered "Keil Bay."
He came out of the trance, shook his head, pricked his ears toward the window (there is no way he could have seen me) and then did his Yoga Bay deep bow in my direction.
This little scene lasted just about four minutes. We're following star time on November Hill today.
With all this in mind, I went downstairs to get ready to feed horses and donkey. I'd just read Victoria's Teachings of the Horse post about her zen horse Silk, and had commented that my two older horses, Keil Bay and Salina, sometimes meditate in the sun as well, noting that they do it in the morning after feed/hay, and often again in the afternoon, at two different spots in the field.
As I walked into the bedroom, I was stunned to see through the open mini-blinds, Keil Bay, Salina, and Cody lined up three abreast, gazing over the house into the morning sunlight, totally still, entranced. Rafer was lying flat out asleep beside Salina, and Apache Moon was standing similarly entranced in the copse of trees behind the horses.
I've never seen such a thing, their lining up like that, much like Muslims praying to Mecca, but praising instead the morning sun after a chilly night. I stopped and stood in the bedroom, trying to figure out how to get my camera without disrupting the scene. In the next second I knew this was one of those scenes that would never make it to a photograph. It lives only in the moment.
I stood and breathed. And then without even thinking what I was doing, whispered "Keil Bay."
He came out of the trance, shook his head, pricked his ears toward the window (there is no way he could have seen me) and then did his Yoga Bay deep bow in my direction.
This little scene lasted just about four minutes. We're following star time on November Hill today.
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