I’m always an early riser, but last night was a little too early, even for this worshiper of the wees. At one o’clock I woke straight out of a dream. I didn’t want to lose any of its details because it was a good one, so I grabbed my notebook, threw on my fluffy robe, and dragged myself out to the living room, where I scratched out what I could remember. After I pulled my nose up off the paper (it was kind of dark in there, with only a faint light to write by), I glanced over at the curtains. They were parted slightly in the middle, and though it was very dark outside, there was a kind of blue quality of light that drew me to my feet so I could look outside. As I walked over I wondered aloud if it had snowed… Horatio didn’t answer me, but my eyes sure did.
Late at night, while we were all asleep, it had DUMPED.
Snow, in the small hours before it’s been sullied by the flurry of human feet and car tires and scraping snow shovels, is utterly magical, especially when it lies under the light of a three-quarters moon. It was enchanting. I opened the sliding glass door, then the screen, and leaned out as far as I could without having to put my bare feet on the concrete patio. Horatio stood at attention beneath the folds of my robe, his ears perked as high as they could go. (He’s not an outside cat and has never run out, even when presented with the opportunity, whew.) It was cold, but we stood there and gazed for a good long time before I closed the door again.
A month or so ago, during another heavy snow, Scott and I took a midnight walk through the neighborhood, and it was absolutely gorgeous–so hushed and crisp, and I was bundled in enough layers that not even one tiny part of me got cold. But last night I wanted to enjoy the snow from the inside out, so I left the curtains open and snuggled up on the couch, finished one book and started another, had a cup of coffee with Scott when he woke, recorded and worked on my dream in my journal after he left for work, and then–suddenly–I couldn’t wait to get outside. I looked out at the lavender sky across the horizon and was a goner, and moreover, I noticed that there was a large ominous patch of blue sky way up above! I’d better hurry. So about seven-thirty I bundled up and headed out the door.
Walking down the street this morning, through snow that was in some places at least six inches deep, gave me a renewed appreciation for my son Jesse, who is in a wilderness leadership program in school and has spent a lot of time, lately, on mountain tops avoiding avalanches. It’s de rigueur for him and his classmates to hike 3-4 miles uphill, on telemark skis or snowshoes, wearing 80 lb packs. Ooh la la. I was the first person on the sidewalk this morning, trudging through unbroken snow (unless you count dogs and cats, evidenced by the array of paw prints trailing here and there, and I think we should count them, because they don’t even have boots, poor little things), and I’ll admit it was a little bit challenging. I’m wondering if my legs will be sore tomorrow? Nevertheless, it was lovely to be out there before anyone else, although slowly, slowly, cars began making their way along the roads, heading for wherever they needed to be.
Me, I came back home and ate hot minestrone soup for breakfast. With a thick layer of parmesan cheese melted on top. It looks as if the sun has beat a retreat for now because it’s started snowing again–big fat fluffy flakes of it–although I don’t know: every so often a tremendous wall of snow will shake free of the tree tops and cascade downward, so the sun is obviously up there doing its sneaky business. Whenever a wind comes up, the snow blowing from wherever it’s collected looks like a blizzard, only one that includes baseball-sized chunks, thunking against trees and the apartment walls and windows; there’s an ever-changing landscape right outside my back door, and some of it’s on the scary side!
I love the seasons. I’m looking forward to spring, but I’m happy that winter is still hanging on by the fingernails.
Today I’ll work on my sculptures. I have only a little bit left to do on the black madonna before I paint her, and I need to sand Rita and the Snake. I’ll go on an excursion this week to gather art supplies: cotton balls, a ruler, masking tape, tissue paper, joint compound, balloons (for boob molds, you can imagine why), a small electric sander, and other sundries, including old candle holders or wooden goblets, that sort of thing, for use as stands. The thing about a papier-mache sculpture, as opposed to, say, a clay one, is that almost every bit of it is made from what amounts to trash. Stuff that we usually throw away or toss in the recycle bin. It pleases me no end to create something lively and beautiful for virtually pennies. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. But then, I say that about every art medium I put my hand to. I just love making stuff.
Though I’m not a joiner (despite various sincere efforts in the past), I’m thinking of checking out membership in the Wy-East Artisans Guild. Not only do they offer workshops and seminars for minimal cost, featuring established and gifted teachers, they provide opportunities to show your work in galleries and fairs and open-air markets–lots of places. It might be fun to get a toe in, but then, I’m not sure if it’s something I really want. I’ve also been considering trying a new church, one that is Christian-based but at the same time very, very open-hearted and -minded, something that’s essential for me or I start growing fangs and horns. In other words, it’s the best option if I want to stay fairly close to home, and besides, I have nothing against Jesus or the Christ spirit, just the arbitrary aspects of the religion that grew up around them.
But again… not a joiner. I don’t need or desire a group. What I want from church is the collective energy that contributes to opening a channel to the spirit. I want the same from the Guild. The politics, I can do without. So I’m on the fence, but not worried about it. If I decide to join, I’ll join. If not, you’ll still find me happily assembling piles of trash at the dining room table.
Peace to all! xo