Up to my Eyeballs

Posted on 24 June 2007

I really don’t have time to write today as my parents arrive early afternoon and I’m up to my eyeballs in work and preparation for their stay and anniversary bash but I need to update at least once a week for me as well as my friends.

I have just read Marlene’s blog and I love how she speaks of soul and its importance – too easy to forget – and her signing off thought – “don’t forget to step into the garden of magical possibilities sometime soon!” This made me smile. I am reminded as my heart beats too quickly with too many chores uncompleted by my deadline that my soul needs time and my body needs food. I skipped dinner again last night (though I did serve myself some crackers and cheese) as I wanted to keep working on a big project and I had taken the morning off to visit with Vaughan and Wenda at our old sanctuary – The Grind. And then I drove over to my sister Bev’s and then met my other sister Madonna for a quick lunch and took a minute to buy some lavender and black-eyed Susans for the entrance walk to our house which reminds me that Rob cut the grass before he left for Toronto and left a bed of dandelions at one edge because “it looks pretty”. Though our aesthetics don’t always agree, I love how this man can make me see something, like a dandelion that I consider a nuisance, in another light.

I just spoke with my friend Kate in Germany. How I love her. She too is working on a novel. I have a tinge of envy that she, at 35 with a young family, is doing now what it has taken me years to consider a possibility – though really I don’t care that I am a late bloomer. I am more concerned with doing it, completing it.

I will just add a few unrelated notes on the past week as I must run…

My sister who was locked out of her house is being petitioned (is that the correct word?) for divorce and spousal support. How can an able bodied man, after two years of marriage, make such a demand? I am not being sexist. I would say the same thing if he were a she.

Photographic images have a strange power. A sister gave me her dying computer to burn her photograph files onto CDs as she’s afraid she’ll lose them. While doing this, I looked at hundreds of her family pictures and those of her – though her weight went from one extreme to the other – her body language didn’t change. She is sultry, sexy even, and beautiful whether she is too skinny or too fleshy. I mentioned this to her. An hour later she telephoned me to thank me, said that even though she had a cold, she looked at herself differently, took time over her toilette, put on large gypsy earrings, a lacey skirt, a lower-cut top than she had originally planned to wear.

Her call reminded me that I too am too critical of my physical appearance. What the hell. This is what I have been given and I should be more respectful. Reminded me of Woodman stroking her belly and praising it. So before I left the house, I looked in the mirror, smiled at myself, and on impulse, tied a silk scarf around my neck – made me feel very French.

I’m hungry. Must end here.

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