conversation & obligation

December 27, 2006 at 9:38 pm (writing)

I could never live in a small town.  I don’t like being accosted by strangers, even friendly ones.  Give me the impersonal any day.  I sat down in a cafe to have breakfast.  The only vacant seat was at a table for four occupied by two.  I looked at the older woman.

“Is it ok if I sit here?”

“Yes, we are leaving shortly, anyway.”

I sit, pressed up against the wall leaving a buffer (or is that a barrier) of space between myself and the woman.

“Do you live in the area or are you just visiting?”

“Just visiting friends.  It’s lovely here.  It’s my first time.”

The woman looked pleased.  “Yes, it is lovely.”

“Are you a local?”

“Yes, we live over there.”  She waved her hand in a direction I didn’t pay much attention to.

Conversation faltered at this point and they finished their coffee and left.  i felt mildly put out that they didn’t say goodbye.  

I resent this.  Conversation builds relationship and with relationship comes obligation and social mores.

I got a phone call from a woman I had met through work 2 or 3 times, total.  We had spoken on the phone and I had given her a small tarot reading once.  I texted her back and said that I was out of town and that I would call her back when I had better reception.

A few hours later my phone beeped with a text message but I ignored it in favour of the last half hour of an episode of  Midsomer Murders.  When I read it the next morning, it was a declaration of suicidal thoughts and feelings from this woman.  I felt somehow violated.  “Girl you don’t even know me!”  I have enough on my plate with my own problems and those of people I am close to, I don’t need yours too.  I texted her back sympathetically and she called, but I couldn’t answer because reception was poor.  She said she was feeling better and headed to her doctor for a chat.

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rosewater and sugar

December 12, 2006 at 12:13 pm (beauty)

I gave my roommate a hand scrub.  Here is the recipe:

  • 2 tablespoons of sugar
  • a dash of rosewater
  • enough honey to make a paste

Mix them together and then firmly exfoliate the feet, hands or, if you make a lot, your entire body. 

For an extra treat when you do a mani/pedi, soak your freshly scrubbed bits in a bowl of milk for about five minutes.  Rinse well.

You won’t believe how soft your skin is. 


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the three fates

December 3, 2006 at 10:56 pm (writing)

A piece of young adult fiction that started out as a vision in a guided meditation.  Let me know what you think!

Heather walked quickly through a pristine forest glade.  It was night and cold and the dew crunched like glass under her feet.  She shivered under her red cloak and drew it closer as she hastened her pace.   There wasn’t much time left.   She had to be back before the Moon began to set.

The path ran downwards now and the way began to narrow.  The wide, worm path strewn with pine needles and autumn leaves gave way to a winding stone stairway.  Dirt and moss covered each step and she left footprints in her wake.  Almost running now, the red cloak billowed out behind her as took the stairs two at a time.  Ancient trees blocked out the light of the Scorpion Moon and their gnarled roots ate into the stairway.  

A soft whirring came from behind the trees ahead and she broke into a run.  Pushing branches out of the way she burst into the clearing and stumbled over a rock, her long dark hair falling across her face.  The whirring stopped and she looked up.  Three women looked back at her.

One was seated at a spinning wheel and the other two stood to either side just behind her, the shadows cloaking them.  They wore long dresses and robes of dark woven fabric.  Heather couldn’t see their faces clearly but she knew who they were.  The Norms, or the Three Fates, the Sisters who spin, weave and cut the threads of everyone’s fate on their spinning wheel. 

Heather had travelled through the night to find them. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew 3 skeins of silk thread – red, black and white – and placed them as close to the spinning wheel as she dared.

They spoke in unison and the sound was like water rushing through a subterranean stream. 

“What do you ask of us, you who have travelled of the path of the Scorpion Moon.”

“Please would you make me a map of my life?”

The sisters nodded and the wheel spun into life.  Moments later, the tallest of the sisters stepped forward.  Heather saw that she was a young, beautiful woman with porcelain skin. Her eyes had witnessed an eternity of sorrow and her smile held sadness. She handed Heather a linen cloth. 

The girl’s hands shook as she examined the cloth.  Beautifully embroidered, it looked like an antique map that might have the words ‘Beyond here be Dragons’ marking the edges of the known world. As she watched, colour continued to blossom on the map, tracking the years of her life. 

Heather’s delight froze as she realised that now, the map was almost completely coloured in.  She paniced as she thought of how far she had come and how far she to go and that she wasn’t ready to die.   Falling to her knees, despair turned to horror and a hot fear spiked her belly.

The Sister at the wheel, the oldest one, leaned forward and gave a sly wink.  “We can make it longer, you know.”

“Yes! I’m not ready!  Please let me stay longer!”  Tears ran down her face.      

The wheel whirred into life again and soon they handed her another map, this time a fine silken tapestry.  It came complete with a tiny flashing neon sign shaped like an arrow that said ‘You Are Here’. 

Who said the Gods don’t have a sense of humour!”  She closed her eyes and laughed, relieved. The map was less than half complete.

She was still laughing as she opened her eyes and found herself back in her bedroom.  The air was thick with incense and the Full Moon was visible through the windows.  No longer riding high in the night sky, but chased away by the golden dawn.

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