A Reprise

On occasion I like to sit outside at Starbucks and breathe the cigarette smoke because it makes me feel that I am at a fair. So much has changed for me lately inwardly and outwardly. I want to pause to take it in, but there doesn't seem to be time. All the things I want to try dart to the front and back of my mind on occasion and only their frequency gives me any clarity as to whether I should pursue that idea. I try to start with a blank slate each day, not wanting to carry over the previous day's ideas, which so quickly become baggage. So despite my endless searching I can't really say anything for sure until it is soundly felt. Today I have felt like Jane Eyre. A little older than the crowd, or perhaps born old. Desperately in need of a wardrobe update and a trip to the salon. This morning I looked at my black stockings and found them covered with cat hair. A dead giveaway of any introvert, not that I have anything to hide anymore.

  Last weekend I made the Herb Bread from Betty Crocker’s classic cookbook. The main differences were using milk instead of water and a copious quantity of herbs to season the bread. Despite a shorter rising time, it became gigantic in the oven, making for very large sandwiches.   I also made ginger cookies throughout the last couple of weeks with some dough I kept in the refrigerator. I cut my last batch with larger cutters and frosted them. They were softer and much tastier.

  I wonder if it can really be true that I am not meant to know or be intimate with my Creator. That I will spend a lifetime wandering, eating, concerned with my own life, while my Creator’s face is never revealed to me. This morning I felt my Creator’s love. I felt it many times over this week. It has been a difficult week as I have struggled with depression, and I have had certain breaks in luck, and I have caught myself and looked at those breaks and thought, I don’t know how I would have gotten through without this or that to light my path this day or that day. These things must be the work of some divine creator watching over me, but I don’t know how to connect with this creator. Internally I am wracked with frustration. I have studied religion. I have tried to pray. But it seems that this cup is not mine. I have no mind to understand my Creator, no matter what I read or how I try to communicate.

      Every day, it rains. A few weeks ago I couldn’t even remember the sound of rain. Now I can’t remember our land’s former aridity. Due to the rain our grass has sprouted and is a six-acre sea of blue-green through which Reginald swims. When I took these pictures I still considered him half-wild and was a little afraid to pet him. Hard to believe two weeks later he’s curled up on the couch with me. It didn’t take this cat long to get domesticated. We are still trying to make him live outside.

It was 1998. “I’m not… sure I… want to go to college. I mean, there’s nothing I really want to do-“ “You’re going to college.” I keep wondering. Will I really live my whole life through without being a barista? Could life really be so short? If I am useful to the machine at all, which I doubt, if there is anything at all I can do, I think it is make and serve coffee. For one thing, I excel at rapid customer service, multi-tasking, and operating machines. I doubt an espresso maker is much trickier than an HPLC – and just think, there wouldn’t be any columns or mobile phase. Just lovely water and coffee grounds. For another thing, I excel at friendly but not intimate discourse with complete strangers.

 

Somehow I always find it hard to believe summer will become winter, and winter will become summer. It's becoming fall now. It hasn't been truly hot since the heavy rainfall this weekend. I have been thinking about NaNoWriMo. I have never competed successfully two years in a row. Yet there's no reason for me to bow out now. I have the time, and I have the story. I've scarecely written ten pages of prose put together since my novel last November. I don't know what I'd do without this challenge to keep me going. And now I have one more NaNo Livejournal community to keep me going. Though I have cancelled all my other social accounts, I have become truly needful of Livejournal. The journals and communities are so well-aligned with my interests. A lot of costume and artful blogging and photography. I took some pictures of Marguerite yesterday. What a mess. Not only can I not remember how to take photos I can't remember how to edit them. My photos got noticeably be

“I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears. Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me.” Christina Rossetti Sunday morning our road was too waterlogged to allow us to get to church safely, and we had to turn back. We spent a busy day at home that seemed to last forever. I made bread and ironed and put up our laundered curtains, which now look fresh and new. Saturday night’s sleep was savory and deep. When I woke, my mind was rested, my heart at peace. Over breakfast I read the words of Christina Rossetti, the poem of which I quoted the first stanza above. I realized that I have not been the first person alive to suffer spiritually, to say the least, to suffer doubts because of what I experience in the world. Even the voice of logic in my mind for weeks has

What a man most wishes to hide, revise, and unsay, is precisely what literature is waiting and bleeding for. Jack Kerouac

Picture was taken by Nathan yesterday morning. When I arrived home this afternoon, Henry came down the stairs to greet me. I couldn't believe what I saw in his face -- simplicity, humanity, warmth. As I looked directly into his face and tried to shudder off the day I was thunderstruck by the fact that my cat is saner than many people I know, and I mean this sincerely. I don't have to hide any weakness from him that he will pounce on, I don't have to hold a boundary firmly in place with him. He is a self-contained peaceful being. As I met his gaze I felt really awkward, knowing at that moment he was more clear-headed than me. Henry has faults and weaknesses. He wants to attack Princess. He wants to eat the canary. He knows these impulses are wrong, and he works on them. We have seen him (and laughed at him) warring with himself. But this puts him miles above most human beings I have met right there. I know very few humans right now who are visibly working on themselves. Most

The barista swept the dishes, napkins and crumbs from the table in a graceful gesture. Cassandra watched him, peering over her cup of masala coffee. The note of cardamom was strong, slightly bitter. She concentrated on it rather than on her unsteady nerves. "Everything all right?" "I think so." She took a deep breath. "I hope I get this job." He smiled understandingly. Cassandra looked at him appraisingly. There was something about his smile remarkably un-stunning. Perhaps he was a human after all. She didn't know why, but it gave her a slight relief. Humans were complicated enough in their own way. "Why did Dr. Thorn interview you here, rather than at the lab?" Cassandra was crestfallen as she realized she had been trying to avoid asking herself that question. Perhaps Dr. Thorn hadn't had an official reason to turn down the interview and had gone through something hurried and informal out of obligation. Then she reminded herself of the d

I am wracked with confusion. Though nothing in my outer world has changed unexpectedly, my inner landscape is a wasteland, devastated by some war of which I was not even aware. I knew when we moved to our new home that I would embrace a new life, and I had the sense that I would embrace my inner longings for a new religion. I didn't anticipate the way everything would get all torn apart though. I am torn between loyalty to a comfortable and repressive faith that would more deeply connect me to others, and a faith that promises to dishevel my life with controversy, isolate me from others and color me with stereotypes. It is a matter of how I can bear to live. Can I bear living with an inherited faith, fighting down my own convictions, for the rest of my life? Can I bear becoming even more isolated from the rest of the world, my own family, perhaps even my husband, even being stigmatized? I do not want to abandon the personal faith I have felt as a Christian, the world understanding

I spent the rest of the evening cleaning the bathroom closet -- I am putting my sewing stuff here. As vast as the closet is, it is now completely full of my stuff. I spent the twilight hours ironing in the kitchen. That is one of my favorite things to do now. I really enjoy the dishes, but ironing is better. I saw Reginald outside across the yard once it was dark. He was lying as usual in that strange uninhibited way of his, as though every inch of this property is his sofa.

Yesterday was a lonely day but a productive day. I hit the ground running after work, took on crickets, beetles, spiders -- still troubling over the ethics of vacuuming up something alive? cruel? -- and while I worked I heard a strange rattling sound outside. I stared out the window transfixed. The very last thing on my mind was rain -- it hasn't rained in so long I actually forgot that it happened -- and I stepped out into my first rain in our new home. I went out to the covered shed, which is my favorite outdoor place, but the rain became so intense that the sound on the tin roof was deafening.

The same feeling of protection always comes over me when we are in the pine woods again.

My heart is burning as I imagine being home. I don’t know its nooks and crannies, I really don’t know its noises in the middle of the night – but I will. There’s an old bird’s nest I salvaged from the hedge I desperately want to cut down. I have been keeping it in the shed for a month now waiting for picture time. It’s made with scraps of plastic, styrofoam and string – an amazing feat. We hate ourselves for the trash we make – but I think that bird really appreciated its sturdy nest. I was awed. There’s a little cat who lives in the pasture and barn like a wild thing – wild but needy. We have named him Reginald. He’s small but huge – huge paws, huge head – white with gray and black mottling in places. We had glimpsed him but only at a distance. Like a little rabbit when our presence was revealed to him he fled. However our first night he came into the backyard and sat, crying to us through the kitchen window. When we went out to him he fled, but we left him food and water. Later w

Looks like we're all set for a wedding.

I wonder where they lead.

My favorite stop between Ft. Worth and Metairie. This time I got fish n' chips. It was great!

I bet you thought I died! It's been a busy week, let me tell you. Henry and I are enjoying the front view with freshly-brewed mint tea, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and vitamins. I am exhausted, but I am coming to life again. I can feel the stirrings. I am emerging from my silent, thick-walled room of contemplation to begin sharing what I have felt in my inward sojourn. I thought my spiritual questions were just a lark, an outpouring of anxiety and stress in the midst of this life change, that they would be forgotten, my little journal abandoned or repurposed in a while. However as soon as I find myself with inner space to think I find myself returning to my spiritual studies.

  Nathan made this delicious dish, pureed and spiced chicken fried in mustard oil with green peppers. It was very good and spicy. We had it at about 10:30 on Saturday night. So much fun. The chicken is supposed to “blossom” when it fries. You can sort of see it cracking open.

I'm reading Twilight with all the satisfaction of devouring pie with whipped cream on top, and I have a strange desire to pick up the Harry Potter series next. Life is too short not to follow my heart. Whenever I realize what I should do I become filled with this remorse that I wasn't doing it sooner. I regret that I didn't have the desire sooner. I can't do what I do without the desire. Today I started Twilight, and today was the first day of a whole week in which I am totally convinced that whatever I have been doing spiritually for the past several years has been empty and suffering. I'm going to follow my heart now. I'm going my own way. When my life is at an end, there won't be anyone around me to criticize me. I won't have to face accusing eyes or listen to tiresome arguments. When life is at an end, there will be only me, and I thought this morning, life is too short not to pursue what has been burning in my heart since I read a literary criticism

I believe that religion/spirituality is different for each person. I believe that it is hard. I also believe, after studying various religions and their timelines that it is blatantly obvious religion evolves, and what I have been reaching toward is what I see society reaching more and more toward. I don't think I can accept the religious beliefs of anyone else any more than I can wear their clothes. But it isn't something I can pick out myself. It's something that's already within me. Time and again I have found names of beliefs or philosophies and discovered that I practiced those myself, albeit crudely, and a more expansive account of the belief helped me. Then there have been things I have researched only to find they fit me as badly as someone else's shoes. My faith is my faith alone. Christianity blanketed what are now known as the Old Ways. Yes, I have felt called to the Old Ways and have researched them for a while. What I can't help but feel is that the

I was amazed by these switch plates. They are everything I want in a switch plate. I want them in the music room and parlor. Their golden tones will offset the warmth of the floor and contrast with the wall color I have chosen "Spanish Bluebell." Other rooms will have subtle switch plates, but I actually want to replace everything, including the telephone jacks, which we won't use, because the plastic is so old they have yellowed and become dingy. This weekend I weeded one front bed but didn't dig up the bulbs. I think they are amaryllis because I saw amaryllis blooms earlier this year. They need to be thinned out and replanted elsewhere because they have migrated randomly and are really on top of each other. For the front of the house I best like a color scheme of blue and yellow. The side yard will be white flowers, and an accent of red won't hurt. I also see them looking well near the gates. I still don't know where to plant a rose garden. There's no ob

My favorite outing in New Orleans was to The Kupcake Factory. It was a small, uncommercialized-type establishment with many different flavors from which to choose. We actually went for the gelato – mine was a mixture of cake batter and rosewater champagne. However I loved the sight of the cupcakes behind the case.  

  The thought of going out after work felt hollow, but I desired a treat so much. This is my new Folger’s Vanilla Biscotti coffee topped with cream whipped with powdered sugar. I once had a quantity of leftover heavy cream and so whipped it for our hot drinks. Once I tasted it I couldn’t go back to half-and-half or flavored creamers. Today on impulse I dumped a healthy quantity of powdered sugar while I was whipping. Mmmm… I’m so glad I didn’t go out for coffee after work but came home, did the right thing and put some laundry in, then this… We find it turns out better if you sing “You must whip it” while you whip your cream. In the shadows are my “thrift cookies,” my first cookie salvage recipe. I am definitely putting this one into my recipe journal. I made some chocolate chip cookies after we came home from vacation, still don’t know quite what went wrong there! The dough looked delicious, but they spread like wildfire all over the cookie sheet once baked and tasted… off. I

Saturday afternoon we drove out to the house to see how renovations are coming. The kitchen looked like this! I was so surprised to see all the flooring ripped up. It was formerly linoleum, apparently over a different linoleum, over plywood, over hardwood which had rotted in places, over these pine beams, and beneath these pine beams are air and dirt.   Later in the afternoon I met our floor person for the first time and he mixed a couple different stains for us. We are going with a medium tone to hide scarring and staining in the original flooring. Above is the sanded floor. It’s hard to believe the floorboards are sixty years old. Once they are sanded, they look like new, although when the floor person stained an old board and new one side by side it was easy to see the difference between them. Older boards take on a lot more stain than newer ones. Here’s our new carpet upstairs. Our style is “Harvest,” our color “Pebble.” I feel most comfortable in these upper rooms. I l

After finishing up at the house we went over and toured the local nursery, which grows plants particularly suited to the North Texas climate. I found a lot of inspiration there. I want to have a multitude of pepper plants for our vegetable plot. The side of the house near the kitchen is shady. I visualize that as a good place for a gothic/medieval garden, with blackberry vines, various herbs and spices and the more delicate, night-blooming plants. Everything I liked had either white or purple blooms. This is a Bella Lugosi hibiscus, which is definitely on my want list. There was also a butterball hibiscus which was appealing, as well as the candy lilies below. I would love to have a more Candyland-type garden to the side of the sewing room where I can derive inspiration for my clothes and doll styles. I am trying to keep my cotton candy-colored hydrangeas alive long enough to make it to the new place.   I would like to put the vegetable plot a little further away from the ho

At the top you can see a strip of paper. When the integrator has a total breakdown we have to enter that raw code in letter for letter. It goes something like else !$2.0;19; etc. We have to get every space and character exactly or it won't work.

This is a chromatogram. Coming off first is a phenylephrine peak. Do you see the hump or deposit at the end of the peak? That's bad. Using a different column on another system I was able to get them to separate but that HPLC isn't working correctly. These instruments are from 1992.

It's rare I have a chance to do a photolog from work. Let me tell you, I am so excited. Last month around this time I stressed and sickened over something, finished it off as best as I could, it was reviewed, but QA rejected it. Here I am again, less than 24 hours before another deadline given this product again, and don't think I haven't spent this last week burning the candle at both ends on several other little surprises. I don't mean to be dark, but I'm tempted to open the bottle and swallow all of the damn pills right now. Everyone was allowed to go home early due to all our hard work, but not me, because I am stuck with this terrible product which I've known from the beginning is just plain wrong. Why is it in quality control that when something is wrong with a product the analyst is made to suffer, and suffer, and suffer? Don't worry, I already know the answer to that one. But really, don't worry, because I have my own means of amusing myself. I f

Black knit - 3 tops, 2 long-sleeved, 1 tank top Blue pinstripe - 2 dresses for Fanny, one Victorian, one modern Yellow floral calico - napkins, apron for the dishwashing liquid Pink rose calico - napkins, other side of dishwashing liquid apron, Regency dress for Rose Snow White fabric - apron, placemats, tea towels. Blue striped knit - tank top, tea towels. Pink glitter fabric - wrap-around skirt, princess dress for Marguerite. Also remember - matching thread iron-on velcro all needed patterns lace: small tea-stained and yellow vintage Also - embroidering my tea towel curtains

Last night I dreamed so many things! I just remembered another one. I dreamed I made a life-size doll of cloth and stuffing using Venus Dodge's methods, articulating the fingers, and dressing her in Victorian/Southern belle clothing. It was so amazing I almost want to do it, especially if I could make a costume on a grand scale. Maybe I would do 2 or 3 feet tall instead of 5 or 6.

I thought this picture the inspector took for the front of our report was rather funny. It is my understanding now that a home inspection is meant to highlight every possible flaw about a home. I could not help but think that this picture is funny with respect to that. Our inspector did uncover a few sources of discomfort, possibly horror for us, that led to some stressful bartering. In the end, it was out of the hands of buyer and seller and then suddenly, placed right into our hands. At any case, our home looks nothing like this picture.

Here's the little table in one of the barns that the former owner made. As you can see, everything is very dusty. This place has been uninhabited for some time.

I am in the midst of this great void right now. I am so tired I may not know what I am talking about. In this void I am grasping at things. I can see that I am looking for some group like me, but everywhere I turn I cannot conform to another's thoughts. In this void it's as though there are three things left to me. Zen, Ecclesiastes, and Jesus. They are the only things/people in whom I can reside completely without becoming uncomfortable because I am not being myself. The first two are a cold and void-like space that chills me, and I remain skeptical about Jesus. People seem to like different things about him, for different reasons. I seem to love Jesus with the hippies, lying in the grass feeling the earth spin ??? and being like the lilies of the field. The natural Jesus maybe ??? Who am I? I started this journal, how many years ago, almost six now, because I couldn't see straight from stresses, because I was clinging to my creativity. Now... I just wish I could understan

Delphinia awoke to sunlight softly warming her blankets. For a moment her mind was untroubled till like lights all of the present issues in her life lit up. Her gaze lifted to the opposite wall of hard stone, reminding her of her presence in the Markgraf’s castle. Next to her bed in a saucer lay a sparkling ring, a diamond encircled by pearls and gold scrolling. It was a princess’s ring, a token of ideal love. Her gaze fell further to the breakfast tray her maid had brought, and on the tray was a small vase of velvet pink roses. A susurration across the room caught her attention. She saw Gervaise’s stooped form in the drifting light, laying out her clothing. “Gervaise? You brought me flowers?” “They were lying in a cluster at your door. I put them in some water for you.” “Oh.” Delphinia fingered the roses. A sick feeling washed over her as she realized all signs pointed to Christoph actually loving her. She sat up in the bed and slipped the ring onto her finger. As she swung around sh

So tired out, so hopeful, with little lilts of joy to touch me once in a while, so short on sleep, can't rest, can't sit down, can't think about anything except tabulating numbers and lining up everything I'm going to do in a streamlined way. I worked really hard yesterday to put together two crock pots for us tonight. After I work late I'm going to use my treat receipt and sit for a moment at Starbucks and work on Winter Light and writing. I am so tired I don't know if I miss it, but I'm sure I do.

It is about to rain. The sky is dark, the birds are flying low, and the air is heavy. I have ten more minutes before I have to return. I find I cannot sit in the building any more on my breaks. I have had such a deep need lately to have a boundary between myself and the building. What if we could all experience the sunshine of the spotless mind every day? Somehow life gets so complicated. I put my dressform in the small room I adore as my sewing room. It is just what I wanted. It is a sewing room. I am reading A Sicilian Romance by Ann Radcliffe. It is so good! I have actually not read her in my adult life. It's like I'm discovering her for the first time. The Mysteries of Udolpho was too immense for me in high school. Her discernment and discussion of human behavior is rapier-sharp. I have noticed how the Age of Reason authors focus on the nuances of behaviors and personalities that truly resonate down the centuries. I will come up with some quotes when I am on my PC. We can a

Here are the keys to our new home as of right now.

Guess where I am again? They have the treat receipt now. I take advantage of it pretty much every day. And I thought I was going to die. I worked an hour and a half late, but hunger pains kicked in at 2:00, so in reality I suffered for a whole two hours. I am sitting here having devoured my chonga bagel and feel so odd. My stomach isn't hungry now, but my head is reeling. I am trying to get in good shape so I can get good groceries after work. I'm afraid I won't get to the store before rush hour now. So, I had some more ideas today. It's hard because I'm always so tired after dinner, but I really want to put little boxes of food together for the fridge or freezer for our lunches, labeled, dated and I am picturing them tied with raffia too. That will be pretty, and the lids don't stay on because they're warped. My new crock pot recipes make huge quantities. That's not good for two people, but if you have a bigger piece of meat it takes longer, and I can s

The more I think about this, the more I keep laughing. I knew my Starbucks was special. Gosh, I love this place. This was taped over the word "slut" engraved in the side of the bathroom mirror. Hey, the tape was peeled halfway back. I wonder how many people had to look.

Loving angst Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all; But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. I feel no spring, while spring is well-nigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, My heart that breaketh for a little love. L.E.L., Christina Rossetti I have always loved angst, the brokenhearted, songs that sing about the abandoning lover with despair, spirit or whatever. I know Elton John feels the same way since I have heard "Sad Songs Say So Much." You can keep your Celine Dion. Give me darkly beautiful passion, betrayal, despair. I love this (excerpted) poem by Christina Rossetti. If I could scrape together the negative feelings I sometimes have and make something like that out of them I would be redeemed forever. "My heart is breaking for a little love," I have been dramatizing it whilst counting out my filters, taking kettle tem

I dreamt I set a sunflower, And red as blood it grew-- But such a sunflower never Bloomed beneath the sun.

  Every time we eat at a favorite restaurant, I ask myself, will this be the last time? When we move, we will be far away from these places. We have been going to King Chinese BBQ for at least five years now. It is my favorite Chinese restaurant. I have never eaten Chinese food quite like they do it here. It is not breaded or fried, but marinated with different flavors which are delectable. In addition to their huge menu selection, they have many different drinks, most of which I’ve had, I think. I don’t drink milk tea or jelly tea any more due to calorie concerns, so I had their soymilk last weekend, which was wonderful and grassy. Could it have been the last BBQ?

       

For Nathan’s birthday we went to Cafe Madrid in the Bishop Arts District in Dallas.   Our tapas selections were two different cheese platters, chorizo, quail, salmon and the Salvador Dali dessert (there were three of us). I love the atmosphere of Bishop Street and Oak Cliff in Dallas. It’s been a long time since we’ve been to Dallas. It’s really hard to believe I was once there every day. I love the older places in Dallas that have a sense of urban arts, like Oak Cliff and Deep Ellum. I don’t know what’s in Deep Ellum now. There’s really only one eating place where we still like to go ( Cafe Brazil ), but we never get there anymore, since we’ve lost touch with the Rasputina/Les Claypool concert days. When I start writing like this I get to feeling sad and rebellious. But whatever we do in the future, we’re going to do it our own way. I love our life, where we can express ourselves creatively, openly thwarting expectations, or whatever we think are expectations, of ot

  She fell asleep over her studies.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, Long while running, how short when run, Time to eternity has descended, Timeless eternity has begun.

My next story.

So when I dragged my withered body to the porch this evening to try to sew my curtains like a poor fool in a dungeon grasping at light after a twelve and half hour long work day, why did I hear a gunshot very, very close to me? Why do I have a feeling it's the guy that moved in shooting at something off his porch? Thanks for that, I hauled it inside immediately. God, what else, really?

- waking up to the sound of percolating coffee, thanks to my coffee pot's timer - picking up my freshly-ironed clothing from the dry cleaners' - a slim book of Christina Rossetti's poems in the armrest in my car - a breakthrough - the sound of cicadas on summer evenings - finding another bud on my rosebush - seeing a hawk - getting a new magazine in the mail - the bright light that covers the trees before sunset

  In an effort to reduce waste I have decided not to buy any more paper towels or napkins. I have a good-sized collection of vintage napkins which I brood over and iron regularly. I realized pretty quickly this weekend, however, that I’m going to have to make more napkins soon in order to make this work. That I do not mind at all, because that is within my skill-set, and there are some vintage-style calicos at Wal-mart now for very cheap. I can’t wait to make my shopping trip after work tomorrow. I have one cloth shopping bag and wish to make some of those myself as well.

  Nathan has been inventing and making his own contraptions frequently lately. Here, his thermometer-holder over the kettle of heating milk.