Tuesday, December 1, 2009


I awakened a bit late and still tired. I dreamed too much and was busy with at least two projects. Ann and Roberto were building something out of wood so I was trying to help. But Roberto rejected the wood I brought and Ann kept changing the plan. I didn't know what was going on and no one spoke at all so I left. Then I was at a pow-wow. It was absolutely silent. No drums, no bells, no songs but the dance went on. I noticed an older woman in a yellow dress. She wore dark blue leggings and carried a dark brown shawl. I knew she was a first time dancer so I decided to help her coordinate her outfit. Soon I was going through fabric and found a piece of gold for her leggings and a light bright turquoise for her shawl. She redressed and went on dancing but she was not happy. I asked myself why I'd replaced the leggings and the shawl. "It was easier than making a new dress," I said. "Well," I replied, "the dress was the problem. You know yellow is the kind of color that can make some women quite unhappy." Then I opened my eyes, heard Ann in the kitchen and got up to journal.
"The rich fabric of family and friends holds me safe and grateful" during difficult times. Martha Whitmore Hickman. What do I fashion from the fabric love provides for my life? Louisa May Alcott said, "...time and suffering strengthened and clarified (her) mixture of truth and fancy" until it all flowed together in pleasure and profit. So at 50 she would look back and find "her dream beautifully realized, her duty done, her reward far greater than she deserved."
Willa Cather wrote, "The longer I stayed in a country (AZ and NM) I really did care about, and among people who were part of the country, the more more unnecessary and superficial" some stories seemed to be. She was was there for six months and did not write at all but she "recovered from the conventional editorial point of view." When she returned to Pittsburgh she began a new book, "where everything was spontaneous and took its own place, right or wrong." She was writing "O Pioneers". It was placed in Nebraska and peopled by farmers.
Karen Schulz came for supper last night. It was good to see her again. She's a lovely person. Deeply caring, kind and gentle.
By 10AM today I had returned from a 10-block walk, sat on the bench outside to rest and saw an elder man coming up the street pushing a bicycle and pulling two carts. The front cart was heaped with black plastic bags. "Good morning," I chirped. He frowned in my direction but said nothing until he had passed me. Then he turned and said "Hi". I waved my mitten and he went a few mores steps before turning to say, " It's a beautiful day." "Yes, it is," I agreed raising my voice a bit so it would reach his advancing ears. After several more long steps he turned to me again and said"... for Dec 1st." "It certainly is," I shouted and we laughed together. Then he mounted his bike and pedaled off to make his life from the fabric of recycled cans.

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