My poor neglected blog. My writing about my fascination with the wonders of astrology has taken a back seat in the past month. The writing I have done has involved finishing up my latest play, an accomplishment in itself, though I'm the one to say so. Before I left New York to come out to Silver I was fortunate enough to hear it read, which confirmed my opinion that Act II needs work and since I've been in Silver I've been tackling that, when I'm not huddled by the fire wrapped in a blanket, that is. Sunday, May 2, we had a snowfall. April 29, the beginning of the Tour of the Gila bike race, we had 60 mph winds. Friday I don't think the temperature got above 55, and yesterday it might have made it to 60. Today - whoopee - it might get to 69 and I might be able to start some of the clean up the "garden" needs. Maybe not.
This is all back-story (sorry) to Sunday, April 26, the only beautiful warm day since I got here on the 18th. For the first few days I was here I had absolutely no energy, and was beginning to think that it was because I was 65 when I remembered the altitude - 6,000 feet and not quite as much oxygen in the air as in New York. That made me feel better, but the weather was still horrible, too cold to go outside and work. That Saturday was better and Sunday was wonderful - blue sky, sunny, over 80. The plan was to go into town, get some grub for my neighbor who was coming over for a beer at six, and spend the afternoon outside weeding, cutting back the vinca, sweeping up the pine needles etc. etc., until five when I'd take a shower and get ready for a visitor.
Saturn conjuncted Chiron exactly at 9:53 in the morning that Sunday. The title given to that aspect by Astrodienst is "Don't Give In." With an inexcusable lack of punctuality, the universe waited four whole hours before kicking in. Just as I was about to drive into town, the phone ran and there was my neighbor who was coming for a beer later.
Me: Are we on for tonight?
Him: Well, I have an invitation you can't refuse.
Me (thinking we are invited out for dinner): Oh?
Him: I know how much you love choral music and this afternoon the Silver City Chamber Music Society is giving a concert in the Episcopal Church at three. I'm inviting you to come with me.
Me (speechless, thinking of having been inside in a New York City apartment for six months, how much I was looking forward to scrabbling around in the dirt for the first time
this year, what an idiot I was to have thought I could have survived Saturn to Chiron unscathed and wondering how I could possibly refuse): Uh -
Him: I'll pick you up about 2:30, that should be enough time.
Me (truthfully): But I don't have anything to wear.
Him: You'll find something, I know.
Me: Uh -
Him: See you then.
I have now experienced what it feels like to have one's senses reel. For the rest of the day - on my way into town, shopping, on my way back, taking a skirt out of the laundry and sniffing it, showering, dressing, back into town with my neighbor, sitting in the church, back here having a beer, trying to read when my neighbor had left - I felt - well, I felt as though my senses were reeling. Of course I couldn't say no to him. He's elderly, his friends are dying off, he just donated his beloved mare to a breeding program as he feels his bones are getting too brittle to risk riding so now he has nothing to do on Sundays, he's turning to the church - I had to give in. It was Saturn.
Once a boy lived with a girl in a more-often-than-not coldwater railroad flat on 92 and 1st.
ReplyDeleteThe girl tried to turn the boy into Paul McCartney, but he could get as far as Ringo Starr. Or maybe only Jerry Lee Lewis.
Then they disappeared from each other for years. The girl wrote plays, and the boy wound up in Spain, where he acted in a couple of spaghetti westerns, translated Henry Miller into Spanish, , and eventually found himself working for Spanish film producer Emiliano Piedra in the years of Carlos Saura’s flamenco trilogy, Blood Wedding, Carmen, and Love, the Magician.
The girl, presumably, had dreamed about picking up the pen and putting down words on paper, but she never had shared those dreams with the boy.
The girl went on to write plays, and the boy only translated the plays of García Lorca for New Directions and City Lights Books.
The girl moved to New Mexico, while the boy only dreamed of retiring one day to Socorro, New Mexico.
One day many years later the boy awoke with her name on his lips. He wondered why, but then he realized it was a Saturday, and Picasso’s birthday to boot, so he began a search for her.
Strange, the boy thought, how things shake out in life.
The girl would have to speak for herself…
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ReplyDeleteAnd the girl would be more than happy to, but not on here.
ReplyDeleteI saw your post when I got in late yesterday, and found myself too tired to write. But yes you were right about it being C. You can contact me at cackhenley1910@yahoo.com, and I will send you my personal email.
ReplyDeleteThe girl wonders if the boy has checked his spam folder or if he's planning to disappear for the next 45 years. She sincerely hopes not, as the chances of her (and his) being around in 2055 are minimal, barring extraordinary breakthroughs in medical science. The girl also hopes the boy understands that this is a public forum - well, not THAT public as it has about three followers - and that she is attempting to disguise her emotion with *humor*.
ReplyDeletewell, at least one of the three followers is enthusiastically waiting to know what happens; since both boy and girl are lovers of literature, please don't leave this reader wondering where the tale goes from here: surely you understand!
ReplyDelete