Seymour’s Fat Lady

It’s excruciating for Capricorns to realize that life does not revolve around work, that work is not the panacea. I’m getting that lesson big time right now because I’m knocking myself out looking for work, and precious little of it is forthcoming.

I remember distinctly sitting in the audience for a performance of “Trumbo,” and thinking to myself that it would be great to have to depend on my writing to earn money, that I’d love to have such conviction in my work that I’d sit down, as Trumbo did, and knock out some juicy works rather than stoop to taking a job, say, as a dog walker. Trumbo was blackballed in Hollywood and he still managed to write award-winning plays under a pseudonym and earn money for his family.

What I didn’t reckon on is how flipping irritating it is to send out pitch after pitch of story ideas and to hear nothing back, so that I spend hours every morning running after editors who, ultimately, don’t want my stories anyway.

Bleh.

On the plus side, I am hugely enjoying the season of fall and getting to know Brooklyn. I am grateful for my health and my loved ones, and that Foodtown has tortellini on sale.

I’ve had a beautiful day, full of grace, despite hearing that one of my sisters is falling apart due to alcoholism. I spent the morning researching intervention services so that my family can confront her and get her the treatment she needs. 

Then I spent the afternoon walking around Park Slope. A gorgeous, brisk, sunny day, during which I found the newest David Sedaris book in the library and got a store credit for Beacon’s Closet since I dropped stuff off there to trade. Now another shopping day at Beacon’s Closet is in the offing–some day when it isn’t so crowded in there. I get claustrophbic in that store if there are more than three people in it.

One of my pen pals sent me a gift certificate to Lush. Hooray! Although I am allergic to much of their stuff, the bath bombs are still okay for me–and now I have a tub. Could life get any better?

I spoke to Lorraine on the phone today and set up a coffee date at Lonelyville, one of the only area coffee shops whose coffee I haven’t sampled yet. I am so excited to be living near so many of my girlfriends!

Also spoke to Kenwyn, who sent me info about a psychic hygiene class she’s taking. This is the only area that antidepressants really don’t cover, and it’s crucial for anyone who’s as sensitive as I am. I must learn how to ground and shield myself from negativity, psychic vampires, etc.

I’ve felt extremely guided all day, just peaceful and grateful that my health is holding and I can enjoy one of my favorite seasons, fall. 

I’m teaching tonight and then will have a day off with Rod tomorrow so we can putter around the apartment and make it lovely and clutter free.

This American Life the TV show, season one, arrived from Netflix today. Awesome. It’s one of my favorite radio shows, and I am going to have a piece broadcast on there one day people, wait and see!

Starting to understand why I pulled the six of cups today, a card that is about cherishing simple pleasures and lifting your heart in gladness.

I’m so glad I took a walk to Prospect Park with Tomara and got to see the drum circle! I gave away my bongos a few years ago, but I still have finger cymbals, and I’m going to bring them with me next Sunday.

The drum circle takes place in Drummer’s Grove, and there in the circle of trees listening to the drums, I felt the energy rising through my limbs, filling me up, and percolating in the crown of my head. A tiny white spider launched a web from a nearby tree and nearly pinged me in the eye; she dropped onto my eyeglasses. How’s that for a pagan symbol–grandmother spider in my eye. Wake up. Arise. Open your eyes.

I am a pagan, after all. How can there be a celebration without drums? Don’t all of us crave that sensation of being swaddled in the great mother, her heart drumming above us, through us? Listening to the drums, I had an almost unprecedented rush of respect for my mother, who carried me.

We had a cup of coffee at the Tea Lounge in Park Slope, and then I walked home along Seventh Avenue. I popped into Jack Rabbit, a sports equipment store, and actually saw a selection of Enell sports bras. Huzzah! Now I won’t have to order them off the Internet.

I’m kicking it old school tonight for dinner: Cheese ravioli in a red sauce, salad, garlic bread. As I sat in church this morning and the old melodies washed over me, I saw two little girls horsing around together and was reminded of me and my sister Jennifer as we sat in church. Today for the first time in a long time I am bursting with words; my soul has cracked open, half because it’s fall and half because my body remembers these streets. I am not haunted anymore. I am standing still and allowing the spirits to inhabit me.

As I sat in church, which was the high Mass in which much of the liturgy is sung, I thought: For me, there can be no God without percussion.

I am pining to attend a Vodou rite, or at the very least a Haitian dance class.

Change of plans. I might have to check out the drum circle in Prospect Park today instead of milling around the Brooklyn Flea. This marvelous sun and air absolutely demands motion and exhilaration.

I’m spending a lovely weekend at home in the new place, getting to know Brooklyn. There are so many events happening that I can’t possibly choose which ones to attend! I’m a little sorry that I said I’d go to the Village Halloween Parade, now that I see how many Halloween events are happening in my own borough. I do want to go to a haunted house or two. There’s a Haunted Inn in Gravesend that looks great.

Yesterday as I waited around for the Verizon guy to come hook up the phone, I read through the latest Village Voice and was delighted to find that many of the best eats of 2008 are near us. One bangladeshi place, Jhinuk, is on McDonald Ave and is a two-minute walk from our place. One of the recommended delicacies of this restaurant is curried mashed potatoes and peas with a huge dollop of mustard oil. That’s what I’m talking about. I’m a whore for curry and am so happy to be smack in the middle of many Bangladeshi/Pakistani restaurants.

It has been a weekend of simple pleasures like warm towels fresh from the dryer, a comforting mac and cheese and tuna casserole baking in the oven, the sunlight glinting on our living room walls, which are painted a warm sienna and look like fire when the sun hits.

If I can take my ravening ambition out of the equation, I find that life doesn’t get any better than this: A partner I love like breath. A home of our own. Crisp fall days, spangled air laced with the smell of cardamom. Taking care of the home fires while Rod’s at work.

I read Christopher Moore’s vampire novel _You Suck_. I want to like his prose more than I actually do; it seems a little too arch to be truly funny. For more brain candy, I got the latest Ian Rankin Rebus mystery for today.

After church this afternoon I’m going to find the Brooklyn Flea and see what it’s all about.

I am addicted to the Internet and to e-mail, which means that when we don’t have phone service in the new apartment we also don’t have the DSL line and therefore no Internet which means I’m wearing out the sidewalk between the apartment and the public library and waiting my turn for library computers with as much patience and good grace as I can manage (which is about a teaspoonful).

The move went much more smoothly than I thought it would, owing to Rod’s enlisting several strapping young men to help with the heavy stuff. We are still stepping around boxes and we have minimal furniture, but I cooked my first meal in the apartment the other night after dreaming about an excruciatingly specific dish of red beans and rice that I was craving.

I read Elizabeth Gilbert’s _Eat Pray Love_ and was surprised at how much I enjoyed it; it was compulsively readable. I admire her ability to convey deep and subjective truths in such a breezy, conversational, yet still profound way. I found her writing voice to be entirely likable. Think of how often that happens in a spiritual memoir. Yesterday was St. Teresa of Avila’s feast day, and I admire her although I have never wanted to read her biography after hearing some of the pithy sayings for which she’s known.

Right now I’m reading Malcolm Gladwell’s _Blink_, which I tried to read several months ago and didn’t have the head space to finish. I’m finding my powers of concentration equal to the task this time and am enjoying the book immensely, mainly because it explains some of my psychic ability. Turns out, listening to my animal instincts is not extrasensory at all. All of us can do it, and we do it much more often than anyone realized.

I’ve gone to a few church services at Immaculate Heart of Mary, a beautiful Catholic cathedral in Windsor Terrace. I’m happy to report that the celebrants have been entirely joyous; not a whiff of fire and brimstone anywhere. It’s freaking me out a little bit that all the lectors and cantors sound like my father, who grew up in Bay Ridge. 

My choosing Brooklyn as my home is a wholehearted embrace of my dad’s side of the family. My mother grew up in Queens, and I refused even to consider Queens when we were looking for an apartment. Brooklyn feels like my ancestral homeland.

Still haven’t heard back from any of the plummy jobs for which I applied, and the waiting is making me more than slightly crazy.

I’m much calmer now that we’ve closed on the apartment. It’s done now, for better or for worse, and the next task is just to move all our possessions into it.

My life could not be more up in the air. I’m marginally employed, and I’m moving. I’ve applied for several jobs and have interviewed for two, about which I’m still waiting to hear. One is a part-time job and one is full time.

I keep dreaming of dogs, and one of the things Rod and I want to do soon is get a puppy. My job situation will determine whether we can get a dog. Right now I have the time to train a puppy but not the money to support one. If I get a full-time job, I’ll have the cash but not the time, and we might have to either get a dog walker or put the dog in puppy daycare.

One solution to this could be me taking a part-time job in Brooklyn as a dog walker. That way, I’d be earning money close to home and could also care for my own puppy.

So, as I say, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I know what I want: a nourishing, stimulating, financially remunerative job. A wonderful marriage. A close circle of friends and family. Access to organic vegetables. A spiritual community. An artistic outlet (or three). A little avatar of love, also called a puppy.

Yesterday we went to the apartment for our final walk through and found everything in order. We met one of the current owners, an Italian man with big brown eyes and a lovely, generous demeanor. He’s a man after Rod’s own heart, who has kept the manuals to all the appliances in the apartment, and who has an extra filter for the air conditioner. We liked him so much that we’re considering getting the current owners a little gift as a thank-you for how nice a job they’ve done in getting the place ready for us.

Today we’re closing. We’re going to the lawyer’s office to sign about 100 papers, and I’m freaking out. It’s more money than I’ve ever signed my name to, and I’m panicking. Rod is absolutely radiant and bounded out of bed this morning with a gigantic grin on his face, and his happiness is ballast for me.

Rod and I have been using a toothpaste I concocted from this recipe I found online:

9 TBSN baking soda
* 1 1/2 tsp salt
* 6 oz glycerin 
* 1/4 tsp tea tree oil
* 1/4 tsp peppermint oil
* Mix well.

I halved the recipe and it has lasted us for about a month.

You have to be careful not to brush your teeth too hard, because the baking soda can damage the enamel on your teeth. Other than that, and the fact that this doesn’t contain fluoride, you might want to consider giving this a try. It gets my teeth cleaner than commercial toothpaste and I think they’re whiter, too.