Shadows and Reflections

These have always fascinated me, because they are a door, a passageway to a more secret life, the other side--the stuff of dreams and the imagination.

The book that is your soul

A new book, or rather an old one that has been stored away in a bank vault in Switzerland, is soon to make its appearance in the public marketplace. It's Jung's Red Book. The review in the New York Times is long and fascinating, and is less a review than the story around the book itself and its publication.

I'm only halfway though the review and found this passage particularly interesting. It is an excerpt from something written by one of Jung's patients. It was Jung's advice to her for how to deal with some of the more frightening things that went on in the far recesses of her mind:

“I should advise you to put it all down as beautifully as you can — in some beautifully bound book,” Jung instructed. “It will seem as if you were making the visions banal — but then you need to do that — then you are freed from the power of them. . . . Then when these things are in some precious book you can go to the book & turn over the pages & for you it will be your church — your cathedral — the silent places of your spirit where you will find renewal. If anyone tells you that it is morbid or neurotic and you listen to them — then you will lose your soul — for in that book is your soul.”

Salad

Salads are great. The variations are probably as infinite as melodies. I derive all kinds of pleasures from creating and eating them—from the delight of seeing the wonderful mélange of colors of the ingredients to the actual dicing, chopping, slicing and what have you that go into their creation.

And let’s not forget the health factor. Fresh, organic ingredients—rich in vitamins and nutrients. Extra virgin olive oil--green liquid gold. Vinegars and mustards with taste variations as distinctive as fine wines. Each bite of salad is different from the one before, because it contains a different mix of ingredients, or in different proportions. So that in one bite—the tomato dominates. In another—it’s the tantalizing flavor of the mustard-rich dressing that coats a piece of cucumber.

And then there is the way salad looks and feels—with its variety of textures, shapes, and sizes. The way the flavors combine to create new ones, especially as you get near the bottom of the bowl with all those ingredients basking in the goodness of your salad dressing.

I particularly like salad bowls made of wood, because the swirls of the grain can be so beautiful. At the local Farmer’s Market I saw one once that had a turquoise inlaid in the wood. What joy to eat from a salad bowl like that. A work of art within one.

This salad is made from Romaine lettuce, green cabbage, Navy beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, garlic, and onion. For the dressing I used extra virgin olive oil, red wine vinegar, and apple cider vinegar, along with freshly ground black pepper, cayenne pepper, turmeric, cumin, and Dijon mustard. No salt. The bite from the peppers and the garlic and the vinegars give it all it needs. All this topped with a can of sardines and a generous squeeze of fresh lemon. Very Mediterranean. Very good for the heart. And let me tell you--deelicious!

Feline

I watched a TV show about domestic cats some time ago and remember being struck by something the narrator said--that part of our (human) fascination with 'domestic' cats is the idea of having something wild within our midst. . . The cat is unattainable in that way. Which makes her all the more fascinating.

This Is Not A Dress Rehearsal

A few weeks ago, I was shopping at Ross and came across a purple bag. Italian leather, silver chain. Chic as all get out. Not surprisingly, the price tag declared a rather alarming $149. Now when you consider that the original price was upwards of $250, this new price was quite a deal. But when you also consider that although I'm picking up some contract work these days, I am still without "the job"--this price made me start thinking all those things we think about when the price tag is daunting. "I don't really need it," being the most common and probably strongest of them all.

An elderly woman saw me looking at my reflection in the mirror, bag slung sexily over my shoulder. "That's a great bag for you. Definitely your color." I brightened. Here was a complete stranger who recognized the affinity I had with the bag.

"But it's so expensive," I replied, feeling somewhere around 16 years of age.

"If you like it, get it. This is not a dress rehearsal."

I nodded and smiled. I held the bag a little closer.

"Do you know what I mean by that?" I nodded again.

"I'm 81," she declared, and it's all downhill."

We both continued wading through the bags. She was toting a colorful striped bag, which she displayed proudly. "It's fun, don't you think?" I told her I did. She nodded and started heading off towards the next aisle.

"Remember what I told you," she said.

"I will," I promised.

"What is it? Say it."

"This is not a dress rehearsal."

She nodded approvingly and disappeared among the shoppers.

I've thought about that statement. It was especially meaningful for me, I think, because of my experience as an actress. Dress rehearsal was important, but never as important as the "actual performance" with an audience in attendance.

Yet how many times in my life had I lived through events, encounters with other people, or even my own soul-searching as if it weren't quite the "real thing," as if that were coming later.

The most difficult of all these was the terrible ordeal of my ex-husband's death. One of the haunts that continues to torment me is that on some level I didn't take his death as actually taking place. Perhaps it was my mechanism to cope with the whole thing, but somehow it seemed he was kidding--that he wasn't really wasting away to a fraction of himself, that he wasn't really disappearing each minute of the day.

The reality finally struck, of course, when I received the news that he had died. But even now, sometimes, it's difficult for me to believe that he isn't going to turn up somewhere--with one of his comic lines, telling me it was just a rehearsal, that for now he's still here. I wish that would be. But I know it's not the case. Another reason for grabbing every minute, every encounter, every opportunity that seems right. You never know about tomorrow. You barely know about today.

Acres of Lavender

A golden bush amidst a field of lavender at Matanzas Creek Winery outside of Santa Rosa, CA. God's country.

Sweater Girl

One way to keep her from shedding all over the furniture is to put her in a sweater!

Poetry

Poetry is the language of the soul, from that place where reason is not in power--where dreams, memories, sensations set the rules. For me, poetry is a way to express what I cannot otherwise, because everyday language as we know it isn't set up for it.


Silhouettes

Silhouettes
Of broken glass
Strewn about the floor
Remnants of our conversation
From ten years before

You dazzled me with romance
And told stories ‘til the dawn
But it wasn’t you there with me.
You were already gone.

Once I was a princess
In a far off foreign land
You traveled miles and miles
Through sleet and storm
Just to hold my hand.

But that was very long ago
Before the winds of time
Changed my tears to melodies
In the far reaches of your mind.

A hundred years from now
When we are old
Our dreams set out to sea
I’ll take your hand
And you’ll remember
The girl who wasn’t me.

Crying in the dust storm
Our tears falling in the rain
We’ll hold each other like children
‘Til we are whole again.

(appeared in Bewildering Stories)

Computer Literate

 

Tweet-Tweet

So after losing my job at a world-renowned entertainment technology firm recently (I worked there as a marketing writer for nearly four years), I joined the ranks of 'workers in transition' and began looking for ways to enhance my job-seeking skills. While signing up for unemployment insurance at the local EDD, a counselor told me about a group of professionals (white collar workers) who meet weekly to network, share insights, and benefit from the insights of an array of weekly speakers who focus on helping you find and get the job you want. This all sounded good, and I decided to attend.

As I was to learn, the first portion of each meeting is devoted to the elevator pitch. With 60 or more people in the room, this takes at least an hour. Each one of us stands up individually, faces the group, and communicates in a few sentences what we do and what type of job we're looking for.

It's interesting and often amusing to listen to the various types of elevator pitches--those that exude studied cleverness, phony enthusiasm, or glorified background and experience. But cynicism aside, most of the pitches are excellent and have inspired me to improve my own. The people with great elevator pitches share a set of characteristics. They have good posture and an open smile. They are obviously confident and relaxed. They manage to have eye contact with everyone in the room, and they manage to communicate, clearly and simply, exactly what it is they do and want. And perhaps more important than anything--you believe them.

Recently we had two speakers who discussed the wonders of social media and how we as job seekers could use it to our advantage. Now, obviously I have a blog. (As a good friend of mine says as part of her email signature, "I blog, therefore I am.") Well, until listening to these two speakers, I felt rather confident about my social media involvement. Besides having a personal blog, I'm on Facebook, LinkedIn, and have my own website, which includes an online portfolio. As a kicker, I created a blog devoted entirely to my movie reviews.

As I listened to the presentation, I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. For all my supposed Internet-savviness, I had apparently overlooked an essential--Twitter. I had heard of Twitter, of course. How could you not? And what I heard made me think it was utterly ridiculous. Do I really care if Stacey is having a latte at Starbucks while texting her boyfriend? No. I already resented the onslaught of idiotic 'updates' and group invitations from Facebook, so I really didn't want yet another distraction, not to mention time-zap.

But then they started talking about the network, in terms of the world-wide "web." And it made sense. Too much sense, actually. (Although I can't help but wonder what happened to the idea of privacy and seclusion, the idea of NOT sharing information about yourself to the world at large. Especially when you consider the prevalence of identity theft.)

I put these skepticisms aside, at least temporarily, and realized that to be 'aware' and ‘tapped in’ to this new society of social networking, I needed to use these networking tools in an entirely different way. No, I didn't care about Stacey having a cup of coffee and doubted if anyone cared if I was drinking tea. But what if I were to post a piece of valuable information on Twitter, say about job hunting, that linked to my blog? And what if interested job seekers started linking to it, even including a link to it in their own blogs, 'tweets' or whatever else? And what if potential employers searched for me and saw that I’m connected all over the place and that I supply fascinating links and information. . . This is precisely what the speakers were talking about. So I started getting excited about it. I suddenly saw the potential. I could be a part of this reinvented world wide web--talk about self-branding!

So now, yes, I'm on Twitter. And I chose a very cool background and have a unique and evocative Twitter name. And I'm writing tweets, and posting links, and being very networked in. And of course, I’m sure I could do even more.

But you know what? It still seems rather ridiculous. I feel coerced into a form a self-promotion that seems manipulative at best. I'm starting to long for those days depicted in old movies--when getting a job meant circling an ad in a newspaper, mailing a cover letter and resume, and waiting for a phone call inviting you to an interview. Doesn't that sound deliciously simple and straightforward? Maybe I'll mention that in my next 'tweet.'

perception

Things are as they are, but mostly because of the way we see them. The discoloration in the turquoise is something that appeared suddenly. It's not the way it was when first I received the bracelet. So, as far as I know, "It's not supposed to be there." But what if I were told that this is the naturally occurring discoloration in the turquoise and that its appearance adds to the beauty of the piece. Just as labels sometimes tell us such things as "the variances in shades in the fabric is due to the natural dyes used in its creation and are part of what gives the fabric its unique quality."

So it really is in the eye of the beholder, or more precisely--the mind. What we see is not completely what we see, but the collection of information that informs our perception.

am i as beautiful as i think i am?

Have you ever wondered if animals have any awareness of the way they appear to others? Small dogs are sometimes described as having the "Napoleon Complex" as an explanation for their occasional outrage when encountering larger dogs. Cats, known for their independence and apparent disregard for the rules and regulations of their households, seem to bask in their loveliness and aloofness. They call the shots after all. You get to pet them on their terms, not yours. When they've had enough, they let you know--sometimes with a bite, if you don't get the message soon enough. So, considering how self-absorbed these feline creatures that we so adore are, I doubt that the question, "Am I as beautiful as I think I am?" really enters their minds. It would be more likely, "I get more beautiful by the minute."