I will be honest with you. I have not been very faithful about bringing Dorothy Anne and Emily and Rosa out from where they sleep under my vanity on a comfortable feather-pillow bed lately. But some days, I feel the need to have them where I can see them more easily, where I feel as if they know they are loved, where they can get some light and have a different view of the world. I always arrange them so that they are cuddled together for safety and security.
Of course, it is my safety and security that I am seeking. What is it about these formerly forlorn baby dolls that help me when I am troubled or sad? It is no doubt me projecting my feelings of being forlorn into them and having them as my proxy, I can love on them and kiss them and thus, be kind to myself. Love that little child in me. As I always say, we are all of the ages we have within us. We are those feisty forty forty-year olds, and those scared kindergarteners. We are those children of the magical years when imagination and curiosity and the unfolding of knowledge begins. We are those horny teenagers. We are those new mothers. We are those babies and little children who perhaps did not get the safety and security that all children so desperately need and deserve. And along with all of these ages and stages, we keep within us all of the emotions and muscle memories and dreams and hopes and disappointments and sorrows and joys and victories and losses and accomplishments and confusions linked to them.
And so I bring out my broken but beautiful baby dolls and tell them they are loved, and that they are valuable to me and somehow, that helps.
Not sure what I'm going on about. It's been a Sunday. Just...a Sunday. A day that will not go down in history. A day where I did very little. Tried to stay cool. Made us our Sunday morning breakfast. Did the crossword. Watered the porch plants and some yard plants. Played around with the jigsaw puzzle I'm working on. Struggled a bit with the new library app on my phone. I had downloaded Barbara Kingsolver's newest book- "Demon Copperhead" on it and the app didn't seem to want to sync with my AirPods very well but things seem to be smoother now. I am truly enjoying the book. Kingsolver is one of those authors whom you can usually put your trust in. You begin the book and within a page, you know she is not going to steer you wrong. She will take care of her story, her characters, and thus, you. And yes, I can see the inspiration of Dickens' "David Copperfield" in it, as one would expect to find. One of my favorite books, by the way. I have read no reviews of "Demon" and will probably wait until I've finished it to do so. Sometimes reviews are helpful before you read the book but sometimes, you just don't want to be told what to think before you start reading.
I read a tiny bit of a review of Ann Patchett's newest novel- "Tom Lake" and thus I already know that she is channeling Chekov in it. I love Patchett's books too and look forward very much to reading her latest. Funny that two of my favorite authors have come out with new books inspired by classics. Or at least, flavored by them.
Good books are another antidote for sad times, for self-reflective times, for feeling-lost times. They are at once a distraction and a reminder that humans often feel deeply and that our relationships and our psyches are complex. The very worst times I've experienced in my life involving anxiety and depression have been times when reading became almost impossible. My mind could not take in another source of possible disturbance. And even then, I could resort to going back to old favorites that I've read so many times as to make them more of a security blanket than anything else. My McMurtry books, Keith Richards' memoir, mainly.
What works is what works and eventually, I was able to slide into different stories and that is when I would realize that healing was taking place.
I'm nowhere near that now, so I reckon I'm pretty okay.
Tonight's supper is going to be a leftover buffet. There is spaghetti and there are soybeans and there is last night's fish and salsa. I may make tacos out of that as I have tortillas. A strange combination of foods indeed and I recall a friend of mine who would often say when presented with one of my meals- "I do not believe I've ever eaten this combination of foods before."
Live dangerously. Live adventuresomely. Live on the edge. Eat spaghetti with fish tacos and damn the torpedos!
I have no idea what that means.