insapory
“The way to maintain one’s connection to the wild is to ask yourself what it is that you want. This is the sorting of the seed from the dirt.”
Dear Simone,
I've woken up to thundershowers. I felt the lightning flash before I saw it. I leave the long velvet curtains wide to let the light in. I prefer rising naturally with the sun. I feel its light every morning around 4am and stay supine until the birds begin to chat.
Today, there were no birds. Just the heavy patter of water on the tin roof and the crickets chirping from the trees. It's lessened now, the rain. The leaves are wide and thick, and water fills them as small cups. And the birds are out, prancing in the wet.
My dreams are back. I slept hard and my body feels sore- I was very active last night. I dreamt that I was preparing a meal for my sisters. I was cooking in a dark kitchen and all the windows were open. There was a great storm brewing outside. I watched the clouds puff and swirl and the wind broke the glass of the windows. There were plants on the sill in glass vials. Like I had back home, in Vancouver. Eucalyptus, wandering jew, and roses. The wind screamed, the flowers withdrew, and I had to move each jar away from the aperture. The eucalyptus didn't mind, nor did the roses. The wandering jew was a bit upset and I had to massage the leaves for a while until she calmed down.
For dinner, I prepared a pasta dish with red sauce and meatballs. I had placed grated cheese and basil in small ceramic bowls to add at the very end as a garnish. The cheese was a bit greasy and I rubbed the basil between a finger and thumb to scent my body with a freshness I didn't feel.
I felt bloated in my dream. It had to be the rain.
I was working in a charcoal apron and a white shirt. My movements were slow and considered, though, in my mind, it was chaos. I worried about my sisters and how they would like the meal. I am not a clear cook; my choices lack nuance in the kitchen.
My sisters sat squarely at the rectangular wooden table in the room down a long dark hallway. I'd lit the path with candles that I'd placed on end tables in each of the four corners. The four sides of the table were uneven with my empty seat. I wished the table were round to feel more concerted.
Alyson wore red. Amanda gold. Rebecca yellow. I stripped off that apron eventually and joined them in that white blouse. Before I could shuck my cooking attire, I placed an arugula salad with gouda, apple slices and walnuts on the table with a large pair of tongs. I'd also brought a deep bowl of purple figs.
I left the dining room and returned with water and red wine decanter. The table was laden with white dishware and gold cutlery. The glasses, one for water and one for wine, were empty save for the pastel linen napkins I'd folded neatly and stuffed into the more slender of the two glasses. The space was decorated sparingly, with rectangular portraits of dogs on the walls. The floor was wooden and a long rug with purple tassels was spread under the table. The rug was also cut with four acute angles.
I had said a blessing in the room and walked around it with burning incense. I pushed my prayers outwards and took small steps to let the sensations settle. I wanted the room to absorb the serenity I feigned. It was very windy when my sisters arrived, and Amanda said she had thought to wear a dress and then didn't.
Rebecca wanted it to rain- she found it very relaxing.
Alyson didn't say anything. She simply blinked-blinked-blinked and looked around the dark room.
When I joined my sisters with the main dish readied at the table, we sat together and held hands. It was very awkward, the table being as long and angular as it was. My hands were very cold. Amanda's were hot. Rebecca's were dry. Alyson was across from me, so I don't know what she felt like. If my sisters could each be the color of a mood ring, I would give Alyson dark purple.
We dined in silence. There was nothing to share and the noodles were slippery and filled our hands with busy work. I like to eat pasta with a fork and spoon. I feel very decadent, spirling the threads around the metal before bringing them to my mouth. I hold the fork in my left hand and the spoon in my right. The spinning and manner of holding the utensils in such a way force a pause between each bite. Leaving more space to digest and room for conversation. Or a sip of wine, given that we were not in the mood to speak to one another.
My sisters and I have the appetite to argue over the color of the sky, and with age, we've each accepted the appropriate time for non-verbal communication. Nonviolence: Ahimsa.
Alyson and I are usually the ones to trip the tempest. Though it's not always us to begin the fighting, we two usually end the quarrels. What I mean by this is that something small and seemingly innocent will start between Amanda and Alyson. A few threads are pulled, and then Rebecca is in on it. Amanda leaves and it's Alyson and Rebecca, and then, depending on my mental fluctuations, I join in and the row really starts if Alyson and I face off. Rebecca leaves and Amanda joins, now to soothe, not stimulate, and usually, it's a bit far gone by that point, so she leaves as well.
This is one sample of the disease that ripples through my siblingship and I'm not hesitant to say that we love each other deeply and also drown each other out with our unique ideas.
We are strong women, the four of us. In our own way, we express our adoration for each other even when we are not speaking. I have gone many weeks without bothering with a particular sibling for a period given the ending of a conversation.
My siblings see me as careless. And I am.
Or perhaps they don't see me as careless; perhaps I see myself as careless and project it onto them, and then I take it personally. It is an excuse to distance myself and not talk to them.
Or they DO see me as careless and wish I had done better by them as the eldest- someone to rever and look up to. My lifestyle is the least conventional, and it upsets them to see me act as I do.
Both are true.
We ate dinner this way without looking at each other or addressing the things between us. A large blue swan was sitting on the table; its pastel feathers were littered by the spaghetti and Rebecca said it was beautiful and was also very thankful that it didn't smell.
The swan was silent throughout the meal. It sat there, fat and fluffy as it was, and blinked-blinked-blinked as we slurped our wine and spun our spaghetti around and around.
I cleared the table and brought ice cream in for dessert. I'd bought a whipped coconut swirl that was thick and spotted with caramel chunks. Amanda didn't want any and I served her a scoop anyway. Alyson was delighted and smiled. Rebecca smiled and said thank you. She is the most polite I think of the four of us.
As we ate our iced treat, that swan opened its beak and barked at us. Red wine bled from its gums. Do swans have teeth? I couldn't tell.
Amanda held her glass out and caught the wine from the bird's mouth. Our bottle being empty as it was. I joined her and Alyson and Rebecca looked horrified but we drank anyway and our mouths were stained crimson. The ice cream was served with these little gold spoons I found in the drawer, so it took three times as long to eat. The swan barked and bled the whole time.
Rebecca, I noticed, had collected the feathers that flew from the bird's body as it ruffled and clacked. She had a small pile of iridescent fluff on her lap.
'I want to make a hat,' she said when she caught me looking. I winked at her in response and Amanda raised her eyebrows. And her glass back to the bird.
I offered my sisters a coffee or tea after the meal but they each declined. Making excuses to leave, they returned their linens to the table and collected the purses they'd set on the floor.
The bird walked out with them and I was happy about its departure. I didn't invite the swan and it turned out anyway.
I hugged Amanda, Alyson, and Rebecca very hard before they left. The rain did not let up as they walked the concrete steps and each pulled out a small umbrella that had been tucked who knows where. I tied my apron over my white blouse to do the dishes and watched them walk in a tidy line down the cobblestone street. Alyson's was red, Amanda's was gold, and Rebecca's yellow.
And what of the swan?
It dropped its plumage as soon as it stepped into the wet! The rain washed the sparkly feathers and that snapping orange beak and what was underneath was a cat, striped white and black. It stretched and bore its tiny claws and gave a little burp before it pranced down the stairs and walked alongside Alyson until she scooped it up and set it in her purse.
An odd carnival, Simone.
After I washed the dishes, I lit the same nub of incense and walked around and around the acute angles of the room. I wish I could tell you that I had a bath and rinsed the day off my skin, but I didn't.
I put on my nightgown, washed my face and hands, rubbed oil on my feet, and went to bed.
I felt the flash of lightening before I opened my eyes and its magnitude broke my slumber. The things that leave the greatest impression are felt before they are seen.
Photo source.
