With Apologies to Robert Frost

One Traveler

If I could go back
to where the roads diverged
and take the other,
the one more worn,
the one more traveled,
would my feet ache less?

I dream at night of that yellow wood
and wake, disoriented,
remembering what it was like
to see and know
but not believe.

Beside me,
my golden cat
turns her belly up,
and sleepily we start the day
knowing that way leads on to way.

--Cynthia Sillitoe, July 2013

Where I've Been

Uh, yeah...it's been a while since I checked in here.

In May, I started an Etsy store. And I love it. And then I started making Etsy treasuries, which are kind of like Pintrest boards of all the things I love on Etsy. I've gotten a little obsessed with those, but there's so much great art and Etsy is a lovely place to spend hours.

And then it's been hot and Percie has wanted to be out in the heat and I am forever bringing her in. You can lead a cat to water, but you can't make her drink. You also can't make her believe that you're doing her a favor by not letting her roast in the sun.

And then I got hooked on Candy Crush and a few games like it. The only problem is I, uh, suck at them and probably don't fully understand how I'm supposed to get from level to level. I do not have a "solve a spacial puzzle" brain. I have a "remember that conversation you had with Grandma thirty years ago" brain. And I no longer let myself buy the extra moves to help me get to a new level because they almost never do. Candy Crush for me is all about being content with playing the same level every day, all week, and maybe the next week, and then suddenly a miracle happens and I actually complete it. And I'm never sure how I did that, so I remain clueless.

Each day, I spend a little time in the studio, and sometimes I even get some art made. Usually that happens if it's cool enough to let Percie stay out. Otherwise, I bring her in and try to encourage her to sleep on her shelf above the art table. Instead, she knocks stuff off the table and I pick it up and she knocks it off again, all the while screaming "Let me outside! The Geneva Convention says I'm allowed to stay outside as long as I want even if it's 300 degrees!"

I keep buying her toys that I hope will entertain her (and get her stoned with catnip.) They don't work and I order more. I try to do that during the day because at night I'm busy making Ambien-induced trips to Walmart.com to buy two bottles of raspberry and vanilla scented hand soap and some citrus scent bathtub cleaner. (Ambien must make me crave fruit in a subconscious way.) And then I wake up the next morning and check my e-mail and think "Why did I buy hand soap and bathroom cleaner at 3 a.m., especially since the shipping is more than the cost of the purchase?"

And then Percie says...."Is it morning? Can I go outside?"

Abundance

On the coffee table, I have a basket which holds Hershey kisses. (My preferred form of daily chocolate.) When the basket gets low, I ask my dad--who likes errands, unlike me--to get me a new bag. (You can get them in a really big bag.) Now what some people would do is open the bag, fill up the basket a ways, or even to the brim, and then put the bag away in the pantry. Not me. I open that bag and pour out the kisses until they fill the basket, and overflow, and scatter across the coffee table, and sometimes onto the floor.

And then I marvel at this beautiful sight and think: abundance is divine.

Matriarchal Blessing

Matriarchal Blessing

I asked you once

for a matriarchal blessing
and you,

my heretical mother, 

looked at me askance

and said,

"I already gave you life."

--Cynthia Sillitoe, April 2013

Why I Listen

If you've read my past blogs, you know I have a team of spirit guides (yeah, I know) called the Peanut Gallery. They give me advice on both big things and little things and I do my best to listen to them, even when they don't make sense. When I don't listen to them, I tend to regret it.

So, today, I was watching The Hobbit and drawing, when I got a very strong psychic nudge along with "Pay attention." And I just blinked. Pay attention to what? The movie? Drawing? And then they said, "Go get the mail." And I thought, "But I'm busy....Dad'll bring it in....ok, here I go to get the mail, and, for all this bother, there better be money out there." 

Instead of money, there was some lovely art from friends, some stamps I ordered off Ebay, and a form letter from my Crohn's doc reminding me to get a blood test. No big whoop. They just like to keep an eye on everything. When I did the math, I realized, yep, it was about time for that. Or maybe a month late. And I thought, "Ok, going to the regular doctor on Monday, I'll get it done there, and have him send it over." And I threw away the letter. 

Anyway, suddenly I felt this overwhelming feeling that I shouldn't have done that and I said, "Is this what I'm supposed to be paying attention to?" and they said, "Yes."

So, since I don't believe in unquestioning obedience, even to them, I said back, "What's the deal? I'll get the blood test done and sent over. Oh, please, you're seriously going to make me go to two different clinics on Monday? Ok, fine, I'm paying attention..."

I called my Crohn's doctor's office and asked that they put an order in the computer, so that I could swing by on Monday, and then I headed back to the movie, stopping (as any hobbit would) to put together a snack. 

The phone rang. It was the Crohn's doc's office saying, "We're really glad you called because we haven't heard back from the insurance and we have more Asacol (one of my meds) samples for you until we do hear back."

And I said, "Ok." And then I remembered. "You know, I still had some left from my last prescription, so I haven't started on the ones you gave me before. I assume I just take the dose on the bottle?" 

And she said, "What's the dose on the bottle?"

And I said, "Six a day."

And she said. "Oh, no, that's too much. Take five a day. Does it really say six? And you didn't do that yet, right?"

And I said, "No, I didn't, but I would have started the too-high dosage this weekend, when you folks weren't in the office...."

Nice save, Peanut Gallery, nice save. 

Now back to defeating Smaug. 

Tarot Reading

Tarot Reading

You were The Magician;
you cast it differently,
but all my life you were

and The High Priestesses
you invoked never knew
as much as you.

Once I read for you
and drew The Moon.
I flinched, "a bad omen,"
but you said, "not for us,
we were named for that moon."

Names aside, most of all,
you were The Sun,
constant, light, and warmth.

When you died,
I bought new cards.
I smudged them with sage
and wrapped them in silken ferns,
blessing them for my journey--

for my journey still.

--Cynthia Sillitoe, April 2013

Demystifying Grandma

Recently, someone remarked to me what a saint her father had become since his death. I told her that was nothing. My grandma started becoming a saint before she died. Not to everyone, but....there was definitely a myth started at some point and passed down through a few of us. For instance, I grew up believing that, at any sort of discord, my grandma would shatter into tiny pieces. Frequently, this was used to get a younger sibling (or niece) to take on someone else's chores. I also grew up believing she was perfect. Anyone doing anything less than perfect could be reprimanded by her example, though we could also count on never meeting her standard. When my mom realized I'd heard and believed all this, she swiftly debunked it.

"Grandma has many wonderful qualities," she would say, "but she is not perfect. She gets mad, she gets frustrated, she gets angry; she just doesn't do it out loud. And," my mom added, "Grandma isn't going to shatter if you don't dry the dishes right. Wait a minute, why are you drying dishes there? New rule: you only do chores that Grandma or Grandpa ask you to do. If it's one of my siblings, you tell them to do their own chores. And stop being so eager to please. Honestly!"

But I digress....

In later years, not only did I realize my mom was right (as she usually was), but I used to have a lot of fun teasing my grandma about her image in the family, which was a cross between Snow White and Joan of Arc.

One time, when she'd come to dinner with me and my mom, I really let her have it.

"Grandma," I said, "Do you know you've never once lost your temper?"

She rolled her eyes and replied, "I seem to remember a time or two."

"Grandma," I said, "do you know you've never once had an unkind thought about anyone?"

"Has your mom told you about how, once a couple of boys tossed her in a lake and she had to sit through the rest of the picnic in wet clothes, and then she got mono? I could have just shaken them."

At that point, my mom wondered aloud what had happened to those boys and my grandma started rattling off who they married, what careers they'd chosen, how many children they'd each had, and what those children were named. That was Grandma for you. If you met her once and mentioned you had to rush off to visit a relative in the hospital, three years later, when you met again, she would ask you how your relative was. She would remember their name, what they'd had, what hospital they'd been in, who their doctor was. All of it.

But anyway, back to the teasing:

"Grandma, do you know you never once wished you could sleep in rather than go to church?"

She considered this. "It wasn't so much that I wanted to sleep in, but I did wish it would start later in the day, especially when I had young children."

"Speaking of children, Grandma, did you know you had eight immaculate conceptions?"

She turned bright pink, but also laughed and then wiped her eyes. "What about the miscarriages?" she asked when she could speak again.

"Oh, those were lust," my mom said. "It's probably why you lost them, Mom."

"Well," I admitted, "I was told if you ever did participate in lustful acts, Grandpa probably persuaded you."

Turning even pinker, Grandma retorted, "I don't remember needing much persuasion."

At that point, while we were not literally rolling on the floor, laughing, we were all pretty close to it.

I once recounted this story to a relative. who asked, in a somewhat scandalized tone, "You talked to Grandma about sex?!" She then told me she only talked to Grandma about her children and her church job. I pointed out that since I had neither children nor a church job, Grandma and I needed another subject.

I love that I can still hear Grandma's laugh.