My honey's coming to visit next week!
He's been traveling all month: Casablanca, Rabat, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Amsterdam. Running around with school heads and crazy-pants vendors; they're planning to throw a wild cocktail party in Capetown this spring. A jazz band, a mansion, a pool with a view. Shipping school supplies to international American & British schools; shit, who knew? He's been building this wonderful thing out of his blood-sweat-tears forever, and now it's paying off. Half the year working his tail off in his warehouse, half the year rubbing shoulders- I'm awfully proud of my man :)
And man, it's almost November: we haven't seen one another since August when I rolled out for New Orleans. This is far and away the longest we've ever been apart. I've missed him so badly. It's given me nesting fever.
“The two of you like the sun and moon, free to go far from one another, yet crossing every night— each forever circling the other. That is the real marriage— a marriage made of eternity. Not a metal band simply wrapped around fingermeat.”
When he gets in I'm gonna surprise him with a belated birthday feast. All his favorites at once: homemade soup dumplings, mac & cheese, jello shots, an Elvis trifle. Mill around town together a couple days, maybe check out some hot springs. Naked and steamy in the falling snow: all my favorites at once :)
Then we've got to run down to Tucson, where his childhood bestie is getting married. So many beloveds there we haven't seen in too long. It'll be wonderful, and probably I won't write a word.
The White Place.
John Collier called this part of the country The Red Atlantis, and it does have a lost, enchanted quality. "Ha, it’s quarantine!" somebody here called it, recently. (The man with the storyboard tattoos.) But it pulls at you, it strikes you.
There’s that quality in O’Keeffe’s work, too. A certain- deepening. Of color into form, form into flowering; other times, of that just about to happen. That was what it was like, standing there outside her place in Abiquiu. Clouds and mountains and fields and mountain roads, and so lovely to be in all of it, deepening. You wanted to stand there silent a long time. That dreamscape of colored air, everything so open, so near and far at once.
I’m so glad you’re coming to see me, and to have this with you in it. And then to have it in us both, after. But of course it was you, adventuring in Tucson, who said, oh, let’s move here- to this corner.
Oh these lovely corners, dancing edges! Everything beautiful seems to happen at the edges; wild things come from the edges. And what is wild is beautiful, at least to you, to me, who are uninterested in taming things, beveling rough into smooth...
Waiting for you, my heart with your heart,
Snow Q xxx
In other news. To have this gift of time, three months of Sundays! All Babes is coming along beautifully. I've got four more scenes to hit before I have to stop and research. A huge portion of the
novel has turned out to take place in 1950s Charleston.
So my last weeks of residency: snow on the ground and these gorgeous wild-open skies, I'll be here, pen in hand, books in my lap. Eating lentils. Tapping in.
"More than Sixty"- Jack Gilbert
Out of money, so I'm sitting in the shade
of my farmhouse cleaning the lentils
I found in the back of the cupboard.
Listening to the cicada in the fig tree
mix with the cooing doves on the roof.
I look up when I hear a goat hurt far down
the valley and discover the sea
exactly the same blue I used to paint it
with my watercolors as a child.
So what, I think happily. So what!
This is a wild soul-book