Wed. June 8, 2022: Sometimes Saturn (Retrograde) is Positive

image courtesy of Michael Heck via pixabay.com

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Waxing Moon

Pluto & Mercury Retrograde

Rainy and cool

I dreaded yesterday for weeks, particularly since I’ve been suffering from sense memory stress from the move last year at this time. But we needed to make a run to the Cape, and yesterday was the right day to do it.

We were up at 4:30 and out of the house by 5:30. The cats Were Not Amused.

The drive went smoothly until we hit a pocket of traffic at Westboro. Once we got on 495 South, the traffic grew steadily heavier, but it was moving. It wasn’t even too much trouble to get over the Bourne Bridge.

We hit some stores where we hoped to find stuff we haven’t yet sourced up here. Weren’t very successful, although I grabbed a couple of jars of beach plum jam (which I love and one can’t get here, because, you know beach plums need the beach). I grabbed a few other things, too, because they were there and at a good price, including a small, tiled plant stand. Also found the perfect fabric in cotton canvas to recover the kitchen chairs, in a cheerful, vintage-y print. The store had VICTORIA magazine in stock, which I haven’t been able to find in print here, so that was a bonus.

We drove past the old house and it looks. . .the same? Sheer pink curtains, the lilac tree is still there, the lawn isn’t mowed and fake greened the way the other lawns on the street are. Hopefully, Che Guevara Chipmunk has been able to re-establish his home there. And I hope the people who bought it are happy there.

Tried to drive past the beach, but they were having an event and the roads were blocked off. So we headed to the storage unit, about an hour and a half later than I’d hoped. The unit was kind of overwhelming. We didn’t find everything we hoped to dig out, but I didn’t want to overstuff the car, either. We got what we could, and headed out, again, over the Bourne Bridge, into the heavy traffic.

But we made it past Worcester just before 2:30 (if you don’t get past Worcester by 2:30, in either direction, you get caught up in the Boston spillover traffic). A little beyond Worcester, we stopped at a rest area to eat the picnic lunch I’d packed, full of farmers’ market goodies, which was a much better choice than getting fast food.

Refreshed, we continued on, and were home a little after 5 PM. Unloaded. Stripped down and decontaminated. Only about 10% of people were masking on Cape, in comparison to 90% here. COVID cases in the state have gone down 20% over the past two weeks, but the tourists will bring more infections. We are still masking.

Had a light snack for dinner, and just crashed on the couch, enjoying VICTORIA magazine. Tessa wouldn’t speak to me. Charlotte complained from a distance, but wouldn’t let me pet her until we settled in to sleep; Willa slept through the whole day and was perfectly happy to join us for supper.

Things are in bloom out there; the lilacs are still out, and the PGM azaleas (those bright red/violet/purply ones) are in full bloom, too. So it was pretty. But the pollen was thick. My blue car was covered in yellow dust. When I showered, as part of the decontamination protocols, I touched my face and realized I had to scrub off a layer of pollen that stuck to the sunscreen.

Fortunately, it’s raining, and one can tell the car is blue again.

I didn’t feel torn apart going back, which is what I expected to feel – not only the sense memory stress, but the full weight of the dream of living on Cape for the rest of my life not being my reality. And I didn’t, which is a good thing. I still have affection for the good memories, and it’s not where I’m supposed to be anymore, at least right now.

And the move is OVER, and we are HERE, which is where we should be right now, in a lovely, light home in a vibrant, artistic community.

So, while the transition last year was tough, and I hope never to move during a Mercury Retrograde again, I am deeply grateful that we’ve landed here. And now I can enjoy the Cape again as a nice place to visit. And maybe build some fresh good memories.

An example of when Saturn Retrograde works positively: a life lesson that doesn’t feel like getting beaten down.

I went to bed ridiculously early and slept until Charlotte and Tessa conspired together to get me up. I’m a little sore from hauling stuff around and spending so much time in the car, but nowhere near how bad I felt last year at this time. Which is part of the healing.

Today, I have writing to do, and three scripts to turn around. I was going to haul over to Carr’s hardware store over by Norad Mill, but I think I’ll wait until tomorrow. I have a list of weird stuff to get there, and I’m sure the clerk will find it highly amusing to help me hunt it all down. They are very nice there.

I also have unpacking and lots of washing to do. Everything comes back sandy because, you know, beaches have sand. And there’s also an oily layer over it, from all the leaf blowers and other machines that vomit oily gases.

It will be a combination of nesting, writing, and script coverage, which is just fine with me.

And feeling better about things, in general.

Tues. Aug. 3, 2021: Love The Libraries

image courtesy of Foundry Co. via pixabay.com

Tuesday, August 3, 2021

Waning Moon

Pluto, Saturn, Jupiter, Neptune, Chiron Retrograde

Partly cloudy and cool

For some reason, the weekend feels like a really long time ago.

There’s a post over on the Goals, Dreams, and Resolutions blog. I’m slowly gearing up the other blogs.

I didn’t manage my time properly, so I ended up writing up script coverage all weekend. I need to figure things out better, so I have weekends off from the coverage, or it’s just too much.

I found out that a new independent bookstore opened, within walking distance. My first instinct was to run right over and check it out. However, I decided to wait until I get paid, so that I can actually spend money there (not just buy one thing because I feel like I can’t go in without buying something, but buy several things and give them some serious business). I also discovered that, at Norad Mill, on the way to Wild Oats Market, is a yarn store. I don’t need more yarn – I have so much in storage. But there’s a yarn store, so you know I’m going to go there.

The list of possibilities for upcoming Artist Dates grows. And that is a good thing.

I like that there are places I can frequent within walking distance.

Norad Mill also has a yoga studio, with strict vaccine rules for in-studio work. Even with that, that everyone needs to be vaccinated, masks are welcome within the studio, I’m not sure if I feel comfortable going back into the studio. There’s another studio (near the new bookstore), but it’s online only right now. As much as I’d like to go back to class, I’m not sure, even with precautions and protocols, I feel comfortable enough so to do. I feel like I’d need a separate set of mat, blocks, props, etc. to take to class that would need to be decontaminated and kept separate from my daily mat and blocks I use at home.

But it’s nice to know that the studios here follow protocols. Unlike the studio on Cape, where, during the height of it all last year, pre-vaccine, people could be inside without masks.

I received sad news. The Broadway colleague fighting COVID, who seemed to be improving, died of a heart attack on Friday night. He was a sweet, gentle soul who is an enormous loss.

It also increases my rage against anti-vaxxers. They are domestic terrorists, walking biological weapons, and need to be dealt with as the murderers they are.

Saturday, I put the cat condo back up. It’s in a corner of the living room. Because the ceilings are so much higher here, it doesn’t dominate the room, the way it did in the Cape house. The cats aren’t sure about it yet. It has to be their idea to go back into/onto it.

Worked on unpacking/setting up my office some more. It’s better, it’s workable, but I want it wonderful, and it’s not there yet.

The new Eureka vacuum arrived. It’s wonderful. It was also horrifying to see how much dirt was in the rugs that the other vacuum hadn’t picked up. But now, we’re finally getting things clean.

When I lived a block from Times Square, in NYC, the constant cleaning was discouraging. I’d scrub everything down; an hour later, there was a light layer of soot and grime over everything. When we first moved to the Cape, a decade ago, things were a little gritty because it’s sandy (beaches have sand), but, overall, it was cleaner. However, it got progressively dirtier, as trees are cut down, and there were the constant mowing/leaf blowing/chain saws. The dirt had an oily residue from all the machinery in constant use. Even with regular house cleaning, it was difficult to get it clean, much less keep it clean. As we unpack, even though we cleaned things before the move, everything needs a second, thorough scrub.

The dirt and dust, at least so far, is a different, lighter consistency. So far, at least, it’s easier to clean, even though we technically live in a city.

Who knew there were so many kinds of dirt? Not soil, but dirt.

Sunday was about some more unpacking. There are still a few boxes in the living room that need unpacking, but it’s not stuff for the living room. And we need to rearrange some stuff, and decide what to put on the mantel. So far, nothing looks quite right. Our mirrors are the wrong size and shape. I feel as though it should be a painting. If we keep the porcelain figurines (which have been in the family for generations and keep getting hauled around) on the mantel, I feel it should be a pastoral scene with a lake (for feng shui, there needs to be water over a fireplace, even if it’s not a real one), so it looks like the figures stepped out of it. If we move the figures (although who knows where), it can be some other sort of painting, as long as there’s a watery vibe to it (but not a sinking ship type of thing; not good for feng shui).

I tried putting the pieces I brought back from Australia oh, so long ago, when my play was produced there, but they don’t look or feel right there, either. They will probably go in my office.

Monday morning, in my first writing session of the day, I passed my daily quota, for the first time in months. It felt good. I’m getting back in synch with my creativity. I’m starting, slowly, to feel like myself again. The self I was when I moved so optimistically to the Cape ten years ago (nearly eleven now), although I doubt I’ll ever feel that level of optimism about anything ever again.

Got out some LOIs, caught up on email. Worked on the class presentation. Walked down to the post office to mail a few things.

I can see the college library from my front windows. So, yesterday morning, I walked over and got a Community Card. I have permission to both check books out of the library and to work in the library (it was practically empty today and everything is well spaced, but if COVID numbers keep going up, I doubt I will). Everyone at the college – students, faculty, staff, vendors – is required to be fully vaccinated, at least. But I don’t want to push my luck.

For research, it’s a fantastic library. Lots of books I can’t find anywhere else. I only checked out two books, but they will keep me busy for a bit!

Home, tried to get back to work, had a bad case of the I Don’t Wannas. Did a little unpacking and rearranging.

Worked on some script coverage. Started the next book I have to review. Paid some bills.

An interesting call for a flash fiction submission landed in my inbox, so I’m playing with some ideas.

Spent some time on the acupressure mat, with the eye pillow on, and Willa was absolutely convinced I was dying, and it was her job to resuscitate. Poor cat. Her original human, who gave her up because he was too sick to take care of her and of Charlotte, must have been in bad shape.

At least I’m sleeping better.

As I’m roaming around the neighborhood, learning my way about, I’m meeting various neighbors. People are good about distancing when unmasked outside, and everyone in the area is vaccinated (most are connected to the college, or to other companies that insist on vaccination). The timbre of conversation here is so different than it was on Cape.

For comparison:

Topic: My life and work in New York, and it comes up that I worked backstage on Broadway for years.

Typical Cape Cod response: “Oh, so you were fired and came here? But I bet you still have connections. How soon can you get me free tickets? There are lots of shows I want to see, but I’m not paying those prices.”

Berkshires: “I bet you got to work on some cool projects and with some talented people.”

(For the record: I was not fired. I was aging out, and wanted to leave while I still loved it).

Topic: Professions. I’m asked what I do for a living, and I respond with “writer.”

Typical Cape Cod: “What’s your real job?”

Berkshire: “Can we get together one day to take a walk around the lake/get coffee and talk about how you approach character and plot? I’m vaccinated, I promise.  I’m trying a few things, and I’d love to hear how you do it.”

See the difference?

Not everyone on Cape was like that, of course. The people who became my friends weren’t like that, or we wouldn’t have formed friendships. But, at networking or Chamber Events or Writers’ Center events or art openings, meeting and chatting with new people, that same response came up over and over and over again, for years.

Not that it’s perfect here. The Town Clerk still hasn’t responded to my request to change voter registration (which, according to the Secretary of State’s office has to be done here), and the equivalent of my health organization hasn’t responded to any of my requests for information. The original requests went in nearly a month ago. The local chamber of commerce hasn’t responded to my request for information (although the larger 1Berkshires has).

But when I meet people and talk to them, I’m met with interest, rather than the hostility of “you think you’re so great because you work in the arts, but you can’t be that great or you wouldn’t live here” which I got pounded with constantly on Cape for years.

It’s not about my view of my own “greatness.” It’s the fact that this is my profession, not my hobby, I put in the work, and earn my living at it.

Up early this morning, wrote my 1K in longhand. It felt good. There’s stuff I need to research, details, but the writing itself feels good, even though the story itself is light years away from what I usually do. Stretching is a good thing.

The bulk of today’s focus will be on the materials for class: finishing up the Power Point presentation, putting together the handouts. My host is doing maintenance, so I can’t upload anything until tomorrow, but if it’s ready to go, that means I can upload, test, and troubleshoot before Friday’s class.

I also have to make another trip to the post office, and then I’ll swing by the public library to return books/pick up books. I think it’s nice enough to walk today, so that’s what I’ll do. Walking more is both a good way to learn the area, and a way to regain fitness and strength. It’s safe to walk around here, too. People aren’t idiots, and don’t roam in unvaccinated packs, like they did on Cape. Even when we’re unmasked and vaccinated, we give each other room, passing on the sidewalk, etc. None of this invading personal space and literally blowing on the backs of people’s necks that the assholes did during the pandemic on Cape, thinking it was “funny.”

Got to do a grocery run, too. I’m out of oat milk. I put cow’s milk in my coffee this morning, and that was a mistake. We need a few things like eggs and butter, too.

Time to get back to work. Slowly, I’m finding my work rhythms again. I still get tired quickly, and have to take more breaks, but taking breaks isn’t a bad thing. When I take proper breaks, I’m more focused and productive when I actually work.

And I’m soooo much more productive working fully remotely than going into someone else’s office.

Back to the page, hoping for a good day, on multiple levels.