I was about to go on stage, if you can call the highest mound among thousands of people that. It was night. There were a few lights here and there, but the feeling was of barely lit dark. We were to have dinner first. Every time I found a place to sit, it was already taken. I wandered among tables. Even when I found a temporary place, before someone came, I couldn’t be sure the food was for me or for someone else. Then that was over and it was almost time for me to go onstage. As such. The promontory. An incline in the dirt, dirt heaped everywhere. But it was not time for me to go on yet. There were singers. A group of young people sang and walked as they sang. I thought maybe I could use a piece of their song in my talk, but I’ve now forgotten it.
I had no notes. I had brought nothing. I had meant to prepare, I think, but now I thought, I’ve been doing this a long time, I can get by. I will talk about being receptive to the impressions that arrive to us. I will talk about close looking. But oh my gosh, how can I fill the time? I tried to find a poem or two on my phone but it was dark and I couldn’t get to anything. Someone came up to me and said I was such an honored guest, they would try to pay me more, so I might expect a bigger check.
At last I could tell they were about to announce me, the main event. I was still wandering among the crowd. I had lost my purse! Oh my gosh. I kept looking. I spotted it at last on a chair down the way, but when I picked it up, it was empty. Totally. And my phone was now gone also.
As I woke up, I was stepping up to speak. I had nothing. I had no idea how I could speak, with the worry of all my lost things. With no notes. With no way of getting home.
*
This is how it is. Our things are slowly being boxed up. Yesterday I spent several hours weeding out photographs so our washstand full of them isn’t quite so full of them. I’ve put winter clothes and shoes, boots, etc., in four large plastic tubs that will fit in the back of the tiny closet we’ll have at Cordia.
The man from the moving company came yesterday and took inventory—what will go to storage, what will be brought to Cordia. Then there are the things that will go to Carla for consignment. My purse is indeed emptying out.
In the middle of the night, when I couldn’t sleep, I figured out where to put small paintings—behind the sofa! The ceiling is very sloped (it’s an attic apartment) and so the sofa has to sit out a ways from the wall. Perfect storage.
Today our neighbor Gary is going to help me take a load over to Cordia on the cart he uses to haul musical equipment. Later today, we go to the bank to reorganize our money to accommodate the sale of the condo.
The bookshelves are still all full of books. We have until June 6 to get them sorted, boxed, some given away. That will be next.
I haven’t done my stretches this morning yet. I wanted to write this, a day late, and get it off before breakfast. I didn’t want to forget my dream before the day got started. I am nibbled to death by ducks. The shreds, or threads, of me are flying into space. I will report later from space.
The P.S. . . . .
This Monday at 10 a.m. is the free workshop at the Dennos Museum, if you’re local and interested. I plan to be ready, one way or another.