Today we'll ride to the post office, and we'll ride to a park and then back. Nothing will hopefully be purchased and hopefully people will buy all of this new/old stuff that we've acquired here. Hopefully we'll make enough money to buy things to sit on in our new (very old) house but that's on borrowed time, too. Had I set out to be something suited, something pressed, we wouldn't be having this doubt. He'd be someone stuffy and financial, someone calculated or selling something important for a nice percentage in profit. But he's not, of course he's not. If he weren't an artist I'd be bored to tears, maybe with some more money but sleepier than usual and would wear so much khaki. I wouldn't have to troll thrift stores and clearance racks to make my home another expression of what's in my mind (of course it never is - we're artists - we don't have the funds for that).
We need to learn more about grants, about ways to fund our hunger. He'll have time for projects but of course never the money to satisfy him. His Cancer and his Leo fight one another all day in his head. My Water Bearer just observes and contemplates space travel, eventually getting up and fixing a few things but all the while stepping onto that shuttle. If you haven't guessed already Theresa, Ben, and Alex are of course us. I'm writing about our lives up here from beginning to eventual end and I'm leaving nothing out. More is coming out. Like water out of a sieve. There's no way to block it and I don't even want to. Just following orders, ma'am.
The other project needs tweaked. I need to sit down tonight and put it into rightful final order. But the thought scares me, I'm afraid I'm not doing it justice. Like I've been given this gift and what if I screw it up? What if it's hokey? What if it's garbage? What if my writing isn't up to what Gary's photography is? What if what if what if.
But yesterday as I walked through the grocery store I noticed all the colors that made up the natural / organic aisles. All the reds and purples and beiges and chocolate browns. And the smells that make it up! That deep, musky powder of lavender scented lotions and barley in the bulk bins and roasted peanuts. I started humming Sondheim's "All things Bright and Beautiful" and the glorious Universe and the inner nucleus of the Divine held onto my arm and led me to the checkout.