Cyberia - The City of Ladies

In Memoriam…..

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006, photo taken circa early 1990’s.

The lunches my mother prepared for my sister and I reflected the Standard American Diet of the mid-20th century, which unfortunately did live up to its acronym, S.A.D.   Typically, it was sandwiches– white bread with some sort of processed protein (processed cheese slices, nitrate-laden lunch meats, canned tuna) or some sort meat left over from our dinner before.  Now, don’t get me wrong– my mother made these sandwiches with a great deal of love and she can’t be blamed for the organic, healthy-eating trend happening after her kids were grown.  And, truth be told, some of these sandwiches were actually pretty darn good.  My sister and I agree that a cold meatloaf sandwich on white bread with pickles and mayo is one of the great comfort foods.

Today, though, we have more options.  And these options are propelled not only by the healthy-eating trend, but by globalization as well.  For example, this morning I had to decide if I wanted left-over Chicken LoMein from my dinner the night before, or if I wanted to go to my cafeteria at work and get Lasagna (it’s Italian week) or go off-site to get Mexican carnitas or Lebanese shwarma.    It would never have occurred to our mother to give us anything other than our SAD sandwiches simply because our world was smaller when we were kids. 

The perfect illustration of what I am trying to convey is this:  Right now, as I type this, it is my lunch hour at work.  I am eating my Chinese LoMein and writing a post that is going to be read by people from Australia, Canada, Ireland, Europe and all over.   That just boggles my mind.  

Thanks for sharing lunch with me.

 Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

It was “Mojito Week” at Il Taverna di Muse, and the Proprietress sent me to the Apothecary Shop to purchase bundles of fresh mint leaves, an essential ingredient for the drink. I was excited to make my first visit to the Shop as I had heard it was an extraordinary sensory experience.

The moment the door chimes announced my entrance into the Shop I was assaulted by the pungent scent of spices, the earthy smell of fresh clipped herbs, bundled and hanging from the rafters, and the warm, inviting aromas of tea and fresh baked pastries.

Besides providing apothecary services to the neighborhood, the Shop was also a place for writers and craftspeople to gather who preferred a quieter, less frenetic environment. There were some tables and chairs near the pastry section and in the back was the Stitching Room were some textile artists were piecing together a quilt.

After I made my purchase and was heading toward the door with the wrapped bundle of mint under my arm, I noticed a middle-aged woman in a Victorian-style dress, black silk with starched white lace around the collar. Her hair was pulled high and she balanced a pair of wire glasses on her nose. She was busy reading a book. I stopped and stared for a moment. She was so familiar. Then I knew—it was her!

The woman became aware of me and looked up. “May I be of assistance?” she said with a prim clip.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to stare… you look just like…. I mean…. Oh what am I trying to say….Maam, are you Miss Alcott? Louisa May Alcott?”

“I am she.”

“Oh, this is such an honor, Miss Alcott! I’ve enjoyed your work so much.”

“Thank you, my dear. I am gratified that my little women mean so much to you.”

“Maam, I wasn’t referring to Little Women—I mean, don’t misunderstand me, Little Women was wonderful, but I was referring to your…your…..”

“Potboilers? Blood and Thunder stories?”

“Well, yeah.” I sheepishly smiled.

“Please, have a seat, my dear.” She smiled. “Most of my readers don’t know about those stories.”

“And it’s a shame—Pauline’s Passion and Punishment, A Long, Fatal Love Chase, and my favorite, A Modern Mephistopheles—they were innovative, way ahead of their time.”

“Their time?”

“Oh, yes, well, you see, I’m from your future. It’s a little strange, I know.”

“Strange? My dear, this is Lemuria. Everything is strange in Lemuria.”

“Yes, maam.”

“So you read my potboilers?”

“Yes, maam, as part of a research project.”

“My works will be researched? “

“Yes, indeed. You were, er, ARE, one of the first feminists. Your women’s suffrage work is well documented and your literary works reflect this as well.”

“Feminist?”

“Yes, a person who supports women’s rights and strives for justice and social equality.”

“I see. And you see this in my writings?”

“Yes. Your female characters are fiery, independent women, most particularly in your potboilers, but even in Little Women—Jo for example.”

Miss Alcott chuckled. “May I share a secret with you, uh…..”

“Lori.”

“Lori, the fact of the matter is….” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I wasn’t very eager to write Little Women.

I suppressed a smile. I already knew that her publisher pushed her to write this simple moral tale for children. “Really!” I said.

“No, I didn’t really want to write it. Very dull and ordinary.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I very much enjoyed writing my potboilers. They are so …lurid.” I believe Miss Alcott was beginning to blush. She continued, “The women in those stories were far more interesting and….and….” She struggled for a word.

“…More real?” I said.

“Yes, indeed. More real.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Is that the time?! Miss Alcott, I don’t want to be rude but I really need to get back to the Tavern.”

“Of course, dear. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Miss Alcott.” I headed towards the door.

“Miss Lori.”

“Yes, maam?”

“Did women ever get the right to vote, in the future, I mean?”

“Yes, maam, we did.”

Miss Alcott picked up her book and resumed her reading.

“Outstanding” she muttered with a smile.

Lori Gloyd © 2006

Monika invited us to the Villa

to honor our mentor–

SoulSister brought her Silver Cup,

Gail, her Healing Herbs,

Lori, warm light and illumination,

Peacebird, the magic of quartz and crystal

and

Prairiemuse, the soothing glow of blue glass.

All of these are for you, dear Heather,

with affection.

Montage compiled by Lori Gloyd

Per our agreement, the Proprietess rented to me a tiny loft on the top floor of the Taverna overlooking the Piazza.  A number of artists, writers, and performers lived there as well, and I was very grateful to secure this space among them.  I was equally glad that my loft was ABOVE the flamenco dancer’s studio and not under it.

My space had a skylight and many windows, and sunlight flooded the space.  Though small, the space served my purposes– I needed only a place to read, write and sleep.  I could eat and entertain downstairs in the Taverna, and with the entire city of Cyberia waiting to be explored, I knew I often would not be home.

I could not bear to keep Syren locked up in a livery all day so I arranged for a local horse farm to keep her for a small fee.  She was close enough for me to visit regularly and I planned to go exploring with her on my days off.

Cyberia!   I took a big breath of fresh air as I stepped onto my balcony.  I felt aloft upon a breeze of hope and opportunity.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

One of my new job tasks is to advertise the nightly acts at the Taverna. I spent my first afternoon handing out these leaflets in the Piazza:

Headlining tonight at

Il Taverna di Muse

Mira Bai

Preserving Tribal Rhythm

10:45 p.m.

No Cover. Two drink minimum.

Image: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

I stood for a moment in the dim light of the taverna, lit only by some red Chinese lanterns and strings of tiny white Christmas lights.   The sound of chimes, gongs, and drums pulsed through the air. I saw a Gamelan orchestra on a small stage and a beautiful Balinese girl in a sparkling sarong dancing to the music.I moved among the tables filled with patrons intently watching the dancer until I reached the bar.

The bartender leaned forward. “What can I get you, darling?”

“L’Enchanteur?”

“Nah, she’s my cousin. She’s always passing herself off as me. You look a might thirsty and tired.”

“Yes, may I have a bottle of Senorial? “

“Mexican Sangria? Of course. And you’ll need some chips and salsa to cut the sweetness, I should think.”

“Absolutely. Say, can you tell me the rent for a studio?”

“How much you got?”

I felt the ever lightening bag of Lemurian shekels in my cloak.  “Well, not a lot.”

“Hmmm….” The bartender eyed me up and down. “You ever tended bar?”

“No.”

“Ever been in the hospitality or restaurant business?”

“No to that one too.”

The bartender squinted her blue eyes at me. “How well can you listen?”

“That I do very well.”

“Good. You’re hired.”

“For what? As a bartender?”

“Yep, pulling pints. Can’t handle all the night shift by myself. And, I’ll throw in one of the small studios in the back for half off the rent.”

I didn’t know a mojito from a martini.  How could I be a bartender?  I paused for a minute and looked around. I did come to Cyberia to be around the artsy types and to work on my own projects. I couldn’t do much better than this at the moment.

The patrons erupted in applause as the Balinese Gamelan players took their bows.

“Oh–I’m up now to announce the start of the poetry readings. Be a dear and watch the bar for me, will you?”

She handed me a towel before she slid over countertop  and headed towards the stage.

A patron hollered to me from a table. “You there, could you bring me another Shandy, please? Thank you, dear.”

Shandy? Oh dear.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

After crossing the river, Syren and I found a main road that led to the gates of the city. I asked another traveler for the name of the highway we were on and I discovered to my surprise that this thoroughfare was none other than the famous Silk Road.

The Road passed through a double gate of polished gold that was embellished with reliefs depicting famous writers and artists from history. A watchtower of white stone stood adjacent to the gate. I glanced to the top of the tower and saw a stately woman looking me over. With a brief nod of her head, she motioned me to continue through the gate.

Throngs of people moved up and down the boulevard going about their daily business. I called to a young woman pushing a cart of bread. The warm smell of the bread made my mouth water and my stomach rumble. I knew that Syren was as tired and hungry as me. I asked the woman for directions to a good livery and a short time later I had Syren cooled down and munching on a bag of oats. The livery manager informed me that the city’s center of activity was the Piazza del Pizan and I would be able to find lodging and food there. I thanked him, and a few minute’s walk found me at the Piazza.

Arched colonnades of peach and gray-colored marble surrounded the large open square. The obelisk that I had seen from across the river towered over the Piazza and I could see the golden dome of the Mouseion sparkling in the waning light. Night was beginning to fall and vendors in the square were busy closing up their stalls and storefronts. A distinguished looking man in a flowing green cloak moved from lightpole to lightpole lighting the lamps that would illuminate the Piazza.

My attention was drawn to a side street that jutted off from the Piazza. I heard muffled music coming from an establishment on the corner. Light emanated through a colorful stained-glass door. The image in the glass was that of a dancing woman holding a round lyre. Above the image were the words “Il Taverna di Muse”. Next to the door was a small placard that read “Studios for Rent” and “Help Wanted.”

I pushed open the door and entered.

Text: Lori Gloyd © 2006

Syren and I embark on our journey towards Cyberia, The City of Ladies. It was a bright, sun-soaked day. We left the main road from Duwamish Bay and headed across the Uncharted Lands of Western Lemuria. We followed only our intuition and sped across miles of desert and grasslands. We knew we would arrive without getting lost.

Then, towards mid-afternoon, we came over a rise and saw a river, calm and slow moving. We followed it for a while until we rounded a bend and stopped in astonishment. Before us lay a city—white washed buildings easing up a mountain side, a large domed structure that glittered in the sunlight, and an enormous obelisk with a pulsing light at the time.

Cyberia! I didn’t need to goad Syren forward. She knew and was already splashing across the river.

Photomontage and text: Lori Gloyd © 2006