To My Dear Friends Back Home

I know you wonder what I’ve been doing since I left for the City of Ladies weeks and weeks ago

Well

so far:

I’ve spent my days

and many a dark night

 wandering through the City of Ladies.

I’ve been in the Catacombs

alone

of course.

Well

 I think I was alone

I’ve even been to the Circus

where I learned a thing or two.

Well

okay

it’s

been

mostly one…

I’ve haunted bookshops and curiosity shops and art galleries sat in a Tavern and listened

to stories

and drank wine and nibbled on cheeses from

places with names I can’t pronounce

and I’ve even worn my hair up

and

dressed in gowns made from silk

stolen

from Pirate Ships

and

handmade

by candlelight while music was

played on harps and songs were sung by women named

Felicia, Prisicilla and Carlotta.

I must say though

that something is missing.

That something that makes the days just days and the nights only nights

and the grand sights I’ve seen

merely pictures that my eyes capture and store in my mind

just like

neatly lined photographs

in

a photo album that gets placed in a linen closet

or lost under a pile of

books

high on a shelf

gathering dust

in the dark

So

I wonder

what that missing thing could be…

 Oh yea.

Sure.

That’s it.

What can I say?

There are

Songs to be sung and all that fun stuff!

More Later!

Love from

a.m.m.

by a.m. moscoso

This is Sylvester.

Guess what we talk about.

Okay.

I’ll tell you.

I’ve been visiting Sylvester at Ye Olde Curiousity Shop in Seattle on Alaska Way  since I was about five years old ( I’m almost 44 now ).

Sylvester knows all about me:

When I decided to become a magician at age 8, I told Sylvester. When I started to write a year later I told him about that too, when I got my license to drive guess who I visited first…

and when I become a Mortician guess who heard all about it.

Now asI write my short stories, as I work on my book it has not gone unnoticed that I visit Sylvester a lot more then I ever have before.

And we still talk.

I do it because I still think he listens.

I know I do.

a.m.

Sylvester at the Shop HERE

Science and Sylvester HERE

Visit Ye Olde Curiosity Shop HERE

Ye Olde Curiosity Shop Ghost Tours HERE

As a new citizen of the City of Ladies I’ve decided to give a little party for my new friends and neighbors here in this colorful city. A little virtual celebration is always a nice chance to share works and favorite music and just have fun for no particular reason except that it’s today!

~~~

Hurrah!

It’S a MaD tEa PaRtY!!

Everyone, gather ’round for some singing and dancing.

Got your own trumpets, cymbals and other unusual and delightful musical instruments?

Feel free to dance the twist, jump around in sheer glee or simply just wave your arms about and shake your bodies to the sound of the music.

It’s today!
Though it may not be anyone’s birthday,
And though it’s far from the first of the year,
I know that this very minute has history in it, we’re here!

~~~

Have a seat in our makeshift little Parisian café, with spindly metal tables and chairs with heart-shaped backs and those pretty silver cutlery and dainty china cafés seem to come with.

How about some refreshments?

We’ve got coffee and sandwiches for you.

I’m afraid we don’t have any raspberry cordial today but someone gave us a bottle of currant wine, if you would like to try that. I hear it’s quite good; Diana Barry drank a whole bottle of it once, to her parents’ horror but everyone else’s delight.

~~~

A perfect day to relax and to rejuvenate.

A perfect time for dancing and dreaming, for trying out new things and making new friends.

Before you go, don’t forget to browse the italicized words around the room for surprise gifts!

{And if you’d like a copy of the image for yourself, click on it to go to my flickr page to view the full size.}

“Why can’t I stay in the theater, or at the Abbey. The Abbey’s nice; it’s quiet.”

“Sorry, Henry, but you’re my muse and we have work to do in the City of Lady’s. This is where I need you.”

“I hate the dress!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not that comfortable either, but it’s the whole Christine Pizan thing I told you about. Just trying to blend in. And speaking of blending in—we’re going to look suspicious if you keep hugging the shadows,” I told him, as he dodged a circle of light spilling down from an old fashioned gas lamp. “Maybe it was a bad idea waiting until dark, at least in the daytime we could walk a straight line.”

Henry looked at me in horror and his blond wig quivered in distress. He mummbled something under his breath.

“Now what?” I was beginning to lose patience. Henry and I have worked on and off with each other for years. I try to overlook his timidity and moodiness but, there are times when it takes all my effort just to prop up his frail ego.

“Yyyy-you always say-aaay you’re honest! This is a llll-ie”

“Fine! Here’s my building. You want to go back? Leave! Go!”

“Bbbb-by myself?”

“Of course, by yourself! I have work to do, with or without you! Come on, Henry, don’t we always have fun with Enchanteur’s prompts? Remember the donkey ride? The times with Oreo and Tookie in the Abbey?”

He managed a weak smile. “I guess–sss, but what if they c-c-c-catch me?”

“Worse case scenario, we’ll be a little embarrassed, but I’m certainly not the first woman to smuggle a man into her apartment. Ah, good the elevator’s here. My apartment’s large and the living room couch pulls out so you’ll be quite comfortable. We both need to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s walking tour. So, let’s see what Enchanteur’s current prompt is. Ah, the catacombs. That should be interesting . . . . Henry? Henry! Oh, darn, where are those smelling salts?”

Feeling cleansed of both physical and emotional “stuff” from Dame Washalot’s Bath House, she followed the walking tour map to the Catacombs.  Most of her knowledge about catacombs was derived from movies of the 1950’s like The Robe, Quo Vadis, and Ben Hur which all portrayed early Christians hiding out and having services there.  Later, she was surprised to learn catacombs were actually pre-Christian and even pre-Roman, and were used for burials and as hiding places from persecution.  The Sumerians, Egyptians and Greeks all utilized catacombs.

More recently she read Internet articles about supposed inner-Earth races living underground in catacombs, caverns and tunnels.  And a Hope Indian legend speaks of a very ancient complex beneath the surface occupied by a lizard-race 5000 years ago. 

It didn’t help her to recall these interesting but potentially frightening ideas as she moved further into the catacombs.  Even holding the torch she had been given at the entrance near the statue of Jesus at Gethsemane didn’t help—it just cast odd shadows.    At first the walls were smooth so it wasn’t bad, but now there were cubby-holes and recesses with statues or sculptures within, to which the flickering light added a macabre element.  As she approached each item, she thought they were moving.  As she peered closer, she could then discern they were just statues of angels and people. 

I guess there are people buried here or maybe just their ashes are buried here.  Reminds me of that Reader’s Digest article speaking of how the carbon can be extracted from the cremated remains of a loved one, and with heat and pressure, can be made into a real diamond.   What an odd line from the CEO of that company: ‘It isn’t in memory of a loved one, it is the loved one.’ 

Oh, what’s that?  Looks like it’s moving.  She crept closer.  It’s a gargoyle, and here’s another.  Why would they be in here?  Maybe to protect the remains, as they usually are supposed to be ugly to scare anyone unwanted away.

Something flew at her out of the dark; she ducked as another something flew past.  Bats! Ugh! They must be roosting further within since I haven’t seen any guano so far.   

Now it was totally dark, except for the sputtering torch.  She approached a marble bench in front of a sarcophagus within a recessed part of the wall.  Tired, she placed the torch into a holder and sat down.  I can’t walk all day the way I used to.  Probably not too many years before my ashes will be placed somewhere.  Would like for them to be scattered in various places but what if they were in a place like this?  Maybe I’m passing or looking at my own burial from another time—the circle of time.

She felt very much at peace here, surrounded by the remains of many people, deep within the earth—no noises of cars, power tools, construction, cell phones going off annoyingly or people having to talk all the time.  Silence—stillness…  She closed her eyes and meditated, sinking further into her center.  First the pinprick of light in the darkness, then the starburst.  She drifted out of her body, moved through the packed earth, into the air, above the city.  She could see-sense for miles.

peaceful… but not the time to continue…time to return

With that thought she moved back into her body, but aware her physical body was now surrounded by other bodies.  Keeping her eyes closed, she reached out her awareness to assess who was there.  Feels fine.  Good energy.

She opened her eyes.  A child was standing in front of her, looking at her.  A woman on one side, an elderly man on the other.  She nodded in respect to each translucent person—each smiled in return.  She knew words were unnecessary.

Hello.  Who are you?  How can I help?

The woman’s thoughts were clear: Please, help us.  We stay here now, close to what had been our bodies.   But we need to have our stories told.

The elderly man nodded as the little girl stroked her hand.  He then thought: There are others, too, needing to find the meaning in the lives they lived.  By telling their stories you will discover the underlying pattern and meaning, and reveal it to each of us.  We can sense you’ve done it for others, could you do it for us?

I would be honored to tell your stories.  I’m sure each one would be as interesting and meaningful as each person is unique, no matter how boring they think their life is.  I’m Thalia.  Glad to meet you…

After a session with the Dame it is questionable whether E and her party will be up to visiting the Catacombs. The Dame has given them quite a pummelling.

Heather Blakey June 17 2008