From my window I can see the plucked-dry-of-rice rice fields, part of them slightly flooded with water, awaiting, I would guess, the next crop to be planted, and temporarily inhabited by about two dozen ducks. I watched them this morning, a symphony of rustling feathers, checking themselves, I would guess, for fleas, wagging what would have been their tails if they were dogs, and I guess these are tails, too, or we wouldn't have had the ducktail haircut. They have left behind their morning task of foraging for leftover grains and insects, and have moved, in a white and speckled brown group, to the side of the field where they appear to be dozing. But I could not see which one, if any, gave them the signal to change functions, but they seem all to be following suit.
I am going today to the holistic doctor to see if she can help me with my allergies, which are killers right now, the air being heavy with humidity and the inside of walls probably the same. Jack told me to go to Thailand, but I am not yet in the frame of mind to move on-- still hoping for a creative breakthrough-- and even if I do I just found out I have to get an exit visa, since I was successful in getting residency for a year, so I understand suddenly what it means to be an American, free to come and go with no red tape as long as you have a Passport. Which I don't have, as it has not yet been returned to me, and that makes me uneasy.
But I am somewhat soothed from within by having seen Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs which explained to me my entire Gestalt, the wicked stepmother who was at the same time my fascinating Mama with an accent over the a, fearful of losing her looks and wondering why she had been saddled with this chubby little girl when she hadn't liked children even when she was one of them(her own words), the joy of working(Hi Ho, Hi Ho) the prince(he came, though he also went) the promise of life as laid down by Disney.
Today, determined to make the best of everything in spite of being itchy, I had cereal for breakfast with a banana which I don't really like but reminded me of my Uncle Ralphie, when we all lived together on Melwood Street in Pittsburgh, in spite of my mother's thinking she had married a rich boy who then moved in with her family, so there were more sharing the one bathroom, usually co=opted for inordinate amounts of time by my father, who Grandpa called 'Lew W. Davis' to emphasize and satirize his elegance. Ralphie was the sweetest one, in spite of calling me Baby Elephant, and had an unexpectedly dark life after the Navy, marrying Honey Sue Schugar(no kidding) the mad daughter of Pittsburgh's leading undertaker. She was crazy as a loon and they had a wild-eyed daughter who I hope is okay, though I've lost touch.(a break to go to the allergist.)
So the homeopathic doctor who still gave me a shot said I had to move, and poor Sabine, my landlord, already had a headache so I hope I have not given her a worse one. I seized on the first hotel room I could find that seemed reasonable, and it is but the air conditioning isn't really working so I am not long for here.
I hope I will find the right place, one where I can write the book I think I have started: that is to say, it feels like the start, but who knows. Tomorrow I go to start celebrating the birthday of Scott, an Australian married to an Indonesian woman whose story gave me the beginning of what feels like my book, and I tell it well enough I think that I don't want to dilute it by telling it here. But he is very open and cheery, as most Ozzies are, not having been on the planet long enough as a breed to become devious.
Anyway, this is just to reconnect with all of you and tell you I miss you, and hope some of you miss me. The best thing in my life is the friends I have been lucky enough to make, even on the spur of what seemed an insensitive moment. Witness the breakdown of my computer, which closed me out because I didn't have the right password, it insisted, and then cut me off completely. One of the times I went to the Apple store on Fifth I had connected with Fernando, who coached me for those fifty minutes-- interesting that a 1on1 at Apple lasts the length of what used to be a psychiatrist's appointment. Then another time I connected with his wife Gabi, and we became what I thought was friends, but you never can tell really in the world anymore till you get to the crunch.
Well, yesterday came the crunch, because I couldn't send or receive from thegwen and was forced to open a new account under RitaFavorita, the name of my sort-of-heroine from SCANDAL, the woman who brought down someone who seems curiously close to Berlusconi(good timing!)available shortly online at Amazon. com, shallow but eminently entertaining and readable, downloadable soon in print from Telemachus Press and Amazon for $9.99 in honor of Herman Cain. So even though I had an e-mail, I longed to have myself back, and feared losing all of you because you wouldn't know who Rita was. Somehow I got through to Gabi. She spent two hours on the phone with me from her home, from midnight till 2 AM her time-- Skype it was, God Bless technology even though technology seems godless-- and she fixed it. Got me back thegwen and also my faith that there are sensational people out there, you just have to patiently make your way through the universe and Trust. Patience was always my short suit, but Trust has always been a long one. I am a very lucky woman. Now that my faith in people is restored, I must have a shot at God.
Love and xx from Gwen in a steamy room, not for the reason we might hope.
