Tinkerbell
"I did something that's going to make you think I'm crazy," my friend Dawn confessed as she filled a kettle with water.
Turning a kitchen chair around, I sat facing her. "More crazy than I already think you are?"
"Yes." She opened the cupboard and took down a tin of tea. "Tinkerbell wasn't feeling well, so I called a pet psychic."
I stifled my grin before it got out of hand. Tinkerbell the cat slinked into the kitchen, giving me a superior look as she swished her tail in my general direction.
Dawn glanced back at me, obviously waiting for one of my witty remarks. "You aren't going to say anything?"
"Truthfully, I'm stunned into speechlessness."
"It's not as crazy as it sounds though," she said, dropping tea bags into mugs and pouring hot water on top. "I would have spent more at a vet, and they would have given her medication instead of offering a solution."
"And the pet psychic told you what was wrong with her?"
"She had an irritable bowel. I changed her food and gave her some herbs and now she's as good as new." Dawn turned around and paused. Then she admitted, "I asked the psychic about Tinkerbell's mental health as well."
I bit my lip. When I was sure I could look appropriately serious, I said, "How is Tinkerbell's mental health?"
"Great." My friend set a mug in front of me and joined me at the table. "The psychic said Tinkerbell loves us very much. She's very happy in the new apartment. Also, she sees herself as dainty and feminine."
I looked at the large gray furball sauntering across the kitchen. "Really?"
"I know, she's kind of big now, but when she was little we used to tell her how cute and petite she was. But that's not the strange part."
"Do I want to know what the strange part is?"
She leaned across the table. "You know how Tinkerbell sits in front of the fireplace and talks into the grate? She's actually talking to fairies. And you know her favorite mouse toy? It's magical, which is why she places it in front of the fireplace. She's offering it to the fairies as a gift."
A hint of a smile escaped my control.
"I know. It sounds insane, doesn't it?" Dawn grinned too. "I meant to ask what the deal with Tinkerbell's tail is but I forgot."
We both looked at the cat. At that moment, she started chasing and batting at her tail in a way that made her look possessed.
I shrugged. "Maybe there's a fairy riding it and she's trying to knock it off."
Dawn looked at Tinkerbell with new consideration. "You know, that's a really good theory."
Your Turn
I was sitting here, thinking about what to blog about, when I started to wonder why I should be the one to write this blog all the time. Yeah, I know it's my blog, if you want to get technical about it. But don't I deserve a break sometimes? And if there were ever a week I needed a break, it'd be this one.
So it's your turn to do this.
Got your pens typing fingers out? Because here's how we're rolling: I'm posting a picture, and you're going to write about it. A story, an essay, a sentence—whatever you want.
Here's your picture:
The best entry gets something special from moi. Seriously. So get to it.
The Flow
The sky is pink and gray. I'd take a picture to show you, but I'm too lazy to go find my camera.
I haven't seen a sky like this in a long time. It makes me realize how colorful and dramatic the sunsets at Ocean Beach in San Francisco are. Don't burst my bubble and say it's because of pollution—I'm going to choose to believe it's because this is a magical spot.
In your wanderings on this earth, have you ever run across a magical spot? Do you have many or none at all?
In Buenos Aires, my magical spot was a bench in Recoleta, where I sat for hours and watched people walk by. In San Francisco, there's a room in the DeYoung Museum that holds all sorts of mysteries for me. And Ocean Beach, of course.
Once, in more northerly climes, I found a mystical labyrinth in someone's yard—I sat on the edge of that labyrinth for hours. In Paris, years ago, I found enchantment inside an optometrist's store, sharing tea and conversation with several interesting locals. When I was a kid, my closet was it for me. It held all sorts of magic, dark as well as light.
Yes, you're absolutely right—there's no point to anything I just wrote. It just spewed forth from my fingertips, and I went with it. Experts call that going with the flow. I call it random babbling.
For the record, this is totally not the blog I'd meant to write. I blame jetlag. And the ninety minutes of Bikram yoga I did for the first time ever today. I swear somewhere in the second half, I started having visions.
PS: don't ask what I'd meant to write (Jen). I'm saving it up for next week.
Last Tango in Buenos Aires
It's my last week in Buenos Aires. I just had my last tango lesson, and I'm making the final rounds saying au revoir to my friends.
I've had people ask me if I'm sad to leave. Oddly, I'm not. I'm excited. Don't get me wrong—words can't describe what the months I've spent here have meant to me. But it's time to move on to the next adventure. I'm looking forward to the future. There's more travel involved, and just a little bit of intrigue. You'll have to stay tuned for the details.
Sneaky of me, isn't it? But it's not like you're surprised.
But first, I'm returning to San Francisco. The main reason: I'm speaking at the San Francisco Writers Conference. To say I'm looking forward to the gig would be an understatement. I attended last year's conference as a speaker and it rocked.
The conference goers are a mix of fiction writers of various genres as well as nonfiction. The speakers are diverse and interesting, and it draws a number of big name editors and agents, who are totally accessible the entire weekend. For example, last year, I met Donald Maass, who, contrary to what I'd believed, isn't seven feet tall with lightning bolts shooting from his eyes.
My favorite part of the conference: the cocktail parties. Okay—the cocktail parties are my favorite part of any conference. I can't help it. I love to schmooze, especially martini in hand. Yes, recess was my favorite subject in school too.
The conference itself is sold out this year, but there's a pre-conference day of workshops if you're in the area and interested. If you're there, find me and say "Yo." I'll be the jet-lagged one who keeps slipping into Spanish.