Introducing Mrs. Kitchett’s Guide To Youthening: Spells, Incantations and Concoctions for Every Growing Younger Occasion

Okay I know that is a long title. But it’s a big concept and I promise I will leave room on the cover for an illustration.

It comes from Madeline, the white Persian who perches by the fireplace and is so old she doesn’t even twitch when I bring in a sack of groceries with fresh fish from Hemp Help Organic Market.

She is the oldest cat in the cabin, but her fur, posture and sleek elegant manners seem to youthen with every passing year. Heavens, she’s been here for as long as I can remember Uncle Dave letting us stay at the cabin on summer breaks. And now she looks younger than she did back then.

Having a long – distance son on dial tone zero takes a toll on a person. It has aged me before my time.

But perhaps someday in the near future there will be grandchildren and I’ll be their free babysitter on call on odd days and nights when my son and the baby’s mother will want to dash an escape to their own younger years.

And I’ve got to be in shape to catch scooting toddlers and remain centered during bouts of colic.

And so Madeline, who doesn’t rush to the bowl of cream like the other cats do, full of pushing and mewing, has given me an idea for a book.

And I shall write it in the cabin.

Mrs. Kitchett’s Guide to Youthening: Spells, Incantations and Concoctions for every Growing Younger Occasion.

It is about magic. The magic of becoming a new self, a fresh and wonderful self free to live as big as life promises to be, and once again, the magic of believing those promises.

Thank you, Madeline. I do believe I have something to write about. Just let me fix you a plate of fresh fish first. I’ll bring it over in a second.

Sushi By The Sea

Pairing Art With Food No.2

 

I ate some sushi by the sea.

 

And in the morning when I returned to that spot, the tide had washed all my footprints bare.  The sand was a pristine canvas. No marks or dents.  Just a smooth, silky surface of creamy soft sand. A little chilly at this hour in the morning, even for the tropics.

 

I thought of my dream the night before, the one that woke me up before my usual time, leaving me feeling hung over with alternate reality.

 

My dreams have been communicating with me.

 

They tell me what has happened, lessons learned, and where to go from here. They are voices in the vulnerable land of sleep, giving shape to what you cannot face in the broad course of day.

 

Then, the tide comes, and washes them clear off your psyche.  The potent forces of image, feeling, shape that dreams carry are no match for the tide.

 

Water in, water out. Water that has lasted for millenia and knows more than I certainly will in this one meager lifetime.  And yet, this lifetime is all I have.

 

So I bring some grapes to the sea. The sushi is gone. A stray dog ate the last few bites, and happy tail wagging, splashed on through the surf toward who knows where next on his journey of the day.

 

Where is my next, in my journey of the day?  The grapes  are sweet and explode in my mouth.  The sushi was a myriad of strong flavors and lingers on my tongue.  My dreams were just the same. 

 

And now the slate is clear.  The new day is wide open for interpretation.  This day has never been experienced before.  I must paint my experience on it like a dream imprints its reality in that hovering zone of slumber where you have no control.

 

But there is control. I will be like the tide, listen to my dreams, and wash this new day clear.