Mrs. R.Dalton
after meeting Jo from Won Small Bag last night, i had a wonderful dream.
i had purchased tickets to a concert, a special concert, probably to be performed in my old favorite movie theater of my dream world which is one on the second floor of that cineplex with seats all around a screen or stage which never becomes visible, but some of which are behind a pole restricting view (think st. tim's)
but these tickets were electronic only and the people i was buying them for would have to pick them up at will call so i couldn't print them and make a card.
they were for aunt tater.
then i went to discuss the gift at edgemont dining room table and bev made a comment that they too had purchased a gift or were at least thinking about buying a gift on my behalf and whatever nana was saying or suggesting was definitely not good enough for something *i* would buy as a gift.
then the person i was giving them to changed from aunt tater to a lady whose house i didn't know the address of so nana wrote down the directions on a pretty envelope.
the house was on the west end of some kind of complex, possibly university, possibly shopping mall, but it was a beautiful complex.
when i went to get the card i had written about the gift in (with no paper tickets), i could not find it.
i had pulled into the driveway and parked on the left side. looking toward the entry sidewalk and front door, it looked like it had not been used in a very long time, but still it was clean. i sat there, engine idling forever, going through the various papers lodged in the driver's side door pocket, but found nothing. i found lots of stuff and papers i had been looking for elsewhere, but did not get distracted for looking for that envelope!
then i found the envelope with nana's directions on the back. shucks. her directions explained how to get there from the west end and the easy entrance to the house (think earll and 3rd parking lot entrance to park central, instead of driving all around from the east entrance on central, the house being just east of 3rd on earl)
but the envelope was stuffed with yogurt money, not the card.
well, not wanting to feel further foolish and being sure that someone had noticed by now that i had pulled into the driveway, i got out of the car and walked around it to the center of the driveway.
coming toward me in a kind of go-cart slash wooden cage/crib-with-a-roof on wheels came a lady pedaling it or at least riding inside it.
she had with her a very old antique clock and was dressed in a kind of eccentric alice-and-wonderland out of place costume from another time.
i stooped and asked, "are you mrs. dalton?" she said yes and then spoke about someone else behind me who was walking down the drive.
splendid costume! she was tall, perhaps on stilts and her costume was glittery with whiteface and painted on dark paint down her nose across lips and mouth and with green glitter at the edges. the paint twisted looking almost like a question mark (without the dot) and her eyelashes were thick and messy and glittery. eyebrows were taller in blocks and were also filled with the same dark paint and glitter.
as elegantly as i could, i said "wow, you look surreal as if in costume!"
then mrs. dalton said they had to go to a concert in the wigwam room, pointing to the complex behind her, but that i was invited to the dinner after.
i asked what time, and she said 9pm, then confirmed where they were going with the other lady referring that they (or some other people) would be returning here from Geneva.
mrs. dalton was very elegant and i felt i needed to show her lots of respect and deference, as one would in a dance-like conversation filled with wit and carefully crafted sentences.
it all comes after an evening and dinner with Peter and Jo from Won Small Bag.
I asked her what plot device she employed to have the best effect with the people of Vanuatu to deliver her messages.
She said she most prominently used combative dialog.
We talked about my own writing style. and that i preferred to confuse my reader or my audience with lots of loose ends and if they are willing to hang on they will be rewarded.
i spoke about my love of the hero, of building up the hero and that the audience would fall in love with him.
of epic story lines which may not be realistic, but which inspire people to greater things.
i spoke about perseus and andromeda, and the different layers of art: orchestral, ballet, opera, and vegas-like spectacle (beachballs falling from the ceiling, etc.)
i said that the outline is done, that the modules are brainstormed (with raph's help) and that now all that was left was to flesh them out with music and script.
thinking to myself, but not wanting to seem pompous, i remembered that i wanted to compose, to create something which was so grand that it could only be performed at the largest performance houses in the world, such as the Met.
waking up this morning, i am reminded of Vivian Barstis who as a young child i used to visit in summer nearly every day. she and her husband lived next door and somehow their house was a place of mystery and one which i was not supposed to trespass.
yet hers i dared to sneak around and once saw her face standing at the back door window, scaring us to run away.
same went with the leafy area around the side of the house.
but i went to visit her and she was bedridden. and we'd talk about all kinds of things, but i don't remember them now. and she was always dressed in fine nightgowns and her bedroom curtains were long flowing white shears lined with elegant lace. Her long hair always wrapped up and piled on top of her head.
i remember the fear i felt in going and knocking on that huge green front door. that mr. barstis would let me in and that i could go into the front bedroom to visit her.
well, when i get back, i hope to finally get going on my project.
i had purchased tickets to a concert, a special concert, probably to be performed in my old favorite movie theater of my dream world which is one on the second floor of that cineplex with seats all around a screen or stage which never becomes visible, but some of which are behind a pole restricting view (think st. tim's)
but these tickets were electronic only and the people i was buying them for would have to pick them up at will call so i couldn't print them and make a card.
they were for aunt tater.
then i went to discuss the gift at edgemont dining room table and bev made a comment that they too had purchased a gift or were at least thinking about buying a gift on my behalf and whatever nana was saying or suggesting was definitely not good enough for something *i* would buy as a gift.
then the person i was giving them to changed from aunt tater to a lady whose house i didn't know the address of so nana wrote down the directions on a pretty envelope.
the house was on the west end of some kind of complex, possibly university, possibly shopping mall, but it was a beautiful complex.
when i went to get the card i had written about the gift in (with no paper tickets), i could not find it.
i had pulled into the driveway and parked on the left side. looking toward the entry sidewalk and front door, it looked like it had not been used in a very long time, but still it was clean. i sat there, engine idling forever, going through the various papers lodged in the driver's side door pocket, but found nothing. i found lots of stuff and papers i had been looking for elsewhere, but did not get distracted for looking for that envelope!
then i found the envelope with nana's directions on the back. shucks. her directions explained how to get there from the west end and the easy entrance to the house (think earll and 3rd parking lot entrance to park central, instead of driving all around from the east entrance on central, the house being just east of 3rd on earl)
but the envelope was stuffed with yogurt money, not the card.
well, not wanting to feel further foolish and being sure that someone had noticed by now that i had pulled into the driveway, i got out of the car and walked around it to the center of the driveway.
coming toward me in a kind of go-cart slash wooden cage/crib-with-a-roof on wheels came a lady pedaling it or at least riding inside it.
she had with her a very old antique clock and was dressed in a kind of eccentric alice-and-wonderland out of place costume from another time.
i stooped and asked, "are you mrs. dalton?" she said yes and then spoke about someone else behind me who was walking down the drive.
splendid costume! she was tall, perhaps on stilts and her costume was glittery with whiteface and painted on dark paint down her nose across lips and mouth and with green glitter at the edges. the paint twisted looking almost like a question mark (without the dot) and her eyelashes were thick and messy and glittery. eyebrows were taller in blocks and were also filled with the same dark paint and glitter.
as elegantly as i could, i said "wow, you look surreal as if in costume!"
then mrs. dalton said they had to go to a concert in the wigwam room, pointing to the complex behind her, but that i was invited to the dinner after.
i asked what time, and she said 9pm, then confirmed where they were going with the other lady referring that they (or some other people) would be returning here from Geneva.
mrs. dalton was very elegant and i felt i needed to show her lots of respect and deference, as one would in a dance-like conversation filled with wit and carefully crafted sentences.
it all comes after an evening and dinner with Peter and Jo from Won Small Bag.
I asked her what plot device she employed to have the best effect with the people of Vanuatu to deliver her messages.
She said she most prominently used combative dialog.
We talked about my own writing style. and that i preferred to confuse my reader or my audience with lots of loose ends and if they are willing to hang on they will be rewarded.
i spoke about my love of the hero, of building up the hero and that the audience would fall in love with him.
of epic story lines which may not be realistic, but which inspire people to greater things.
i spoke about perseus and andromeda, and the different layers of art: orchestral, ballet, opera, and vegas-like spectacle (beachballs falling from the ceiling, etc.)
i said that the outline is done, that the modules are brainstormed (with raph's help) and that now all that was left was to flesh them out with music and script.
thinking to myself, but not wanting to seem pompous, i remembered that i wanted to compose, to create something which was so grand that it could only be performed at the largest performance houses in the world, such as the Met.
waking up this morning, i am reminded of Vivian Barstis who as a young child i used to visit in summer nearly every day. she and her husband lived next door and somehow their house was a place of mystery and one which i was not supposed to trespass.
yet hers i dared to sneak around and once saw her face standing at the back door window, scaring us to run away.
same went with the leafy area around the side of the house.
but i went to visit her and she was bedridden. and we'd talk about all kinds of things, but i don't remember them now. and she was always dressed in fine nightgowns and her bedroom curtains were long flowing white shears lined with elegant lace. Her long hair always wrapped up and piled on top of her head.
i remember the fear i felt in going and knocking on that huge green front door. that mr. barstis would let me in and that i could go into the front bedroom to visit her.
well, when i get back, i hope to finally get going on my project.