under a midnight storm

Note to self: do not drink hot chocolate with Mr. Strega late at night, then expect to fall asleep.
I gave up caffeinated coffee about two years ago (yes, for those of my readers who knew me as an undergrad, hear it again: I GAVE UP CAFFEINATED COFFEE), and now the tiniest bit of caffeine (or whatever it is that chocolate has) will keep me wide awake. I occasionally have what I call a "Harvey Birenbaum Special," in memory of my beloved Harvey. This is decaf with a shot of caffeinated coffee, which I used to have the barista make just before Harve's class--for the class was at four in the afternoon, and Harvey's voice was so soft and gentle, and he would read and tell of myths and stories like a nice uncle or grandpa, and Ms. Strega would find herself falling asleep. However, this type of coffee is for extreme emergencies, as it will keep me awake for a very long time.

It is raining buckets here; there are trees down on Highway Nine and I am just wondering when the power will go out. Still, Mr. Strega and I are cozy after long hours of working on our respective stuff--Mr. Strega on his resume and webpage, Ms. Strega on her long-neglected book of poems; I have two publishers I am querying and sending to this month for this. Thank God one doesn't need an agent to send poems to a publisher, but the trick is being aware of legitimate poetry publishers out there. That business is worse, I think, than dishonest agents, and one has to be extremely careful. I am amazed to find that writing prose almost exclusively these last few years has made me a much better editor of my own poetry, and I am tightening a lot of the poems. For yes, dear readers, Ms. Strega was first a poet long before prose reared its head in her life.

I also did something silly today to jumpstart my creativity--I bought a pack of 96 crayons and a pack of Play-doh (and yes, I admit both things freely to the World Wide Web). I had heard that squishing Play-doh was really good for carpal tunnel syndrome (it's been giving me a twinge since the rain started), so I got a pack of "cool colors" (including black and fuschia). It is actually a good destressor to just sit and squish Playdoh for a couple of minutes (though I did make a very nice teacup and a bowl). I was such a weird, princessy child; I didn't ever want to mix my Playdoh colors and had a hissy fit if someone did (probably because, if I allowed my many siblings to do so, my Playdoh would end up being various shades of gray eventually). I remember that I once got a BUCKET of Playdoh as a kid (it was red). There's also a scene in my book which begins with me (as a kid) coercing my younger sister into eating Playdoh.

The 96 Crayolas are very cool; the smell of new crayons is almost an instant jumpstart to creativity for me. Plus, there are so many new colors--"timber wolf," "asparagus," "tumbleweed," "macaroni and cheese," wisteria," and "purple mountain's majesty." My favorite color as a kid was "carnation pink." In looking at the crayons, Mr. Strega pointed out that I had TWO "navy blue" crayons in the box! :( Oh, well--at least it wasn't two "green yellow" crayons--I never liked that color when I was a kid. Actually, there's a reason I did go out and get crayons--often, I sit and draw before I write, just to clear my mind, and crayons are an inexpensive, colorful medium

Well, maybe it's because I've been inhaling crayon-fragrance for the last few minutes, but it's time for Ms. Strega to go to Dreamland. Buona sera!

cold

Today the power went out for some time. There is a beauty to these winter days, even though the weather is penetratingly cold and damp. Power outages are de rigeur in the mountains, and I've learned to cope over many years of this.

I am very stalled on actually writing more of the book. Some of this tends to be needing a change of venue--I get very isolated in the mountains and sometimes need to go to a coffeehouse to work.
I recently wrote a review of all the places I've been known to frequent, but didn't publish it here, because of concerns about the person with ill intent who reads this blog. I had some interesting email exchanges with others about privacy and blogs. I think that what one reveals in blogs has certainly to do with one's comfort zone and, in my case, personal protection. I am finding it a great exercise in creativity to make up nicknames for my family members and so forth, though.

I think some of these musings today have been brought up by the fact that I have been reading my old journals today and cataloguing them by year. I am extremely grateful that I have a relationship in which I can leave my journal on my dresser and know that Mr. Strega will protect my privacy. It's good to know that--I keep a daily journal in addition to this blog (so I guess I am more prolific than I think).

Since my younger daughter is asleep in my office right now (those pillows are tempting to everyone), I am going to go disconnect my printer and install it up

post-yoga thoughts

I am sooo turning into a hippie and I don't care. I am thinking of adding another yoga class, one in Felton on Monday nights, 'cause it makes my bod feel so good. I also am hoping I will one day be ready for Level 2 yoga with my current teacher. She teaches such wonderful things along with the yoga, reminding me of all the good things about keeping my heart open, being loving and patient with myself and others, and not acting out of fear (which is what I recently did when I learned a person with negative intentions towards me was reading my blog). I am also getting very physically strong through yoga and both of my dance teachers have noticed more flexiblity, especially in my torso movements. I have also become very aware of where I carry emotional pain in my body--in my neck and shoulders, as well as my hips to some extent (which is why bellydance is such a positive thing for me, as many of the dance movements involve those very things). I also love the meditation at the end, during which I generally fall asleep. Yoga has also helped a great deal with my massive panic attacks, uncovered when I decided to stop drinking five cups of caffeinated coffee a day (if you see me with a latte, it is decaf). You'd think that much caffeine would CAUSE panic attacks, but they did the opposite with me, keeping them at a low roar. It's taken two years for everything to even out.

Well, as you can tell, I am in the midst of Endorphin Ocean. I think I will go downstairs and twist myself into a pretzel some more. Namaste.

weeding

I am amazed at the amount of dashes I used to use when I was first writing this book. They're everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain. Every time I think I have eliminated them all, I find more. What was I thinking? Well, I'd never really written prose before.

Mr. Strega is out putting burlap upon a hillside (that's what we do for fun in these here mountains) and I am taking advantage of a quiet house to get my fifty pages out to the agent today (actually, I'm taking a break now). With all the kidlets off of school and Prada (eldest daughter nickname) home from college, the house is, to say the least, just a teeny bit chaotic when everyone is here. I hung stockings over the fireplace at Christmas and was a bit amazed at the fuzzy, bright red, proof positive of how many people are associated with my household (Faustus, our dog, and our three cats also have stockings, courtesy of my younger daughter). Still, the full life is something I love. I'm determined to make a serious dent in the book during the next two weeks, even if I have to sit at the upstairs computer and direct the household as I work.

Weirdly, most of the household seems content when I am working in the middle of things upstairs and let me work, but they are strangely attracted to my office when I work in there--last night I had Mr. Strega asleep on the pile of pillows I have on the office floor (he just came in to say hello, but had snacked on turkey and went out like a light); then our big dog Faustus came in and fell asleep. Occasionally, I've had Faustus, three cats, and Mr. Strega in there, with kids popping in and out--in a space the size of a good walk-in closet. I have a star-shaped light from Ikea next to the door (now, tell me I'm not egotistical--I just realized the darn thing is a STAR) which, when turned on, is an indication that Ms. Strega does not wish to be disturbed.

By the way, I noticed that a lot of folks did homemade gifts this year. Prada made KILLER fudge; my hairdresser sent me a crocheted snowflake ornament. I gave Mr. Strega "hug coupons" (though I did buy him stuff, too). My mother always declared the giving of food and homemade things as holiday gifts "cheap," though oddly, she sent out about a million tins of homemade Christmas cookies and fruitcake to relatives. Still, love was shown in my family of origin through money, so that was her reality (my parents grew up in the Depression, so I try to remember that when considering them).

Back to those fifty pages. By the way, it's always amazing to me how many incarnations of meals a lone turkey can go through. Last night's meal was the whole yam-turkey-stuffing microwaved thing (I stood accused of skimming marshmallows from the yams and eating them, but I declare I was not guilty). Tonight is hot open-faced turkey sandwiches. Tomorrow, the carcass (made into turkey soup). What next?

merry merry

The kids have opened their gifts and we are now busy getting dinner ready, after which will be my son's birthday party (just cake and a gift--yes, he was born on Christmas). My youngest is sixteen today. He's all about Johnny Cash right now after I took him to see Walk the Line--I got him a really cool black shirt (wanted to find a Western-style one with pearl buttons, but there's naught to be found in SCruz) and a Cash CD collection. Walk the Line is definitely a must-see.

Well, happy holidays to all (and even Merry Christmas). Mr. Strega and I had to go to Walgreens last night for stocking stuffers (as usual, I forgot these until the last minute). There were some interesting gifts there, including a Jack Daniels gift set (with a big AND little bottle of Jack, and a shot glass). Mr. Strega did not buy this for me (one of my "silly" gifts from him, though, was a CD of Kimba the White Lion--I have to confess that I had a huge crying fit about age five or so when my family couldn't get home in time for me to see my Kimba show and I told Mr. Strega about this. Now he has healed my childhood, ). The Ben Lomond Mini-Mart also saved Christmas for us, as I had neither eggs nor butter--thank you to Masoud and all the gang there! Yay!

Must go baste turkey (our Christmas dinner is about the same as Thanksgiving, except that afterwards, we have cake and ice cream for my son's birthday). We also don't have homemade cranberry relish (there was not a cranberry to be found when we shopped at the last minute, so we have the canned kind--which the kids wanted anyway, as they missed the "stuff that comes out of the can, in the shape of the can"). Buon natale!

Tribal Fusion Faire

My troupe performed in San Luis Obispo yesterday for the Tribal Fusion Faire. I am getting better on stage in terms of smiling and not looking like a deer in the headlights. Plus, I forgot one step and covered it without indicating to the audience that I had screwed up. There were wonderful performers of all kinds and all sizes--one thing I love about bellydance is that it's for any body shape or size. IT WAS FUN! I bought a new pair of Saroyan finger cymbals called "Ghwazee" cymbals, which are copper-colored (it was time to graduate to a heavier pair), and a bracelet on sale. Two dancers there in particular were AWESOME: John Compton (a dear old friend of my troupe leaderer) and Rachel Brice, who used to live in Santa Cruz. John did perfectly spotted turns, better than any ballet dancer I have ever seen, and danced with a tray of lit candles on his head. Rachel was simply amazing and I am so looking forward to taking a workshop with her in January. I'm trying to prep by doing yoga at home.

I am still recovering from the recent unpleasantness with my blog. At some point, it's made me aware that I need to be mindful of whatever information I publish here, out of consideration that I don't want to give the person who caused me trouble any deeply personal information about myself. It's like having my own personal version of the Patriot Act in my life--only this is one person rather than the entire Bush Administration. Still, I am feeling freer again to say what I have to say here.

Well, I have Christmas presents to send off and cards to write tonight, so I'd better close. Peace to all.

Chantico

Mr. Strega has lately been enthralled with Starbuck's "drinking chocolate," aka Chantico. This stuff tastes like a melted (make that molten) chocolate bar, served hot enough to permanently wither taste buds. Someone described Chantico as a "liquid heart attack." It tastes oooohhh sooo good, but has eighteen gazillion calories in it and makes me feel like I've been mainlining espresso for hours. Mr. Strega has been making a homemade version, using Ghiradelli chocolate bars (a whole bar melted into a bit of milk). One cup of it makes me swear to go on seaweed tea and brown rice for the rest of my life....still, it's good.

Which leads me to my thought for the day: good coffeehouses in S Cruz County at which Ms. Strega attempts to write (I hope some disgruntled coffeehouse employee doesn't scold--or scald--me for writing about this, but if they do--well, heck):

1) Peets (nice atmosphere and they are good to the homeless folks who come in there. Still, there is very little seating, esp. at busy times, and Ms. Strega has never written more than a paragraph here, due to feeling guilty about taking a seat for a long time).

2) Gelatomania (this place SMELLS WEIRD. There is an oxygen bar here, with OM MANI PADME HUM in neon over its door. Maybe the O2 accounts for the weird smell. I've been on 02 so many times in the emergency room that I don't think this would make for a fun date for Ms. Strega. Still, I have written a great deal of the book here, in the outdoor breezeway, 'cause the serving staff is nice and the chais are good).

3) Lulu Carpenters (can't work here at all. It gets so crowded in there that I feel at times I'm hunched inside some surreal prison-yard coffeehouse, albeit with a huge amount of charm and ambience. I do not like to sit outside due to smokers. I do like the garden area. Still, I have gone here often 'cause the lattes are, bar none, the BEST IN SANTA CRUZ).

4) Borders (yes, the Evil One. I have done a lot of good, serious work at Borders when I can get a table, which is not often these days. They have recently updated their look).

5) Chocolate (at Bookshop Santa Cruz. I hate this place for writing--maybe it's good for food. Used to be the old Georgina's, which was one of the best places to write, eat nice hippie food (their pie was excellent), and spend time--one could take two hours writing there and nobody would make moan. Now it has gone upscale, like a lot of the Pacific Garden Mall. Once, I tried to write there and the waitress cast a long and scalding glance at my notebook and pen. She said, "If you want to write, you have to order something." Really? The fact that I was sitting in a restaurant probably had clued me to that fact. The hot chocolate I ordered was naassttyyy, with whipped cream that had almost reached the finish line for butter).

6) Cafe Bene (I want to like this place. I really, really, really do. I try and try. Yet, each time I try, I am served with a cold latte, one that I did not order as such. I am not the type of person to complain to the waitstaff, who are actually extremely nice).

7) Starbucks (don't go to write, just to watch Mr. Strega drink melted chocolate bars).

Scotts Valley:

Abouche (I love this place; the chai is nice and often I can get work done here...except at night. At night, their lighting is so dim that Ms. Strega needs a miner's lamp to see her page).

Coffee Cat (I love this place. Sinatra on the stereo, a really nice staff, LOTS of tables, PLUGS for laptops, and the BEST LATTES..yes, I said that Lulu's has the best lattes, but Coffee Cat is owned by the same folks who run Lulus. Coffee Cat's logo is a cup with a cat face looking out of it, a little morosely).

Felton:

Mountain Roasting (love this place, but never get over there anymore, for some reason).


The White Raven (heavenly choir, please. Even when crowded to the gills with the regulars, of which I am one, the WR is one place I consistently can work at--probably a Pavlovian response to the chai, which is excellent. Staff is nice, atmosphere is undiluted old-school Santa Cruz Mountains. There are occasionally customers who will speak in operatically loud voices for the very small space--I was privy once to far more information than I ever, ever wanted to know about stud horses, for example--but this is a minor inconvenience).

Coffee Nine (I go here after getting my hair done, but don't write here).


And, of course, since I am still pretty traumatized by the recent online upleasantness, I feel the need to say to this person that I am NOT at the White Raven or any of these places

Once again and again

I hope that I have not offended or upset my friends and faithful readers who come to this blog and whose readership I appreciate with all my heart. It is a shock to know that those with less than positive feelings towards me may make an effort to find me on the Internet and come to the waters of this blog, seeking poison. I do feel my reaction was very strong yesterday and, of course, will qualify me as a biotch in some arenas. Strong women, especially those who stand up for themselves, are often made into biotches in the eyes of those who really want to see them as such, and I'm not a stranger to that. Which leads me to the idea of censorship and blogs: I use pseudonyms and little to no identifying material in this blog. I may have mentioned that I have gotten onto the lecturer list at UCSC, but the name of my alma mater remains blank, for the most part, in these posts. And, of course, all that is expressed here is the humble opinion of Ms. Strega and should not be taken as holy writ.

On happier notes, I have an agent interested in reading the first fifty pages of my book! This request came to me by snail mail, and I nearly tossed the envelope, thinking it was a rejection. Thank the Goddess this agent actually used my stamps on the return envelope! Also, the head of the agency herself wrote a personal note on it, rather than an assistant or underling, which I really liked (this agent used to work for the Ellen Levine Agency, and moved on to found her own literary agency). So, off to the races again. I still feel my first chapter is wonky--but the first fifty pages ends precisely at a suspenseful moment, so maybe she'll want to read on.

I also got a letter yesterday from one of my last living relatives from the time of Mamma Nonna and my grandmother. He wrote a beautiful letter describing Mamma Nonna, and telling me that my grandmother Mary was a lovely person who helped him with his schoolwork late at night when he was in grammar school and high school. One of the reasons I wrote this book is so that my grandmother--of whom little physical evidence exists that she ever lived--would not vanish into obscurity. Now someone else remembers her, and remembers her as being of the same temperament I do. I like having these kinds of confirmations.

to a reader

A close acquaintance of mine emailed me tonight to tell me that one of his friends has been reporting to him that I have been saying less than positive things about him in a blog--and no, this isn't the writer of whom I was recently speaking. Dear friend of my close acquaintance, if you have paged through my many rather dull entries on growing tomatoes, taking yoga, the menu of my Thanksgiving dinner, and my tedious and at times frustrating search for an agent, all to try and find things to tattle about (and for what reason except to create drama?), I do not think you will be successful. Alas, like most folks in the arts who really love their craft, I lead an existence that is not as spectacular as it seems, and I mean that with tongue planted firmly in cheek and fingers planted equally firmly upon the keyboard of my Mac. I am happy to count you among my faithful readers, but perhaps your energies would be better spent looking for dirt elsewhere than this blog--like in the pages of the National Enquirer, perhaps. I read it myself when I am getting my hair done, as my stylist subscribes to it and I simply must have something to do when the mane is processing. The many fascinating stories of alien babies and celebrity cellulite might yield things that are more to your taste than my humble musings.

By the way, the last time I checked, this was still a free country and I believe it is perfectly legal to write what one will, within the confines of a certain amount of discretion. Note that if I mention most people in a less-than-glowing light, I do not use their name and generally discuss them only insofar as it impacts my own life. Note also that my last name is not on this blog and it is written with a partial pseudonym for privacy issues--and thus most folks I write about are not identifiable to my reading public. Even so, I don't believe in looking over my shoulder for fear of someone not liking what I have to say. Putting a creative doily on everything to prettify it just does not work for me, and I dislike censoriousness of any kind--ESPECIALLY when writing about subjects that might make someone uncomfortable, but are still the truth about a person's life. It intrigues me that someone who has had less-than-benign intentions towards me in the past, yet hasn't had contact with me in well over ten years, would take pains to research me on the Internet in order to find this. Since I write this blog under at least a partial pseudonym, that must have taken a certain type of tenacity.

I also want to thank all my other readers who are supportive of my writing and my search for an agent, which are, after all the focus of this blog.

working on book, not blogging much

Hi, all--I have been busy writing and it's likely I won't be blogging much in the next couple of weeks (plus, Mr. Strega and I are putting together Christmas, so it's been a bit hectic around here). Till then...

a pic of Etruscan ladies