The Mystery of UMA

I awoke with a jolt this morning, only shards of images, nothing to hold onto. Yesterday, was like that too. I was kind of drifting through the day, not grabbing anything. Went to Borders looking for a book,(my Charles Laughton biography has still not arrived), and browsed the shelves, seeking inspiration; material for the next theater piece. In the music section I eyed 'Zappa,' and 'Django,' (Adam Gopnik recently had a nice write up about the gypsy guitarist in the New Yorker), in the film section I lingered over 'Godard,' and 'Truffant,' 'Fassbinder,' and 'Stroheim,' 'John Ford,' and 'Alfred Hitchcock.' There was also 'Cary Grant,' and 'Uma Thurman.' Uma Thurman?! Wow. Not sure if I'm ready to plunge into the mystery of UMA!

So, I ended up not buying a book, instead, Carla and I went to Potbelly Stove for a sub (I ate two), and then we went to 'Poor Bob's' and bought a Christmas Tree. We both consider ourselves 'pagans,' so this dabbling in the Christmas tradition is kind of paradoxical. We tied the tree to our rental car, lugged it home, and set it up in the living room. It's a nice tree, which Carla will decorate with lights and ornaments from around the world. Kind of marks another year come and gone, a tree cut off from it's roots, slowly dying before our eyes, oh isn't it so pretty?!

This morning, a genial haze, grasping nothing, just breathe in, breathe out. 'What's up, buttercup?'