rlbourges

New out of Old

In Irish Mist, Revision on August 19, 2014 at 7:58 am

Something like taking an old garment, and making something new out of it. I was the third daughter in the family. Wearing modified hand-me-downs, a fact of life that never bothered me. Some of my favorite clothes, I wear until the color has faded, the fabric has thinned, and patches won’t hold. I’m wearing one such at the moment, no longer suitable for outdoors. In fact, with fall coming up, I’ll have to get a few items for the more social part of my existence.

The story that showed up for revision yesterday has been through a number of iterations already. The part that still grabs my attention has to do with a life I left behind, years ago, one that entailed translation – both the written kind and the simultaneous variety. The other part that resonates like the vibrations from a bell: the notion of jokes, pranks or hoaxes gone awry, and how characters cope with the realization they’ve been “had”. The delicate balance between a good-humored send-up and the less-than pleasant undertows of nastier-minded toying with someone’s environment.

Serial dreams, last night – each one relating to different elements of that story. The final and delightful one, after I slipped back into bed and awoke again at close to seven: in the mirror, the face of a woman. In her late thirties, early forties? Vibrant, with a kind of inner glow a woman has when she knows the one she loves and cherishes, loves and cherishes right back. An inner state of being that needs no  explanations or justifications. The grown-up version of children at play, self-assured in their handling of the Grand Design in their sand box or stretch of beach.

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