Our creative selves

Let me preface this by recognizing that one really ought not tell anyone their dreams because 1) they don't make sense, 2) even if it does, it only makes sense to the dreamer, and 3) they're generally boring. I know that but just like many who feel they are on the brink of some kind of discovery when they recall a dream, I feel compelled to share it anyway. At least, I won't begin with I had a funny dream last night.

I wake up to NPR on weekdays. I think it's a great way to know what's happening around the world. Like many NPR fans, I check myself at parties or group discussions, keeping a mental note to limit segues into conversations with"I heard on NPR..." to a reasonable amount. The NPR alarm idea is really great except that now that I think my brain no longer jolts in awareness at the sound of talk, thereby rendering the use of radio as alarm uselss. My dreams blend into bits and pieces of the Morning Edition and the cool and matter of fact voices of Renee Montagne and Steve Inskeep weave in and out. It makes for interesting news sometimes. I'm never sure why I know a particular bit of news. I think I heard it on NPR but I'm not sure. I could have just dreamed it. Anyway today, as I was waking up to the traffic segment, I dreamed of a ruled paper pad, much like the one I used in kindergarten, and in it were kid drawings (mine, in the dream) of Ted Novak on a pod-like space-agey air craft cruising past clouds while he's looking on to the perfect grid that make up Chicago. I could see the spindly spikes of Sears Tower and the curlies that suggest the lakeshore beaces and up on the north side at the border that meets Evanston, there was me waving to Ted asking where Abby was. Then I heard Renee, say sweetly, Thanks Ted and I was awake. I love these dreams where I see my adult life from the point of view of a younger version of myself. I think they reconnect me to a time when I feel I was at my most creative self.

When I was eight or so I wanted to know what it feels like to be a fish with all that salt water in their eyes. So I went to the kitchen and rummaged for some salt. Pried my eyes open and began dropping rock salt in them. Okay, so not exactly my proudest moment yes, but what I do remember was the thought process, a question that started with an attempt to sympathize. With a fish! At another time, at a pool party, thinking of floaters in my arms, I toyed with the idea of walking in water. I won't go into the details. I'll let your own imaginative child selves dream that one up.

Snowflower and the Secret Fan

Last Tuesday, my not-so-secret book club met to talk about our latest book Snowflower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See. Set in China at the height of footbinding practice, two girls enter into a contract of being laotongs, a pair of old sames, and promise to be true friends for life. Very graphic descriptions of the pain of footbinding start off the book. I'm sure my fellow El train riders noticed the cry of yuckiness from me as I reached the passages on the book when they intentionally break the bones of 6 year old girls so as to tuck the toes under. Imagine your feet looking a clenched fist. Lily, one of two main characters and is the lucky of the two, was divined by the diviner at age 6 to have the kind of feet that would be small and dainty. The smaller the feet (we're talking 7 centimeters) the better the prospects are for marriage. So it follows the fate of Lily as she rises from being a middle-class family in a so-so village to becoming the most prominent member of the Lu family in a the highclass village of Tongkou. How a small feet determines your fate is hard to comprehend. Yet on the day of the book club, I wore my "barbie heels". They are white strappy sandals with wooden pointy heels 3 inches long. I regretted it as soon as I was out the door but I was already late for work and I had been wearing my teva-types in my daily commute and felt very "plain" looking in them. So really it's not a leap of imagination afterall to think that even centuries later, we still ascribe to the same faulty logic of footbinding only it's in the form of strappy white leather sandals with 3 inch platforms that pinch the nerves of your little toe. So sexy, but ouch!

Initial Creation

The impossible joy of a suspended leap... I read this phrase from Reading Lolita in Tehran, a book that has revived my love of literature.

This image which is by this amazing illustrator fits it so well.

While it's been awhile since I've read it, I do remember this sense of urgency that this books inspired in me. It was a strange feeling. I was exactly the same person. I woke up at my usual time, had my cup of coffee (to go from Dunkin Donuts), boarded my El train downtown and started reading. Reading about these women whose love of books was so great, they held meetings in secret, I felt I was in the cusp of change. They invent a word "Upsilamba" and attempt to define them in their own terms. One claims it is a dance, another says it is the image of small silver fish leaping in and out of a moonlit lake while another says it is the impossible joy of a suspended leap. I love this last one hence this blog.

So here's to leaping....