Tonight at dinner after the reading, the great swami MP read my palm. Apparently, I have a writer's fork, will not have children and will live to be close to 100. She read everyone else's hands at the table and was pretty right on. J also had no children on his hands too. Hmmm.
While I do believe in this kind of knowledge---a woman earlier today read about how the Turkish women in the village where she had lived knew she was having twins before American medicine was able to pick up on that---I'm also a believer in that nothing is ever 100%. Lines and people can lie. Though I have to say, I wasn't too shaken about the news. Even a certain someone has indicated that I may not be the right type to mother. I'm not sure what that type is, or really, how do any of us know how we will shake out in the long run.
I don't really think anyone could have put a damper on my weekend. This actually confirmed some of my own thoughts and fears about the future and the kind of life I will have. I used to think it was my feminist lit. course in college, but perhaps it was destiny in a weird form. Though, yes, I know you can be feminist, and a writer, and a mother and an artist and...
Reb is proof that one woman can do it all and we talked about how people are perceived via their blogs and how we all think everyone else has a fabulous life. And of course, if we're our own editors, why not? I mean, who really wants to read about my fabulous time of sorting the recycling and watering the plants? Or how many asses she wipes a day? She gave a fabulous reading and looked good in my panty hose! And we had a fantastic decadent brunch at Rose Water before she had to jet set back to DC.
And if that wasn't enough of a weekend, that only covered half of it. Saturday night I heard Pharoah's Daughter for the first time. I know Basya from my classes at Drisha, but to see her on stage was really awe inspiring. I've been realizing how amazing Drisha is---all the incredible women---I had had much trepidation about being judged and feeling like the black sheep, but these women are cool as hell.
And then the reading today at 440 gallery where I met even more incredible writers---it was the real deal, not people pretending to be hip and writerly, but the writerly I love. The ones who really mean it, the people who open up their lives, our lives and help us to see the world from all angles. In yoga we bent our heads lower than our hearts so that we honor the feeling part of us, rather than the thinking part.
Carla tells us to be with our feelings and Reb tells me I blog too much after yoga that I sound like a new age chic. But whatever, her camera turned up and I was right so there must be something there right?