Thankfully the blue-smoke glass hit the carpet instead of the tile. Thalia’s calculated clumsiness created her desired outcome. While Urania checked to make sure her hairs were in place, there wasn’t any lipstick seeping into her smile lines, and no food was stuck to her dress, Calliope joined Tal under the table — to pick up paperclips.
“Well… I surely didn’t expect THAT!” Tal exclaimed.
“Me neither,” Cal whispered back. “She kind of looks like… Typist?”
“Stern and old?” whispered Tal.
“Ummm… I was thinking more… mature and wise,” Cal replied.
Urania sighed. “If the two of you haven’t figured out I can hear every word you utter by now, we’re going to have to go back to the basics. Do I need to get out the chalkboard? We are all one… ensconced in a Typist in Wisconsin. Stop whispering!”
Two muse heads popped above the table’s edge. “Sorry,” they muttered in unison.
“Tell us about your picture?” asked Cal.
“Well… I do look a little like Typist. It surprised me, too! And I painted the wall I see when I look across the studio from my seat at the table.”
“Without you… this room would still have smelly carpet and a puppy dog wall paper border… stenciled muddy paw prints running around on Dover white walls,” said Cal.
“And we wouldn’t have our new virtual space either… Responsibility and action oozes from you like raspberry jelly from a donut,” the Muse of Wit added.
“Thank you for your appreciation.” Urania dusted a few bagel crumbs from her lips. “I recognize that sometimes my determination is helpful, and sometimes it keeps us from hearing our combined song… which is really where our magic lives.”
The Muse of Harmony blushed. Thalia took a bite of her donut. And Urania said, “Hi… You can call me Nia.”
Yet another gem! Funny that Cal and Tal both noted a resemblance to Typist, but I really believe your hair has mostly been shorter recently, and you own a hairbrush. That you use!
I sense at this time we’re observing the Muses, one and all, making progress shifting from their former habits and tendencies in their interactions both among themselves and with the world at large. Perhaps thought of as the dark ages?
Shifting toward what, you may ask? But I’m pretty sure you well know. Consideration of how their words might feel to others, themselves. Restraint of tongue and blog. Striving to make new ways of speaking, habits. No small feat after lots of years not knowing.
Along these lines, I watched Flawless, with Robert DeNiro and Philip Seymour Hoffman, last night. DeNiro, if I may take this liberty, was transformed in a way not unlike the Muses. Just a little faster. The retired cop, played by DeNiro, was isolated, filled with anger, and uttered his venom at will. No filter. Until he suffered a major stroke that impaired his right side motor skills, and clobbered his speech. His doctor from hospital encouraged him to have speech and physical therapy. So Hoffman, playing a sure fire drag Queen, became his speech therapist. Teaching DeNiro to sing. From initial contempt for Hoffman, the events that unfolded in the film rendered DeNiro kinder, more accepting - especially of Hoffman- and ready to resume living large in his neighborhood. Despite the initial shame and embarrassment that followed the stroke, not being the tough guys he was, not doing the tango with a gal pal at a local bar/dance hall.
I think the greatest change agent was acceptance of himself! And the non-transactional efforts of Hoffman and a couple others to not settle for a miserable life.
Here’s to change!!
“She kind of looks like… Typist?”
Oh good, when I saw the drawing I didn’t know if I should comment. (Thanks, Cal!)