Monthly Archives: August 2012

Oh, my dears. It’s been a long week. And it is Friday night. The sky is dark, the moon is traveling past the stars, and much of the world is readying for bed. Curl up and listen to the tales I weave, until your eyes grow heavy and you slip into slumber, ready for the Dream Maker.

Every Blue Moon that rises in the night sky heralds the singing of the Sentinels. Though they look like a cross between a mushroom and a lotus plant, Sentinels are protectors, much more than a salad ingredient.

Cousin Mieke has a garden full of Sentinels. They surround her tiny house in Hoogeveen and protect her from vandals and ne’er do wells. Perhaps these tiny little soldiers are the reason the townsfolk believe Cousin Mieke is a witch. Perhaps the townsfolk have passed the tiny cottage near the woods during a Blue Moon and heard the Sentinels’ song.

When the Blue Moon rises, the Sentinels turn in unison, raise their faces towards the moon, and sing. With the moonlight reflecting off their lotus pod faces, the Sentinels appear to glow with an other-worldly power. And their song – oh, their song. Both haunting and sweet, the music seems to come from the earth and travel to the Blue Moon, as though there’s a bridge we can all cross to dance on the moon’s face.

So tonight, as the Full Blue Moon rises in the sky wherever you are, turn your face upwards. Let the moon glow reflect off your face and feel the earth sing around you. That’s what the Sentinels are doing.

Sleep tight, my pets. Dream deep.

My, but I haven’t written in such a long time. Bubo and I left for Paris earlier this month, wanting a change of pace and a change of palette. Upon my return, I caught a massive head cold, Bubo managed to cover herself in bright orange paint, and Mordecai just yesterday set the entire kitchen on fire whilst attempting to make mushrooms flambé.

Perhaps it is the post-vacation blues. Perhaps it is the prospect of gutting my kitchen. Perhaps it is living with the crankiest owl this side of the the Great Lakes. Perhaps it is my end-of-summer moodiness kicking in, but I am struggling to find my joie de vie. It appears I have a case of acedia.

Acedia is a noun that means spiritual torpor; apathy; ennui. Often defined as a soul-wearying indifference, it must be mentioned that acedia is not willful sloth or indolence, less so “sin,” but a spiritual lethargy or indifference, a turpitude that affects the well-intentioned. (Thank you Hermitary.com.)

The word originates from the Late Latin acēdia in turn from the Greek akēdeia meaning indifference. (This, in turn, can be traced back to the Greek a- + kēdos  meaning care, grief.)

Interesting to note, acedia was first classified as a problem among monks and other ascetics who maintained a solitary life. Their inability to perform daily tasks was distinguished as different from depression due to the spiritual overtones of their lives and work, and thus, their ennui.

Some claim that acedia can be overcome by renewing the sufferer’s faith in the spiritual or in life. How to do that, you ask? I suppose that is the big question.

I’m going to attempt this seemingly monumental task by forcing Mordecai to clean up his own mess (he is a bit of a culinary snob, so a functioning kitchen is a must for him) and by sipping summer cocktails whilst reading in the garden. Bubo finagled herself some hair dye and I’m giving her full license to turn the third floor loo into a foul feather salon.

Ostensibly, either the cocktails or the acedia will keep me from caring what the result is.

I am bleary-eyed with excitement – the rover Curiosity landed safely on Mars! The machine managed to enter the planet’s atmosphere safely and even survived the 7 minutes of terror landing to the surface.

And so look at this. This is a picture of Mars from Curiosity’s rear Hazcam.

Here is a delightful video from Space.com explaining the 7 Minutes of Terror:

I shall now take a nap.

Prior to Curiosity landing on Mars, Brooklyn was enveloped by a storm.