dudemanflab's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cordelia comes to breakfast Cordelia Rose and her husband came over on Saturday for breakfast. I ran to Albertsons to get some fruit, because I kept thinking French Toast seemed too simple. I also wasn't sure if she was a vegetarian, which would nix the bacon my mom was frying up. Cordelia is the lady who Tyler and I met in the Gila when we visited last September. She and her husband are from London, but they've lived in the US for over thirty years, and own a ranch in Alma, NM. Her business card says this: "Cordelia Rose: Horse Trainer, Yoga Instructor, Labyrinth Builder." I say that so you can imagine the way her days are looped and knotted together. I know her mostly for her labyrinth building. Tyler and I saw a brochure for "Whitewater Mesa Labyrinths" when we were eating at the Silver City gelato joint, and we thought it might be cool to check out, particularly since it was so near the catwalk. We had a time finding her house, and ended up driving down a ranch dirt road for five minutes the wrong way before we turned around and saw her house across the street. Hanging on a hook above her mailbox was a cretan labyrinth that someone had cut out of metal with a welding torch. It either rocked or spun in the wind. We parked in her driveway and knocked on her door. It was morning but still hot. To the east were the mogollon mountains-- close, brown and jagged. To the west were smaller mountains that were several hundred feet below us, for as we drove up the road to her house we had ascended a mesa. She showed us her three working labyrinths: Syzygy--a seven-ring Cretan labyrinth large enough for a horse and rider to navigate--, Two Stones Kneeling--a pair of interlocking spirals--, and Pima--a five-ring Cretan labyrinth. She had a maze to the east that was overgrown with weeds and a dirt canvas space that she said she used to create labyrinth patterns with groups. She explained that sometimes people used labyrinths to ask questions and sometimes to think or pray or meditate. I felt so much excitement welling up as I prepared myself to walk it. What's funny is that I don't remember having any sudden surprises. I was thinking on Boston and Massachusetts, because I had dropped off Tracy and met with Joanna there, so I asked the labyrinth where I should go to grad school. It was those months in my life where I felt as though no place really differed much from another, people would always be living, suffering, and rejoicing. I felt like I could be dropped down on a map like a marble and I could roll anywhere. It would all be in the slant of the table. That said, the labyrinth never whispered something like "Go to University of Texas, amigo." or "Don't forget to apply to Boston College." Overall, I guess, I had an impression of Boston and that place in the East. It felt like a hearth, a fire and food-making center. Like the whole country started off around this cozy living room with a chimney, a mantle, something making crispy noices over a flame. I was thinking of the Pilgrims, I guess, not the native peoples, although they had centered hearths and homes of their owns. I put my heart to that state, and now I can see I was longing to be with people I loved and to have that room with them, but then all I could think of was the metaphor of the hearth and extending it to the whole country. It's funny because most people might think of Massachusetts as a place with water or liberals or gays or forests or students, but I don't think they'd ever associate the hearth with it. That was my impression. Cordelia was coming to Carlsbad to visit with Virginia Doddier, the Carlsbad Museum curator. I guess Carlsbad has a grant for "Art in Public Places" and they've hired a handful of artists to install art around the city, so Cordelia is building a labyrinth in the library park. I think that's pretty cool because I don't know when my town has ever done something like that, except maybe the trail of the painted ponies. The lines of her labyrinth will be denoted by rope lights; it will have a few rocks as well to represent the different stars, Jupiter, and Venus, as they appear in relation to Carlsbad's lattitude. Man, I wish I could be home to walk it. I invited Cordelia and her husband to breakfast because I had been in contact with her over the summer, asking her advice on building labyrinths as I tried my hand at it in Massachusetts. They came just a little before nine, with a bouquet of purple violets. Her husband's name is Mike, and he was the one I was really curious about because I've only seen him once at their house, and I know he doesn't really enjoy labyrinths. As we waited for the eggs, our conversation covered British foods and their transition to America, a little of their life story. Tyler, my six year old cousin, came in showing us his fish "tattoo," a blue stamp. He asked to give me one, and I let him. Then Cordelia asked for one, and so did Mike. This was when I decided to relax, because anyone who can talk to children without talking down to them probably has a good set of eyes and a level head. We made our way through French Toast, eggs, and bacon (no one was a vegetarian except my sister), orange juice, and some of the fruit I'd cut. Cordelia had strong coffee, saying Mike gave it up when he gave up cigarettes, and I had a cup of Roiboos. Tracy and mom sat at the heads of the table, adding to the the conversation their knowledge about Boston museums or the type of people Carlsbad people are. One of my favorite of Cordelia's stories was how they looked at houses in Reserve, NM, before settling on the ranch house in Alma. Apparently, one house they visited had no cupboards or cabinets or closets. She noticed this and asked the real estate agent, who with a sigh told her he felt she deserved to know the full truth about the house. They turned through several doorways to arrive at a staircase below the house. Once down, they saw shelf after shelf of canned goods, dry goods, ammunitions, and toiletries--just like a Cormac MacCarthey novel. The owners were survivalists, convinced society was soon to unravel. The room was airconditioned from a vent and machine several hundred yards away from the house in the forest. The barn was similarly paranoid, with a magnificent greenhouse whose roof rolled back on solar windows. It was filled with trees, berry bushes and plants, all indoors, should the shit hit the fan. Needless to say, Cordelia nad Mike decided that wouldn't be the tone of their life in New Mexico. Mike and I didn't really get talking until the last five minutes when I brought up reading. He's really into science fiction and mystery (not so much fantasy) and championed Ursula Le Guin (someday, someday). They had to leave, but Cordelia said the next time I visited I should stay in their guest room, which is filled with books and shelves on every wall so that they had to place the bed in the center of the room. That made me happy. 11:21 p.m. - September 01, 2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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