There's this movie that you have to see, if you haven't already. It's called Grey Gardens. It's a documentary, about some very exceptionally strange and amazing women. They are Big Edie and Little Edie Beale, cousins of Jackie Kennedy (Bouvier...Onassis...you know the one) and their very unique lifestyle. I have gone in a week's time from knowing nothing about these women to seeing their movie three times and meeting someone who knew Little Edie. After watching the commentary on the DVD, David and I were in the post office and the man in front of us in line, sporting an "Embrace the Unloved" tattoo, was holding a stack of pictures of Little Edie with her signature on them. We had to ask him, and he told us she had just passed away this January and that they had had a phone and letter correspondence. David and I went pale. He let me hold a letter addressed to him from her. Her handwriting was strange: at once artistic, studied, and over-flourished. The synchronicity of the moment made my spine tingle. For one moment this woman reached out and spoke her hello to us. It was wonderful.
And now, the walls in my home are now all sorts of outrageous colors. I've yet to decide how I feel about the bedroom, which is a cacophony of blue rag splotches. Suddenly our bedding looks ridiculous. David made the music room an amazing red/orange combination that at first seemed completely unreasonable and is now the best thing about the whole apartment. I ended up writing some poetry on the walls, perhaps in honor of Little Edie: "Tongues of fire above our heads/ we sing for Love/ we move our hands/ we are all brides in the eyes of Orpheus."