Oh, the long slow descent is exaggerated, I think. It only seems long and slow. Don’t depressions always seem that way? Even the little ones. Anyway, yesterday I noticed that transiting Saturn, having finished up its second return to my own (these conjunctions with our natal Saturns happen only every 28-30 years or so, and are life-changers) - I noticed it had advanced to my Ascendant, is conjuncting - conjoining - currently, my Ascendant, and has been for a while, and will continue there for a while, and I realized it had brought on my heavy restless and despairing mood. Not so long, maybe. I felt better then because I knew it would end. It would be a period of soul-searching and hard work. And because I expect to see yet a third return, I don’t consider this period to be an end-of-life summing-up Saturn return, but another phase instead, a leveling-up of spirit.

I had some dreams. In one, Wednesday night, my elder son walked around with a big fat belly hanging over his belt. I called to him to please care about his body, that the imbalance would ruin his back, but he only rolled his eyes, as he is wont to do in my dreams.

And this morning I dreamed I was with Noam Chomsky and Malvina Reyholds and we were organizing a movement of some kind. People came to our venue, a social hall in one wing of a sprawling motel, to get literature, hear lectures, take part in discussions. One night the regional leader came to speak and the place was thronged with screaming fans as though he were a rock star. He was only a speaker, a middle-aged intellectual in a suit, but the crowd was wild. Part of the event included a sort of halftime entertainment. A flock of Monarch butterflies was released and they fluttered skyward in exquisite murmurations, beautiful rhythms of coalescence and dispersal, until, exhausted, they landed all together in a gorgeous pulsing swarm on a rafter and were gathered up again. Then the motel management descended and evicted us because they were hostile to our political views. They were angry. Soon low-flying Korean bomber planes filled the skies dropping bombs everywhere. I fled with two small children, helping them escape. Then I circled back to gather some belongings from my home. A large red fox bounded out of some woods and ran alongside me, fleeing also. At home I stuffed the front of my pants with books hoping to look pregnant and so smuggle them out. I was going to have to walk out with a child, a little dark-haired girl, and I was going to have to abandon my pets—my five cats and my little black dog. Mr. Chomsky told me to take books of information about our movement with me so its message wouldn’t die. I chose three from the shelf - volumes 1 and 2 of its basic precepts and a third about Native American rights. These were large heavy books I would have to carry everywhere in my arms. I understood I was going to be very tired carrying on this work. I decided to leave a big bag of dry cat food open in the garage for my housecats, and to crack a window open so they could get used to going in and out and become wild again without me. I was griefstricken to leave them. Mr. Chomsky said he would drive me out in his car. I begged him to let me take at least my little dog. He agreed reluctantly, fuming as he drove.

***

In this waking world we had a satisfying Thanksgiving day. Husband worked upstairs until 4 o’clock. I was alone in the kitchen all day and felt a little lonely there. I baked three pies and whipped both potatoes and yams, steamed asparagus and sauteed Brussels sprouts in caramelized butter. I’d cooked up the cranberries the night before. Roasted a small birdbeast and made the gravy. Thanksgiving is just a vehicle for gravy, in my opinion. I made one emergency trip to the store for a baster and some buttermilk and a new oven thermometer. We had some organic wine with the meal, a little on the young side but very nice. Then we took a walk in the twilight and blue chill. TheAlturas streets were empty and quiet. Hawks came home from the fields, soared low into the great trees around the football field, settling for the night. The three of us arrived back happy to be too warm in the oven-heated house, and then we had our pie together in front of the TV and watched The Last of the Mohicans.

Husband went upstairs after that to watch his TV alone, and brotherB was happy to go to bed and he fell asleep right away, full of Thanksgiving food, and I watched his beautiful face for a while as he breathed. It seemed every bit as angelic as it had the day he was born. He glows with a holy aura sometimes, especially now that he’s becoming healthier. I had an anxious thought about how he might die from his defective heart one day, just like that, and leave me. Caught my breath to keep from sobbing. The Saturn conjunction, remember. It’s a sad planet.

So I made up my bed with newlaundered ivory cotton linens and down comforter and crawled in after a hot scrub in the shower, sat up in bed so clean, in my T-shirt and flannel pants, trying to stay awake until my hair was dry.