I have woken up earlier than ever today, which just means my readers with insomnia have something to read. My coffee tastes extra good this morning, and that is as it should be. If I have to wake early, then I should be greeted with some fanfare.
Well, the friend I wrote of yesterday did indeed contact me, and there was nothing to worry about. Just a bit of panic to spread over my new year. Apparently I am not as talented at losing friends as I had thought.
And, at midnight tonight, the monotony of a new year begins. All I can think of this time of year is dating all my checks incorrectly for a month or two, before I get used to the date change.
I suppose I am blase about the beginning of a new year because, as I grow older, nothing seems to change. The state of human affairs is hauntingly bad, and our government, like all governments, seems to want to screw us as never before. They keep voting themselves pay raises for doing nothing, while the rest of us circle the drain.
True, right at the moment, as the fiscal cliff looms, the American people seem to be rising up in protest against Congress' inaction. This is a good sign. Complacency has overwhelmed us in the last 40 years; but then there are the moments we would like to forget. The Congress has not extended the Violence Against Women Act, or re-ratified it, which is a horrible mistake on their part. Hasn't the Republican Congress damaged women enough this year? And the douchbag, Eric Cantor wants to take protection from Native American women, leaving it to tribal law to adjudicate.
If anything friends, the Violence Against Women Act needs to be expanded, and a proposal was made to that effect, and voted down by the party that cannot decide what rape is, or if Roe v. Wade is really a law they should follow.
But enough. On a personal level, this is one of the better years. After the devastating stroke of one of the unicorn meat eating cats, another calico has adopted me. Her photo and name, Georgia, leaped out at me on Petfinder, and so down to the pound I went. The local Angels of Assisi organization pulled her off of death row for me, and she possesses a spirit so closely linked to the departed cat, as to make no difference. Now, I know she is not my Echo, a black calico, who was wild and free, although hand-raised by me from birth. But somehow her personality lives on in this grey calico, who at 4 years of age, is as mischievous as ever Echo was.
But I suppose what all the excitement is about surrounding the new year. Everyone is making their list of personal favorites for this year, and personal dislikes, and hoping there are more of the first in this new year and less of the second.
So get out there tonight, and shake your booty, and some cheap musical instrument, and let the shredded paper fall on you like rain. Don't drink too much, and don't drive at all if you have been drinking...call a cab. Let's make it until tomorrow.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Just Give Me the Usual
I have lit the ceramic Christmas tree this morning, as I need a pick me up. For some reason, the espresso isn't helping to calm me...
Georgia, the newest unicorn meat eating cat, has become bold, venturing into the bedroom and beyond in search of adventure. But how can she be a unicorn meat eating cat, as same as the boys, if she doesn't leave the apartment to hunt in the yard? Well, the dog brings it to her, and if she runs low, I order from Schwanns. It's a company that delivers food to the homebound, notable for the big pictures of ice cream on it's trucks. And steak, and to a select clientele, unicorn meat.
If you call them, they will deny it.
I woke up firmly and adamantly at 3 am my time today. And I am just passing the time until the friend I think I have offended, but am not sure, contacts me to let me know one way or another...sometimes it is terrible to be stuck in my head.
It goes along with nights, sometimes, where I eat, almost in my sleep. And it is sure to be a diet of quickly available, therefore highly processed foods, like cookies. I never eat veggie chili in the middle of the night, only the high fat version. Do you do this, too?
I don't need to count sheep. I have a heavily snoring dog beside me, as kind of a sleep lullaby; and the cats are certainly not going to wake simply because I have. So they lie in sometimes contorted poses, oblivious to me and my lights and coffee and stirrings. And I try to be as quiet as I can, aware that they need their beauty sleep, and their wild dreams of chasing unicorns, and the freedom they deserve.
Georgia, the newest unicorn meat eating cat, has become bold, venturing into the bedroom and beyond in search of adventure. But how can she be a unicorn meat eating cat, as same as the boys, if she doesn't leave the apartment to hunt in the yard? Well, the dog brings it to her, and if she runs low, I order from Schwanns. It's a company that delivers food to the homebound, notable for the big pictures of ice cream on it's trucks. And steak, and to a select clientele, unicorn meat.
If you call them, they will deny it.
I woke up firmly and adamantly at 3 am my time today. And I am just passing the time until the friend I think I have offended, but am not sure, contacts me to let me know one way or another...sometimes it is terrible to be stuck in my head.
It goes along with nights, sometimes, where I eat, almost in my sleep. And it is sure to be a diet of quickly available, therefore highly processed foods, like cookies. I never eat veggie chili in the middle of the night, only the high fat version. Do you do this, too?
I don't need to count sheep. I have a heavily snoring dog beside me, as kind of a sleep lullaby; and the cats are certainly not going to wake simply because I have. So they lie in sometimes contorted poses, oblivious to me and my lights and coffee and stirrings. And I try to be as quiet as I can, aware that they need their beauty sleep, and their wild dreams of chasing unicorns, and the freedom they deserve.
The Way of the World
I have managed to offend a friend...not the friend who dumped me on Christmas Eve, but still yet, another friend. I don't know how I manage it, but it takes hard work and dedication...
Now that I am distressed about that, I am not sure what I am going to write about today.
One news event I have been following springs to mind...
In case you missed it on CNN, or the BBC, a young paramedical student in New Delhi boarded a bus with a male friend after watching a movie. She was gang raped by a group of passengers, and beaten up, along with her friend, and they were thrown off the bus.
She has now died from her injuries. The good news is that massive protests are going on by the citizens of New Delhi. The terrible news is that of her passing. The government is calling for calm, and the citizens are holding out for the death penalty for the perpetrators. Which may not seem like too much in Texas, but, in a country where Hinduism predominates, it is, as they say, a big deal.
There are many side issues here in this story that I know I do not understand. I do know that India is more vast, with such a larger population than we have, that it is difficult to comprehend sometimes, for an American. India is the largest democracy in the world, with more ethnicities than one can 'shake a stick at.' And each of the thousands of ethnicities has it's own language and traditions, literature, and culture.
And yet this vast country, with all it's patriarchal leanings, takes notice of such a terrible crime as this, and rains protests down, enough to capture the world's attention.
Sometimes these are the things that I think about, and I would like to hear from you how you feel. Because we can discuss this as adults, and ponder together, in this day and age, on tragedies and what is casually and yet brutally called, "the way of the world."
Now that I am distressed about that, I am not sure what I am going to write about today.
One news event I have been following springs to mind...
In case you missed it on CNN, or the BBC, a young paramedical student in New Delhi boarded a bus with a male friend after watching a movie. She was gang raped by a group of passengers, and beaten up, along with her friend, and they were thrown off the bus.
She has now died from her injuries. The good news is that massive protests are going on by the citizens of New Delhi. The terrible news is that of her passing. The government is calling for calm, and the citizens are holding out for the death penalty for the perpetrators. Which may not seem like too much in Texas, but, in a country where Hinduism predominates, it is, as they say, a big deal.
There are many side issues here in this story that I know I do not understand. I do know that India is more vast, with such a larger population than we have, that it is difficult to comprehend sometimes, for an American. India is the largest democracy in the world, with more ethnicities than one can 'shake a stick at.' And each of the thousands of ethnicities has it's own language and traditions, literature, and culture.
And yet this vast country, with all it's patriarchal leanings, takes notice of such a terrible crime as this, and rains protests down, enough to capture the world's attention.
Sometimes these are the things that I think about, and I would like to hear from you how you feel. Because we can discuss this as adults, and ponder together, in this day and age, on tragedies and what is casually and yet brutally called, "the way of the world."
Friday, December 28, 2012
Strip Search your Local Judge, Today.
Just found out that the Supreme Court upheld the right of police to strip search anyone who is arrested, even if it's a 'wrong' arrest. Wow. The conservative court, blowing your mind since whenever. Of course, they are lawyers, and will never be arrested, because they have pull. And being on the Supreme Court doesn't hurt. I'm sure it's marked on their license plates.
Not enough coffee in the world to deal with that.
You'll also be happy to know that therapy was a success yesterday. Houston, we have lift off...I just mean I am thinking more clearly, and feeling more ok in my own skin. Which is a nice post-Christmas present. I don't know what I would do without my therapist. But he should be stuck in a small corner and have incense and flowers placed in front of him.
Making bread today, yes, the old fashioned way, for a friend. It takes dedication to figure out which corner of the kitchen has no drafts, (so the bread can rise), and so I dreamed of making bread last night, which is better than the dreams the night before. Believe me.
This morning is a good omen. The wind has stopped, I feel good, and there are small, inconsequential sounds coming from the cats roaming about, and crawling in and out of things. You know that small prrt sound they make when they are curious? Or is it like sonar, sending out a sound to be reassured when you "prrt" back?
But other than the motivations of the cat mind, I really am not too concerned about the outside world today. It is running along, as it has for quite a long time. And Newtown, Connecticut has asked the public to stop sending gifts to them.
And my heart aches. It is not as if they don't deserve the gifts or a show of support, but how many who sent gifts know that a train runs in Appalachia, distributing gifts, to children who may not have a pair of shoes, or a meal that day? We are experts at the knee-jerk reaction, but seem to lack the stamina to tackle children starving in a remote corner of America. I think it's painful denial. And if you are offended I have compared this topic to the massacre in Newtown; may I ask why? We are not complicit in the Newtown deaths, and yet we are all complicit in the starvation of children within our borders.
I'm not trying to lay a guilt trip on you...it is something I feel guilty enough about for the both of us. And of course, Newtown was an unprecedented tragedy. Starving children in Appalachia is a problem since before the Civil War; which event just cemented the idea in the commercial mind. It has precedence, and so escapes our notice.
But be of good cheer. Buy one can of food and place it in the box that your place of worship has, or buy a bag of groceries for someone and leave it on their doorstep. I like buying cat and dogfood and leaving it at a church that I know collects petfood for those who will not part with their companion animals and yet have few resources to feed them. But I digress.
I suppose Newtown has triggered a burst of "what can I do" and I always answer: "Give locally."
Not enough coffee in the world to deal with that.
You'll also be happy to know that therapy was a success yesterday. Houston, we have lift off...I just mean I am thinking more clearly, and feeling more ok in my own skin. Which is a nice post-Christmas present. I don't know what I would do without my therapist. But he should be stuck in a small corner and have incense and flowers placed in front of him.
Making bread today, yes, the old fashioned way, for a friend. It takes dedication to figure out which corner of the kitchen has no drafts, (so the bread can rise), and so I dreamed of making bread last night, which is better than the dreams the night before. Believe me.
This morning is a good omen. The wind has stopped, I feel good, and there are small, inconsequential sounds coming from the cats roaming about, and crawling in and out of things. You know that small prrt sound they make when they are curious? Or is it like sonar, sending out a sound to be reassured when you "prrt" back?
But other than the motivations of the cat mind, I really am not too concerned about the outside world today. It is running along, as it has for quite a long time. And Newtown, Connecticut has asked the public to stop sending gifts to them.
And my heart aches. It is not as if they don't deserve the gifts or a show of support, but how many who sent gifts know that a train runs in Appalachia, distributing gifts, to children who may not have a pair of shoes, or a meal that day? We are experts at the knee-jerk reaction, but seem to lack the stamina to tackle children starving in a remote corner of America. I think it's painful denial. And if you are offended I have compared this topic to the massacre in Newtown; may I ask why? We are not complicit in the Newtown deaths, and yet we are all complicit in the starvation of children within our borders.
I'm not trying to lay a guilt trip on you...it is something I feel guilty enough about for the both of us. And of course, Newtown was an unprecedented tragedy. Starving children in Appalachia is a problem since before the Civil War; which event just cemented the idea in the commercial mind. It has precedence, and so escapes our notice.
But be of good cheer. Buy one can of food and place it in the box that your place of worship has, or buy a bag of groceries for someone and leave it on their doorstep. I like buying cat and dogfood and leaving it at a church that I know collects petfood for those who will not part with their companion animals and yet have few resources to feed them. But I digress.
I suppose Newtown has triggered a burst of "what can I do" and I always answer: "Give locally."
Thursday, December 27, 2012
And So...
Today is a day I could write forever, which necessitates another blog this morning. The other blog, "Christmas and Valentines" came to it's own end a minute ago. There is no use in reviving it. When a work decides that it is finished, it is simply finished, whether the author would or no. And that is the secret of writing. The author, so I have been told, and in my own experience, is simply the medium for the work, which cannot write itself. But once started on, just like a journey, it takes a life of it's own, leading the author down paths previously unseen and unknown.
And so, this morning, the story that is me on the page, is still traveling past the holidays, past Christmas and New Year and Valentine's Day, and moves onto a contemplation of the Now, and the past, and the future.
So I sit here with my unfaded Christmas flowers, and once again, 3, count'em, three unicorn meat eating cats, and a dog. And that one of the unicorn meat eating cats looks different than the one she is replacing...and the dog is not the service animal, but he does 'winter' well; makes little difference in the scheme of things. That my heart knows the difference is of no matter and will die when I do. But two of the cats are the same, some continuity exists from the past, which we all must have or go mad. Because that is the way we have constructed time for ourselves.
And the wind is blowing mightily this morning, as I sit happily in bed, sniffling and sneezing, listening to it blow. For as another writer once said, it is not so much the experience of winter we savor, but the experience of having shelter against the winter that we find cozy.*
I wouldn't be able to thumb my dripping nose at the wind, if I had a cold and was trying to stay warm by sleeping on a heating grate set in concrete.
My therapist has warned me against this kind of thinking, "Stay rooted in the Now, the present." A wise man once told me that all of humankind has nights where we lie awake, and go over our past and alternatives until the sun rises.
And so...I will bring myself back to Today. There is no other day for my body, and it is better for my mind if I keep it in Today. And so, I meditate on the whorls of fur adorning each animal surrounding me, and I luxuriate in their comfort and company. And so, I appreciate that I have the time this morning, and the inclination to reach out to you, those of you with computers; and I appreciate the coffee steaming in my cup...and yet, I appreciate the appearances and love lost of sitting in the dark, rubbed, mahogany of the bed my mother and father bought me. And I sip from a cup that tells me, "Merry Christmas," and I light my ceramic tree...
*Harry Golden
And so, this morning, the story that is me on the page, is still traveling past the holidays, past Christmas and New Year and Valentine's Day, and moves onto a contemplation of the Now, and the past, and the future.
So I sit here with my unfaded Christmas flowers, and once again, 3, count'em, three unicorn meat eating cats, and a dog. And that one of the unicorn meat eating cats looks different than the one she is replacing...and the dog is not the service animal, but he does 'winter' well; makes little difference in the scheme of things. That my heart knows the difference is of no matter and will die when I do. But two of the cats are the same, some continuity exists from the past, which we all must have or go mad. Because that is the way we have constructed time for ourselves.
And the wind is blowing mightily this morning, as I sit happily in bed, sniffling and sneezing, listening to it blow. For as another writer once said, it is not so much the experience of winter we savor, but the experience of having shelter against the winter that we find cozy.*
I wouldn't be able to thumb my dripping nose at the wind, if I had a cold and was trying to stay warm by sleeping on a heating grate set in concrete.
My therapist has warned me against this kind of thinking, "Stay rooted in the Now, the present." A wise man once told me that all of humankind has nights where we lie awake, and go over our past and alternatives until the sun rises.
And so...I will bring myself back to Today. There is no other day for my body, and it is better for my mind if I keep it in Today. And so, I meditate on the whorls of fur adorning each animal surrounding me, and I luxuriate in their comfort and company. And so, I appreciate that I have the time this morning, and the inclination to reach out to you, those of you with computers; and I appreciate the coffee steaming in my cup...and yet, I appreciate the appearances and love lost of sitting in the dark, rubbed, mahogany of the bed my mother and father bought me. And I sip from a cup that tells me, "Merry Christmas," and I light my ceramic tree...
*Harry Golden
Christmas and Valentines
I, too, am struck by the Christmas Blues...months of preparation, and it is all over in one day, moving very fast. I am convinced that all those people who "hate" Christmas, just do not want to go through this fugue that follows the Day...they want to be happy through the winter. Meanwhile, the rest of us hang onto memories of red and green, chocolate and turkey, and love.
I didn't mention family in the above list, because it can be a very traumatic experience for some...being forced to spend time up close and personal, with people we may or may not spend a lot of time with the rest of the year. And too, spending time in one's head with all those who have died. Yes, the family factor can be problematic. And let's not forget those who have no family to spend time with; their lack is held under a microscope this time of year. It's simply worse if they have family, and no one wants to spend time with them...do you see?
And so, some of us, Christmas haters and not, spend time with the lonely ones. Which is a celebration of Christmas as it should be.
And now we wait, for the stars to fall on New Year's Day...all the glitter and excitement which ends in a dead pool at January 2nd. Until the celebration of Spring, Easter. I don't count Valentine's Day, which is the most useless holiday one can imagine. It's a massive competition to see who gets the most roses, dead the day after, and/or the most expensive box of chocolates. And other gifts, which make it seem as if sex is mandatory on that night. It's an orgy of red in the middle of Winter, which leaves the rest of us, who are not in relationships, to look at each other and say, "So what?" Which sounds like sour grapes, but isn't.
When I think of Valentine's Day, I think of the little cut-out valentines that school children exchange, and think that the holiday should stop at that age. And it seems as if it has...my mother used to exchange valentines with my brother and I. For her, it meant love in all it's varieties and forms, not simply romantic love, the commercial experience of Valentine's Day. But there, I am casting my mind back to the dead, part of the Christmas blues experience.
And so now, I walk on my beloved Hollins campus, admiring the gold and slate gray, and green of the winter colors. I walk with the memory of Eddie, my service dog, and I walk with the living dog, Max. And I grit my teeth on New Year's Eve and Day, and Valentine's Day, and hope for Spring.
I didn't mention family in the above list, because it can be a very traumatic experience for some...being forced to spend time up close and personal, with people we may or may not spend a lot of time with the rest of the year. And too, spending time in one's head with all those who have died. Yes, the family factor can be problematic. And let's not forget those who have no family to spend time with; their lack is held under a microscope this time of year. It's simply worse if they have family, and no one wants to spend time with them...do you see?
And so, some of us, Christmas haters and not, spend time with the lonely ones. Which is a celebration of Christmas as it should be.
And now we wait, for the stars to fall on New Year's Day...all the glitter and excitement which ends in a dead pool at January 2nd. Until the celebration of Spring, Easter. I don't count Valentine's Day, which is the most useless holiday one can imagine. It's a massive competition to see who gets the most roses, dead the day after, and/or the most expensive box of chocolates. And other gifts, which make it seem as if sex is mandatory on that night. It's an orgy of red in the middle of Winter, which leaves the rest of us, who are not in relationships, to look at each other and say, "So what?" Which sounds like sour grapes, but isn't.
When I think of Valentine's Day, I think of the little cut-out valentines that school children exchange, and think that the holiday should stop at that age. And it seems as if it has...my mother used to exchange valentines with my brother and I. For her, it meant love in all it's varieties and forms, not simply romantic love, the commercial experience of Valentine's Day. But there, I am casting my mind back to the dead, part of the Christmas blues experience.
And so now, I walk on my beloved Hollins campus, admiring the gold and slate gray, and green of the winter colors. I walk with the memory of Eddie, my service dog, and I walk with the living dog, Max. And I grit my teeth on New Year's Eve and Day, and Valentine's Day, and hope for Spring.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Boxing Day
Despite my lack of motivation of anything that resembles work, thanks to a cold, I have come here to spend some time with you this morning. Aren't you happy?
Had a friend 'unfriend' me on Facebook on Christmas Eve...with no explanation. Although she is a quirky writer, with the cuteness factor of that equated in, it is a bit too quirky and cute for me. Waiting until she came into town for the holidays? Priceless. In the land of passive-aggresive, it is one upmanship at it's best. What made it oddly painful was that she was a 'real-life' friend, not just one on Facebook. No clue here, but the vagaries of the mind...
So I concentrated on presents, lovingly given by some friends and family. With emphasis on the lovingly. In my spare time, I ate and ate and ate. If I don't buy sweets, I don't eat them, but what happens when they are delivered to one's door? It makes it that much easier to chow down. Not buying sweets is easy. Not eating the little tempting morsels is another...
Time for coffee...
So today is Boxing Day. In the UK, this is the day one gives presents, "boxes", to the people who make your year run more smoothly: the postman, the local grocer, the local shopkeeper, the trashmen, etc. At least I hope that is right, but I am too zoned by this cold to look it up. You look it up for me, won't you?
I wish I could settle into my bed with a fifth of bourbon and some tea and honey, but those days are past...the tea and honey are a much better choice, nowadays. And the swearing off of some fruitcake products should make everything seem better by noon. And no chocolate, either...the thought makes me shudder at this very moment...I need some protein.
Have a good Boxing Day and don't be down that Christmas is over. I am leaving my ceramic tree up until March; I like the colored lights...and have been known to leave a cut tree up until after Valentine's Day---the most useless holiday yet.
Had a friend 'unfriend' me on Facebook on Christmas Eve...with no explanation. Although she is a quirky writer, with the cuteness factor of that equated in, it is a bit too quirky and cute for me. Waiting until she came into town for the holidays? Priceless. In the land of passive-aggresive, it is one upmanship at it's best. What made it oddly painful was that she was a 'real-life' friend, not just one on Facebook. No clue here, but the vagaries of the mind...
So I concentrated on presents, lovingly given by some friends and family. With emphasis on the lovingly. In my spare time, I ate and ate and ate. If I don't buy sweets, I don't eat them, but what happens when they are delivered to one's door? It makes it that much easier to chow down. Not buying sweets is easy. Not eating the little tempting morsels is another...
Time for coffee...
So today is Boxing Day. In the UK, this is the day one gives presents, "boxes", to the people who make your year run more smoothly: the postman, the local grocer, the local shopkeeper, the trashmen, etc. At least I hope that is right, but I am too zoned by this cold to look it up. You look it up for me, won't you?
I wish I could settle into my bed with a fifth of bourbon and some tea and honey, but those days are past...the tea and honey are a much better choice, nowadays. And the swearing off of some fruitcake products should make everything seem better by noon. And no chocolate, either...the thought makes me shudder at this very moment...I need some protein.
Have a good Boxing Day and don't be down that Christmas is over. I am leaving my ceramic tree up until March; I like the colored lights...and have been known to leave a cut tree up until after Valentine's Day---the most useless holiday yet.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
More Fruitcake
Apparently, I cannot buy sweets without eating them. This will necessitate another visit to the country corner store to replenish my supply of Christmas candy...'tis the Season to gain enough weight so that I could pass for Mrs. Claus. And I have already opened one Christmas gift that has my favorite chocolates in it...admit it. You would do it too.
Bah Humbug.
It is hard not to write soft, marshmallow-sweet pieces of work until Christmas, and then turn into the curmudgeon that I really am. But I am paying more attention to the turning of the year this year, which to me has always seemed so arbitrary. I mean, you are celebrating another day out of the middle of nowhere. It's a bit like St. Valentine's day, the only secular holdover from the Saints' calendar. Where did that come from? As far as I can tell, it's another celebration of the color red in the middle of what most people think of as a dull and grey time of year.
Furthermore, it has the added benefit of adding stress to a romantic relationship. Will he get "the" gift? Will she remember the oil and feathers?
That it is actually a blue, grey, golden fields, with the brightest, clearest skies time of year seems to escape some. No worries. Summer will again be here before you know it. And with global warming marching on rapidly, it just seems like we just got over the last summer as it is, and are still in late summer. This from a part of the country where the Arctic wind used to blow in January and February, and ice storms abounded. Do you remember how a good ice storm used to decorate the trees with fire from the sun reflecting off of the ice?
And since I like it cooler, rather than warmer, I am not celebrating the disappearance of really cold winters. Bah humbug.
And tomorrow is the end of the world, so I really should finish off what Christmas candy I do have left this morning...eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow is promised to no one...
Bah Humbug.
It is hard not to write soft, marshmallow-sweet pieces of work until Christmas, and then turn into the curmudgeon that I really am. But I am paying more attention to the turning of the year this year, which to me has always seemed so arbitrary. I mean, you are celebrating another day out of the middle of nowhere. It's a bit like St. Valentine's day, the only secular holdover from the Saints' calendar. Where did that come from? As far as I can tell, it's another celebration of the color red in the middle of what most people think of as a dull and grey time of year.
Furthermore, it has the added benefit of adding stress to a romantic relationship. Will he get "the" gift? Will she remember the oil and feathers?
That it is actually a blue, grey, golden fields, with the brightest, clearest skies time of year seems to escape some. No worries. Summer will again be here before you know it. And with global warming marching on rapidly, it just seems like we just got over the last summer as it is, and are still in late summer. This from a part of the country where the Arctic wind used to blow in January and February, and ice storms abounded. Do you remember how a good ice storm used to decorate the trees with fire from the sun reflecting off of the ice?
And since I like it cooler, rather than warmer, I am not celebrating the disappearance of really cold winters. Bah humbug.
And tomorrow is the end of the world, so I really should finish off what Christmas candy I do have left this morning...eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow is promised to no one...
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
A Small Town
like I grew up in. I could ride my bike down the middle of Main Street, which was named Main Street, and be safe. My first view of a gun, was a pistol kept by my Grandpa. He had acquired it during WW II, and had his Gerand issued to him from the same war. The only time I ever saw either of them, was the time he killed a rattlesnake down by the pond where my 7 year old brother and I were fishing.
I think Samuel L. Jackson has the Newtown tragedy right, when he said that he was raised in the South, with guns, and had never seen anyone shot. He said it is not about guns, but about the shooters not knowing or being taught, the value of human life. Although in general, I am against guns, I have to agree with him on this subject. My Papa taught us about guns, and how it felt to kill someone. He taught us it was never excusable to kill, except in war, and that it was a nasty business in war, too. Even pointing a gun had consequences, and we were never allowed to handle his guns.
And now it has come to small children, as if the loss at Columbine wasn't about small children...or as defenseless as a 6 year old.
And now it has come to the billions spent by the NRA, the National Rifle Association, and your neighbor with the assault rifle, and a way of thinking that agrees with almost casually killing someone, anyone that one can pick out as an 'enemy.' Or killing to make a statement, or killing because of an organic disease...all of these are being looked at as causes for the Newtown killings.
But I put it to you that we are a sick society. Where a great many veterans are homeless, or cross addicted, or dually addicted. Where people go hungry, and the tiny amount it takes to feed them is begrudged by one part of society to another. Where many of the elderly are untaken-care-of and the rights of women to own their own bodies is disputed. Which is a fair description of slavery, don't you think?
And sometimes, slaves go mad, actually insane, and kill. So, amid all the confusing debates about what is to be done, and it is a deeply intricate problem is my point, we are going to have to look at who we serve. Or, in this country I think, WHAT we serve.
I am sure that I was not born with an inherent right to a gun, or even money. I was born with an inherent need for survival, (shelter, food, water, air, clothes, and communication with others), liberty, and the 'pursuit of happiness,' or "Live and Let Live."
And so we need to re-think a 400 year old way of living that, up to recent times, included the need for a gun to kill the food to make it to tomorrow. And we need to re-think an ancient way of living, that carries the view that some are more deserving than others: to life, food, shelter and love.
And so I sit, and read again my Jack Gilbert:
A Brief for the Defense
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
From REFUSING HEAVEN (Knopf, 2005)
I think Samuel L. Jackson has the Newtown tragedy right, when he said that he was raised in the South, with guns, and had never seen anyone shot. He said it is not about guns, but about the shooters not knowing or being taught, the value of human life. Although in general, I am against guns, I have to agree with him on this subject. My Papa taught us about guns, and how it felt to kill someone. He taught us it was never excusable to kill, except in war, and that it was a nasty business in war, too. Even pointing a gun had consequences, and we were never allowed to handle his guns.
And now it has come to small children, as if the loss at Columbine wasn't about small children...or as defenseless as a 6 year old.
And now it has come to the billions spent by the NRA, the National Rifle Association, and your neighbor with the assault rifle, and a way of thinking that agrees with almost casually killing someone, anyone that one can pick out as an 'enemy.' Or killing to make a statement, or killing because of an organic disease...all of these are being looked at as causes for the Newtown killings.
But I put it to you that we are a sick society. Where a great many veterans are homeless, or cross addicted, or dually addicted. Where people go hungry, and the tiny amount it takes to feed them is begrudged by one part of society to another. Where many of the elderly are untaken-care-of and the rights of women to own their own bodies is disputed. Which is a fair description of slavery, don't you think?
And sometimes, slaves go mad, actually insane, and kill. So, amid all the confusing debates about what is to be done, and it is a deeply intricate problem is my point, we are going to have to look at who we serve. Or, in this country I think, WHAT we serve.
I am sure that I was not born with an inherent right to a gun, or even money. I was born with an inherent need for survival, (shelter, food, water, air, clothes, and communication with others), liberty, and the 'pursuit of happiness,' or "Live and Let Live."
And so we need to re-think a 400 year old way of living that, up to recent times, included the need for a gun to kill the food to make it to tomorrow. And we need to re-think an ancient way of living, that carries the view that some are more deserving than others: to life, food, shelter and love.
And so I sit, and read again my Jack Gilbert:
A Brief for the Defense
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
From REFUSING HEAVEN (Knopf, 2005)
A Slice of Orange
And so I am back to writing, just for you. I hate missing out on our meetings together in the mornings. I mean, some days, all I have is you...So let's have some coffee. I'll smoke your share of cigarettes, if you use my share of cream. But it has to be real cream.
I am spending as much time of the season as I can at Plantagenet Rose...a lovely little shop in Salem, VA, run by an even lovelier British woman...the Saucy Brit, also known as Portia. I like it there because she has the most refined taste in candles, and home decor; and luxurious fabrics practically drip from the walls. Everywhere you turn is soft, jazzy music, scented wax, and pashmina...a fabric invented by F. Scott Fitzgerald to symbolize what he lost in the Jazz Age.
Just kidding. Let's just say pashmina reminds me of the Silk Road, and running through the old Egyptian marketplace in Cairo, buying bright silks on a visit long ago. It's enough to make one swoon, darling, and so I go and smell the scents, and listen to the music and Portia's accent, and run my hands across the velvet pillows and scarves. Heaven.
But what news? It's been a while, an eternity, since I talked to you. I felt like I had lost my mojo for a while there...and so I stopped writing. But here we are.
The new, unicorn meat eating cat, Georgia is doing well and ventured out first when the 'boys' were sleeping. That is slowly changing; she is bolder now, and more inclined to play. She discovered the glass door to the outside yesterday, and took up the well used perch on the back of the couch to look outside. She will be my first indoor only cat, and it is a new experience for both of us.
Minkins, one of the boys, a grey tabby, goes out for exactly five minutes every morning and night. The rest of the time, he is content to share the apartment with me and the dog. I am always surprised at this: not at his affection for the dog, Max. Minkins was orphaned at birth and raised by a dog, but that he is content to stay indoors after spending his life on a 100 acre farm.
And Rat Face, my plump, but oh, so active orange tabby, spends most of the day out, coming in for food and pettings. He is the principal danger to the unicorns in the neighborhood, as he is a very tough hunter.
And Christmas is shaping up nicely. Except for the news from a small town in Connecticut.
I am spending as much time of the season as I can at Plantagenet Rose...a lovely little shop in Salem, VA, run by an even lovelier British woman...the Saucy Brit, also known as Portia. I like it there because she has the most refined taste in candles, and home decor; and luxurious fabrics practically drip from the walls. Everywhere you turn is soft, jazzy music, scented wax, and pashmina...a fabric invented by F. Scott Fitzgerald to symbolize what he lost in the Jazz Age.
Just kidding. Let's just say pashmina reminds me of the Silk Road, and running through the old Egyptian marketplace in Cairo, buying bright silks on a visit long ago. It's enough to make one swoon, darling, and so I go and smell the scents, and listen to the music and Portia's accent, and run my hands across the velvet pillows and scarves. Heaven.
But what news? It's been a while, an eternity, since I talked to you. I felt like I had lost my mojo for a while there...and so I stopped writing. But here we are.
The new, unicorn meat eating cat, Georgia is doing well and ventured out first when the 'boys' were sleeping. That is slowly changing; she is bolder now, and more inclined to play. She discovered the glass door to the outside yesterday, and took up the well used perch on the back of the couch to look outside. She will be my first indoor only cat, and it is a new experience for both of us.
Minkins, one of the boys, a grey tabby, goes out for exactly five minutes every morning and night. The rest of the time, he is content to share the apartment with me and the dog. I am always surprised at this: not at his affection for the dog, Max. Minkins was orphaned at birth and raised by a dog, but that he is content to stay indoors after spending his life on a 100 acre farm.
And Rat Face, my plump, but oh, so active orange tabby, spends most of the day out, coming in for food and pettings. He is the principal danger to the unicorns in the neighborhood, as he is a very tough hunter.
And Christmas is shaping up nicely. Except for the news from a small town in Connecticut.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Got Match?
I have not been intentionally neglecting you. I have reached that deep stage of dissociative fugue that we call "The Holidays". Now, I enjoy a good Saturnalia as much as the next person, but the wear and tear of lack of sunlight is reaching for me.
And this is not a "war on Christmas" blog. I love Christmas. I love, not the commercialism telling people to buy more and more expensive gifts, but the newness and the glitter of it. It costs nothing to look, and seeing the perks of red and green after the leaves are brown is enough to make anyone's day.
It is the Hope of rebirth that is being celebrated here. The Christian church adopted the pagan rituals that were so strong, even their legends of God on earth couldn't shake them. And that's Hope. The Hope of Demeter coming back in the Spring. The Fire lit against the Dark. The Hope of Resurrection. The Hope that the crops will grow again, one day, the eternal turn of the seasons. It is Mithras spilling blood on the ground to enrich the earth for the crops that will be born again. It is my favorite Christmas thingy, a small, stuffed lamb wearing a red scarf and a crown of holly with berries.
I have lived without Hope and color, and the first thing I remember is a red flower. A dark, blood red pulsing against a green stem. It was a long time until I found any color to match it, and I remember it vividly to this day. We know the Norse peoples practiced human sacrifice, and that their sacrifices ate a last meal composed entirely of grains and seeds. They, too, must have seen a red, pulsing flower one day, and planted it against the Winter.
So descry the fiber optic trees and glitter all you want. Lament the Barbie tree houses and iPhones. Dis-embrace the strange wines and foods we get no other time of year, cranberry Sprite and fruitcake, anyone? But do not seek to destroy or deny what is behind the gray thoughts of Winter: Hope, and sunlight and rebirth. And a fire lit as proof against the darkness.
And this is not a "war on Christmas" blog. I love Christmas. I love, not the commercialism telling people to buy more and more expensive gifts, but the newness and the glitter of it. It costs nothing to look, and seeing the perks of red and green after the leaves are brown is enough to make anyone's day.
It is the Hope of rebirth that is being celebrated here. The Christian church adopted the pagan rituals that were so strong, even their legends of God on earth couldn't shake them. And that's Hope. The Hope of Demeter coming back in the Spring. The Fire lit against the Dark. The Hope of Resurrection. The Hope that the crops will grow again, one day, the eternal turn of the seasons. It is Mithras spilling blood on the ground to enrich the earth for the crops that will be born again. It is my favorite Christmas thingy, a small, stuffed lamb wearing a red scarf and a crown of holly with berries.
I have lived without Hope and color, and the first thing I remember is a red flower. A dark, blood red pulsing against a green stem. It was a long time until I found any color to match it, and I remember it vividly to this day. We know the Norse peoples practiced human sacrifice, and that their sacrifices ate a last meal composed entirely of grains and seeds. They, too, must have seen a red, pulsing flower one day, and planted it against the Winter.
So descry the fiber optic trees and glitter all you want. Lament the Barbie tree houses and iPhones. Dis-embrace the strange wines and foods we get no other time of year, cranberry Sprite and fruitcake, anyone? But do not seek to destroy or deny what is behind the gray thoughts of Winter: Hope, and sunlight and rebirth. And a fire lit as proof against the darkness.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Taking Time
for only today. Whilst I am ecstatic at having as many friends as possible, it is with a sense of absurdity that I look at my 'who is on chat' list, on Facebook. Some of the names of who is on chat I cannot connect with any memory. Not that it is a bad thing. From my posts, I am apparently making friends as we speak. And my ego needs all the readers I can get.
Today is a day for some existential musings, some painting of walls, and a new hair style. Which strikes me as a list out of some Douglas Adams book.
I am planning to have a good day, today. Because I have no plans not to. So far it is a day for existential musings, and the silence of some unicorn meat eating cats waiting patiently to see what the day brings for them, as well.
The boys are crouched waiting in that mid-morning stillness way, and walking silently around, making sure that the oven isn't on, and that I haven't left the coffee pot going. Georgia, always on my mind, is grooming carefully on her bed on top of the washing machine in the bathroom. The air is warm and still in there, and suits her. But soon, today in fact, I will have to start working with her to introduce her to the rest of the apartment, so she can enjoy the full benefit of living here.
And if you had planned any musings today, I hope that it is attached with a plan that includes some water, preferably in a hot tub, and whatever beverage floats your boat.
Today is a day for some existential musings, some painting of walls, and a new hair style. Which strikes me as a list out of some Douglas Adams book.
I am planning to have a good day, today. Because I have no plans not to. So far it is a day for existential musings, and the silence of some unicorn meat eating cats waiting patiently to see what the day brings for them, as well.
The boys are crouched waiting in that mid-morning stillness way, and walking silently around, making sure that the oven isn't on, and that I haven't left the coffee pot going. Georgia, always on my mind, is grooming carefully on her bed on top of the washing machine in the bathroom. The air is warm and still in there, and suits her. But soon, today in fact, I will have to start working with her to introduce her to the rest of the apartment, so she can enjoy the full benefit of living here.
And if you had planned any musings today, I hope that it is attached with a plan that includes some water, preferably in a hot tub, and whatever beverage floats your boat.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Holy Cow
Let's shoot the shit for a while. I have done some deep thinking since 3 o'clock this morn, and would like to share a realization with you.
It may make sense and it may not, as the case may be. But I call 'em as I see 'em, so here goes.
I am going to have to start making an attempt to look and live 'outside the box.' In the past, when anyone used that phrase, I acted as if I knew what that person was talking about, but, in reality, I had no idea what that meant. That's due to the fact that I was living 'in the box' and one can't see 'outside' when one is living in it...and so on and so forth. *Breathe*
Now, to me it means that I live in a culture, our society, which has placed dictates on the way I think, feel and act. This is true for everyone on the planet human. It's a survival of the herd mentality that supersedes Darwin's 'survival of the fittest.' The herd, for almost every creature on Earth, IS survival. 'The fittest' hasn't yet been born. There exists only the herd.
I have been trying to live my life by these dictates, and some of them aren't working for me. Such as the 'masculine' rule that our lives are based on a Western premise of thought: that is, the old Logic game, or, If not this, then that. Do you remember learning scientific ways of thought in elementary school? If something is not this, then something is that?
Without intending to be denigrating in any way to "that way" of thinking, I have decided from henceforth not to live or more importantly to judge myself by "that way" of thought. I am going to search for what to us is neither male nor female, but "the other thing."
And I can see the paradox here, believe me: I am still thinking, "If not this (masculine, western way), then that (feminine way.) I won't describe it as Eastern, because Western school of thought is not diametrically opposite of the Eastern school of thought. That I can see, there is no opposite of the Western or Eastern ways of thought, because all ways of thought expound the virtue and assume what we consider the obvious: that the masculine-way-of-domination-of-the-feminine-way is "the way of the world." And it is. You should really get a scoop of ice cream, or some marshmallow vodka for that one. Whichever choice works for you.
So, I will have to take a sideways step. I just haven't figured that out yet, because I have only just started thinking outside of the box, and am not, as a consequence, very good at it yet.
Now that I have really confused you and myself, I will have to eat a banana, and I will reflect on all the hominids who have consumed a banana since the beginning of recorded history, and quite a bit beyond that, in fact. Because some things do transcend gender, such as food and the intake of oxygen, and nifty things like the intake of water, and the cover of shelter...everything else is an option.
It may make sense and it may not, as the case may be. But I call 'em as I see 'em, so here goes.
I am going to have to start making an attempt to look and live 'outside the box.' In the past, when anyone used that phrase, I acted as if I knew what that person was talking about, but, in reality, I had no idea what that meant. That's due to the fact that I was living 'in the box' and one can't see 'outside' when one is living in it...and so on and so forth. *Breathe*
Now, to me it means that I live in a culture, our society, which has placed dictates on the way I think, feel and act. This is true for everyone on the planet human. It's a survival of the herd mentality that supersedes Darwin's 'survival of the fittest.' The herd, for almost every creature on Earth, IS survival. 'The fittest' hasn't yet been born. There exists only the herd.
I have been trying to live my life by these dictates, and some of them aren't working for me. Such as the 'masculine' rule that our lives are based on a Western premise of thought: that is, the old Logic game, or, If not this, then that. Do you remember learning scientific ways of thought in elementary school? If something is not this, then something is that?
Without intending to be denigrating in any way to "that way" of thinking, I have decided from henceforth not to live or more importantly to judge myself by "that way" of thought. I am going to search for what to us is neither male nor female, but "the other thing."
And I can see the paradox here, believe me: I am still thinking, "If not this (masculine, western way), then that (feminine way.) I won't describe it as Eastern, because Western school of thought is not diametrically opposite of the Eastern school of thought. That I can see, there is no opposite of the Western or Eastern ways of thought, because all ways of thought expound the virtue and assume what we consider the obvious: that the masculine-way-of-domination-of-the-feminine-way is "the way of the world." And it is. You should really get a scoop of ice cream, or some marshmallow vodka for that one. Whichever choice works for you.
So, I will have to take a sideways step. I just haven't figured that out yet, because I have only just started thinking outside of the box, and am not, as a consequence, very good at it yet.
Now that I have really confused you and myself, I will have to eat a banana, and I will reflect on all the hominids who have consumed a banana since the beginning of recorded history, and quite a bit beyond that, in fact. Because some things do transcend gender, such as food and the intake of oxygen, and nifty things like the intake of water, and the cover of shelter...everything else is an option.
Monday, November 26, 2012
I Dream of Jeannie
I have my sassy pants on today, and so I have been reading BBC news. The second top story on the "U.S./Canada news?" Larry Hagman's death. Right on up there with a call by the U.K. on the U.S. to stop the violence in Israel/Palestine.
I never watched "Dallas." I gave up soaps after my first stint at University. Hanging together in the T.V. room, watching soaps was such a group thing, and one of the only group things I have done in my life. Nevertheless, I loved Larry Hagman on "I Dream of Jeannie." Who didn't? It was a show featuring the world's hottest profession at the time, an astronaut; and a magical genie. Handsome couple, good supporting staff, and then there was the bottle.
Jeannie's home was the first shot at luxury that I had ever seen in my young life. Silk pillows and couches in exotic colors, and so cute and small. I bet every little girl who watched the series vowed, like me, to have the exact same arrangement for a bedroom or living room when she grew up. And those clothes! Who wouldn't like to drift around in pink and purple silk veils, and have hair like that?
It wasn't until I hit Jeannie's apparent age that I realized I wasn't going to look like that, or even like Barbara Eden, either. Now that I am middle aged, I would still like a nap place I could carry around in my coat pocket. Think of the overhead it would save...
I never watched "Dallas." I gave up soaps after my first stint at University. Hanging together in the T.V. room, watching soaps was such a group thing, and one of the only group things I have done in my life. Nevertheless, I loved Larry Hagman on "I Dream of Jeannie." Who didn't? It was a show featuring the world's hottest profession at the time, an astronaut; and a magical genie. Handsome couple, good supporting staff, and then there was the bottle.
Jeannie's home was the first shot at luxury that I had ever seen in my young life. Silk pillows and couches in exotic colors, and so cute and small. I bet every little girl who watched the series vowed, like me, to have the exact same arrangement for a bedroom or living room when she grew up. And those clothes! Who wouldn't like to drift around in pink and purple silk veils, and have hair like that?
It wasn't until I hit Jeannie's apparent age that I realized I wasn't going to look like that, or even like Barbara Eden, either. Now that I am middle aged, I would still like a nap place I could carry around in my coat pocket. Think of the overhead it would save...
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
"How quickly passes the Glory of the World!"
Is how I feel now that I know an "ex-romantic figure from my life" is dying. Of course, we are all dying, little by little, every day. And I deeply feel the poignancy of the title to this piece, as have many in the past, present, and future will feel and have felt. The uncertainty of life is all around us, everyday, and the world rushes by as a nurse rushes to her charge, struggling in his bed.
Or, in a similar view of the "Sic transit" quote, Shakespeare's "All the world's a stage, and men and women merely players."
But the loveliest is this:
Spring and Fall, to a young child Gerard Manley Hopkins
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
It is a good thing that a birth, and the promise of the sun in the darkness is the 'reason for the season' coming up, or I might be held in this sadness all winter. I feel the grief for the passing of the year, and life, but have no where to turn my face except to the promise of renewal, and of spring time.
So today, I paint and decorate in the old colors of red and green, blood, fire and leaves, that our ancestors thought appropriate for their Winter celebrations. The Earth and it's death and renewal are the oldest things known to Humans. And the earth's song is reflected in our Winter lights, flashes of color, giving and receiving of cheer, and the pale blue of Hope, most of all.
And for those of you who miss the "Sassy Pants" me, do not doubt that I will see you tomorrow.
Is how I feel now that I know an "ex-romantic figure from my life" is dying. Of course, we are all dying, little by little, every day. And I deeply feel the poignancy of the title to this piece, as have many in the past, present, and future will feel and have felt. The uncertainty of life is all around us, everyday, and the world rushes by as a nurse rushes to her charge, struggling in his bed.
Or, in a similar view of the "Sic transit" quote, Shakespeare's "All the world's a stage, and men and women merely players."
But the loveliest is this:
Spring and Fall, to a young child Gerard Manley Hopkins
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
It is a good thing that a birth, and the promise of the sun in the darkness is the 'reason for the season' coming up, or I might be held in this sadness all winter. I feel the grief for the passing of the year, and life, but have no where to turn my face except to the promise of renewal, and of spring time.
So today, I paint and decorate in the old colors of red and green, blood, fire and leaves, that our ancestors thought appropriate for their Winter celebrations. The Earth and it's death and renewal are the oldest things known to Humans. And the earth's song is reflected in our Winter lights, flashes of color, giving and receiving of cheer, and the pale blue of Hope, most of all.
And for those of you who miss the "Sassy Pants" me, do not doubt that I will see you tomorrow.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Ashes
Ok. So we're over the feast and shopping to lose the extra pounds we put on. Stores are now opening on Thanksgiving Morning, to get a leg up on Black Friday Morning. Yeah, you heard me right. Now, retailers can't wait until Friday for people to shop...they have invented Black Thursday, formerly known as Thanksgiving.
Or you could be bold, like my sister, and go out and shop at midnight on Thursday/Friday. And you can tell at this point that I just can't drop it...but it simply boggles the mind that giant chain stores now say, "There is no holiday here that we can see. Let's add a day by commandeering the holiday." WTF?
Despite my deprecating blog yesterday, it is saying something to take a day, despite retailers, and simply thank Your Share of the Universe for the food on the table, the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, and the human connections that we all must have. So many go without, and I suppose that was the motivation for the blog yesterday.
As for the unicorn meat eating cats at this house, they feed all the time, and I am grateful that none of them went hungry. I didn't buy them anything either.
The two boys have suddenly realized there is a female in their midst. While Max, the dog, discovered her the first day, the boys have been dense about her appearance. I suppose they thought I would shoot them a memo or notify them on their timeline if she was staying. But here she is, a grey calico, happily ensconced on top of the washing machine, grateful that she doesn't have to climb down to eat or drink.
And last Sunday, I talked to someone who had talked to someone who knew someone important in my past. Apparently, this important someone is not in good health, in fact it might be very bad indeed, I am not spectacularly sure, you can understand why. So this night I took out the photo albums with his picture in them, and tried to connect my thoughts with someone so long ago, and wish him well.
Regret and compassion live around his memory, this person from long ago, and I simply wish to talk to him, and ask him to forgive me, for what, I am not entirely sure...
Or you could be bold, like my sister, and go out and shop at midnight on Thursday/Friday. And you can tell at this point that I just can't drop it...but it simply boggles the mind that giant chain stores now say, "There is no holiday here that we can see. Let's add a day by commandeering the holiday." WTF?
Despite my deprecating blog yesterday, it is saying something to take a day, despite retailers, and simply thank Your Share of the Universe for the food on the table, the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, and the human connections that we all must have. So many go without, and I suppose that was the motivation for the blog yesterday.
As for the unicorn meat eating cats at this house, they feed all the time, and I am grateful that none of them went hungry. I didn't buy them anything either.
The two boys have suddenly realized there is a female in their midst. While Max, the dog, discovered her the first day, the boys have been dense about her appearance. I suppose they thought I would shoot them a memo or notify them on their timeline if she was staying. But here she is, a grey calico, happily ensconced on top of the washing machine, grateful that she doesn't have to climb down to eat or drink.
And last Sunday, I talked to someone who had talked to someone who knew someone important in my past. Apparently, this important someone is not in good health, in fact it might be very bad indeed, I am not spectacularly sure, you can understand why. So this night I took out the photo albums with his picture in them, and tried to connect my thoughts with someone so long ago, and wish him well.
Regret and compassion live around his memory, this person from long ago, and I simply wish to talk to him, and ask him to forgive me, for what, I am not entirely sure...
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Thanks
Thanksgiving: no other nation on earth celebrates this uniquely American invention. This is not to say the rest of the world isn't grateful for stuff. They are. It's just that America has invented a holiday that is not based on any ancient holidays, that I know of.
Christmas has roots in the Roman celebration of Saturnalia, and the Norse traditions. Same with Easter. We have invented a holiday that has no quirky ceremonies other than "gathering together" and eating the American bird, the turkey. One Arab friend, after seeing the feast spread at my house, glanced at the turkey and said, "Alise, that is not a bird, that is a SHEEP."
It's a nice thought on the whole, a day dedicated to gratitude. But I don't like the holiday for the legend behind it. Let's look. A bunch of extremely rigid, religious fanatics who sailed to a new land and were so suspicious of the natives that they told them to 'get lost' when the natives visited offering gifts. Pretty stupid considering the nasty food the Puritans brought themselves. After a hard winter eating dogs and mice, and dying like flies, the Puritans were thinking the corn and fresh fish the natives were offering them were starting to look good. So they gave in and ate.
We are 'Thankful' that our ancestors lived to reduce the natives to poverty-ridden reservations. On which the rate of alcoholism is the highest on the planet. We are so grateful that we celebrate their wisdom and heritage as our own, and do nothing for the appalling 4th World conditions in which they live.
Indeed, today is a National Day of Mourning for the native populations in the U.S. And, being an "American" tradition, it is an extremely non-humorous, non-laughing occasion centered around food, a national day of eating too much; trying to avoid relatives we hate, and drinking beer and watching football.
It's not that I am ungrateful. I simply think it should be a day of fasting, with all the money and food spent on it destined for some tiny villages in the American Southwest...or your local tribe. Now that, Ladies and Gentlemen, would show what we are really grateful for; and it's not the growing tradition of obesity here.
But "Suck it up, Sensei" comes to mind and I am having my fill of coffee this morning and thinking of eating lightly this day. And may all your Christmases be white.
P.S. I am boycotting Walmart, as I do everyday, on Black Friday, protesting their appalling labor practices.
Christmas has roots in the Roman celebration of Saturnalia, and the Norse traditions. Same with Easter. We have invented a holiday that has no quirky ceremonies other than "gathering together" and eating the American bird, the turkey. One Arab friend, after seeing the feast spread at my house, glanced at the turkey and said, "Alise, that is not a bird, that is a SHEEP."
It's a nice thought on the whole, a day dedicated to gratitude. But I don't like the holiday for the legend behind it. Let's look. A bunch of extremely rigid, religious fanatics who sailed to a new land and were so suspicious of the natives that they told them to 'get lost' when the natives visited offering gifts. Pretty stupid considering the nasty food the Puritans brought themselves. After a hard winter eating dogs and mice, and dying like flies, the Puritans were thinking the corn and fresh fish the natives were offering them were starting to look good. So they gave in and ate.
We are 'Thankful' that our ancestors lived to reduce the natives to poverty-ridden reservations. On which the rate of alcoholism is the highest on the planet. We are so grateful that we celebrate their wisdom and heritage as our own, and do nothing for the appalling 4th World conditions in which they live.
Indeed, today is a National Day of Mourning for the native populations in the U.S. And, being an "American" tradition, it is an extremely non-humorous, non-laughing occasion centered around food, a national day of eating too much; trying to avoid relatives we hate, and drinking beer and watching football.
It's not that I am ungrateful. I simply think it should be a day of fasting, with all the money and food spent on it destined for some tiny villages in the American Southwest...or your local tribe. Now that, Ladies and Gentlemen, would show what we are really grateful for; and it's not the growing tradition of obesity here.
But "Suck it up, Sensei" comes to mind and I am having my fill of coffee this morning and thinking of eating lightly this day. And may all your Christmases be white.
P.S. I am boycotting Walmart, as I do everyday, on Black Friday, protesting their appalling labor practices.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Bayberry
I woke at 4 am for the hell of it and I am regretting that decision as we speak. I have pulled out all five boxes of my Christmas crap, and I am condensing down to What I Really Like to See at Christmas. That includes the tacky snow ball thingy with the reindeer and the fir tree on the outside, and the ceramic tree that my grandmother made.
I have already pulled out the winter pajamas, and decided to change the apt. colors to red and white, with a deep green accompaniment. And it's the time of year to drink the spruce flavored coffee or whatever. I loathe flavored coffees with a passion. It's my view that, if it smells like a candle, it should be lit and put in the corner, preferably somewhere near a wall that will reflect a glow. NOT drank with something else pumpkin flavored and equally sugary.
The only "good" sugar I can stand is a coffee cake, preferably with icing. Not that cream cheese stuff either, but the sour creamy, sticky bun stuff....it's just a thing.
Ratty tried to confront the new, now-unicorn-meat-eating cat, Georgia, yesterday. The sneaky boy had climbed on top of the dryer and was making his way over to her food, when I heard her hissing. It is such a delight to have a female in the clowder* again. And Max? He's snoring under the toile bedspread.
I hear Kate Middleton is preggers. Let the day unfold.
*clowder: group, or 'tribe' of cats.
I have already pulled out the winter pajamas, and decided to change the apt. colors to red and white, with a deep green accompaniment. And it's the time of year to drink the spruce flavored coffee or whatever. I loathe flavored coffees with a passion. It's my view that, if it smells like a candle, it should be lit and put in the corner, preferably somewhere near a wall that will reflect a glow. NOT drank with something else pumpkin flavored and equally sugary.
The only "good" sugar I can stand is a coffee cake, preferably with icing. Not that cream cheese stuff either, but the sour creamy, sticky bun stuff....it's just a thing.
Ratty tried to confront the new, now-unicorn-meat-eating cat, Georgia, yesterday. The sneaky boy had climbed on top of the dryer and was making his way over to her food, when I heard her hissing. It is such a delight to have a female in the clowder* again. And Max? He's snoring under the toile bedspread.
I hear Kate Middleton is preggers. Let the day unfold.
*clowder: group, or 'tribe' of cats.
Monday, November 19, 2012
The Death of Twinkies
And Bam.
Today, I wish I could write a funny blog everyday, but I just can't pull the witty, caustic remarks out of my arse every morning. I mean, there is a limit. Usually what drops out is stodgy concern, or random comments about what really pisses me off in the world; written in a very unfunny way due to the amount of spleen being vented.
But today I have pushed the envelope from the death of the Twinkie, to the looming war in the Middle East, and I think that's a big enough gap to cover my rear today.
Don't get me wrong, I am not belittling the death of the Twinkie. Apparently, Hostess Cakes made some huge gaffes by raising execs salaries while starving the workers (does this sound familiar?) Could we replay this mistake one more time, America? And it is us, who will pay by going without money due us, as Hostess files for bankruptcy, or the lack of Snoballs in the world where a dearth of Snoballs is now needed.
The end of the Roman Empire started with free circuses, and ended with the Huns and the Visigoths. But they had people like the philosopher Marcus Aurelius to soften the slow death with some dignity. No where in that decline is mentioned a single Twinkie...
But truly, and I cannot with all seriousness emphasize this more: the death of the Roman Empire started with the end of the Republic, and the beginning of the Empire. We, too, have entered that phase. It seems to me that we crossed over when we adopted the national motto of, "In God we Trust" over the idealistic motto of, "Out of Many, One."
I am not an atheist (nothing wrong with that world view, though), and I certainly am an expert on fear; but even I can see how that change betokened the smallness of the world view that we have today. We have Gitmo, and laws that say "your freedom can be restricted by the whim of the State." And that a 'liberal' president signed that bill into law, under pressure from the Senate and House, is a tiny death knell for us all. A bell cannot be unrung. And the laws of this Land have been tampered with for the ill forever. It will take generations to 'unlearn' that mindset.
And that mindset comes from some of us. And it comes from Fear.
So eat yon Twinkies while ye may. And let's ignore the signs of an Empire falling. We can only hope we go the way of Britain, which still exists as a State, and not the way of Rome.
Jack Gilbert:
Today, I wish I could write a funny blog everyday, but I just can't pull the witty, caustic remarks out of my arse every morning. I mean, there is a limit. Usually what drops out is stodgy concern, or random comments about what really pisses me off in the world; written in a very unfunny way due to the amount of spleen being vented.
But today I have pushed the envelope from the death of the Twinkie, to the looming war in the Middle East, and I think that's a big enough gap to cover my rear today.
Don't get me wrong, I am not belittling the death of the Twinkie. Apparently, Hostess Cakes made some huge gaffes by raising execs salaries while starving the workers (does this sound familiar?) Could we replay this mistake one more time, America? And it is us, who will pay by going without money due us, as Hostess files for bankruptcy, or the lack of Snoballs in the world where a dearth of Snoballs is now needed.
The end of the Roman Empire started with free circuses, and ended with the Huns and the Visigoths. But they had people like the philosopher Marcus Aurelius to soften the slow death with some dignity. No where in that decline is mentioned a single Twinkie...
But truly, and I cannot with all seriousness emphasize this more: the death of the Roman Empire started with the end of the Republic, and the beginning of the Empire. We, too, have entered that phase. It seems to me that we crossed over when we adopted the national motto of, "In God we Trust" over the idealistic motto of, "Out of Many, One."
I am not an atheist (nothing wrong with that world view, though), and I certainly am an expert on fear; but even I can see how that change betokened the smallness of the world view that we have today. We have Gitmo, and laws that say "your freedom can be restricted by the whim of the State." And that a 'liberal' president signed that bill into law, under pressure from the Senate and House, is a tiny death knell for us all. A bell cannot be unrung. And the laws of this Land have been tampered with for the ill forever. It will take generations to 'unlearn' that mindset.
And that mindset comes from some of us. And it comes from Fear.
So eat yon Twinkies while ye may. And let's ignore the signs of an Empire falling. We can only hope we go the way of Britain, which still exists as a State, and not the way of Rome.
Jack Gilbert:
| A Brief for the Defense Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies are not starving someplace, they are starving somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils. But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants. Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women at the fountain are laughing together between the suffering they have known and the awfulness in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody in the village is very sick. There is laughter every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta, and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay. If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction, we lessen the importance of their deprivation. We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure, but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world. To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil. If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down, we should give thanks that the end had magnitude. We must admit there will be music despite everything. We stand at the prow again of a small ship anchored late at night in the tiny port looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning. To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth all the years of sorrow that are to come. From REFUSING HEAVEN (Knopf, 2005) |
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Sunday, November 18, 2012
Not Very Organized
Ok. I wanted to talk about something profound, but don't want to come across as thinking too hard, too early in the day, after too much coffee and chocolate. But what the hell, let's go there anyway.
What bugs me the most is that I am treated like some wayward child by some couples after they find out I don't have children. Something in their hind brain kicks in, and I am lowered to the status of a second hand citizen, AND a child. The unknowing lectures I receive, and the poo-pooing of any opinion on children, child-bearing, and public attitudes about progeny (everyone's a critic) that I receive would stun Oscar Wilde. This is just one small example from an entire field.
And Southern Women are raised to be NICE. And that's just about all. Long-enduring, all-suffering, baking cakes and brownies after bringing the kids home from the soccer game and feeding them. Or, if you consider yourself a feminist in the perspective of the culture, you are hedonistically and dangerously sipping a glass of wine in the kitchen before donning that new negligee. Cups of hot chocolate, pinks and baby blue clothes after a "certain" age, lipstick, and anti-aging creams flood the market. The cost of panty hose alone is enough to overcome anyone of moderately fragile constitution, and can rise above some countries annual GNP.
And I know I am painting a simple picture. These examples are just the ones everyone knows about. Compare the advent of, say, Viagra, with that of public breast-feeding.Which one do you think gets the most positive press?
And if a Southern woman cannot be NICE, her image devolves into some kind of cave dweller, set out to destroy "our way of life." When all she really is a survivor. There is no room in her roles for self-expression, and if there is, there is a stereotype for that, too: a hip, upper-class, with a bohemian scarf around the head, and a tumble of curls coming from it, wearing rubber gloves and teaching children how to hand-paint. Sally Fields epitomizes her in commercials. But playing the bassoon? Don't think so. Too sexually suggestive...And so we have a stereotype of stereotypes, if you catch my drift...
Just some thoughts on this Sunday, and not very organized ones at that.
What bugs me the most is that I am treated like some wayward child by some couples after they find out I don't have children. Something in their hind brain kicks in, and I am lowered to the status of a second hand citizen, AND a child. The unknowing lectures I receive, and the poo-pooing of any opinion on children, child-bearing, and public attitudes about progeny (everyone's a critic) that I receive would stun Oscar Wilde. This is just one small example from an entire field.
And Southern Women are raised to be NICE. And that's just about all. Long-enduring, all-suffering, baking cakes and brownies after bringing the kids home from the soccer game and feeding them. Or, if you consider yourself a feminist in the perspective of the culture, you are hedonistically and dangerously sipping a glass of wine in the kitchen before donning that new negligee. Cups of hot chocolate, pinks and baby blue clothes after a "certain" age, lipstick, and anti-aging creams flood the market. The cost of panty hose alone is enough to overcome anyone of moderately fragile constitution, and can rise above some countries annual GNP.
And I know I am painting a simple picture. These examples are just the ones everyone knows about. Compare the advent of, say, Viagra, with that of public breast-feeding.Which one do you think gets the most positive press?
And if a Southern woman cannot be NICE, her image devolves into some kind of cave dweller, set out to destroy "our way of life." When all she really is a survivor. There is no room in her roles for self-expression, and if there is, there is a stereotype for that, too: a hip, upper-class, with a bohemian scarf around the head, and a tumble of curls coming from it, wearing rubber gloves and teaching children how to hand-paint. Sally Fields epitomizes her in commercials. But playing the bassoon? Don't think so. Too sexually suggestive...And so we have a stereotype of stereotypes, if you catch my drift...
Just some thoughts on this Sunday, and not very organized ones at that.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Hello Again
Well, new ostrich meat eating cat is still hiding in the bathroom. Don't worry. She has food, water, and a litter box. I often go in there to love on her, and Max whines softly at her from the floor. I'm quite sure that Max's love call is not a reassuring sound for her. But Max actually loves cats. We fostered a kitten one time and he was so lost and heartbroken when she was given back.
We'll see what I can come up with for tomorrow, shall we?
We'll see what I can come up with for tomorrow, shall we?
Thursday, November 15, 2012
November?
This morning, the soft crunches from one of the unicorn meat eating cats tells me they are fattening up for winter. Georgia, the new kit, ventured out yesterday for an hour. I don't know what her life has been like so far, but I am guessing she is a stranger to dogs by the way she reacted to Max. She is fattening up considerably on the elk meat diet I have her on. I am going to have to call Schwann's for the ostrich meat.
Yesterday was brilliant, and warm for the season. I am waiting for the days where your breath mists out into the air. Is it because I am older that time seems to move so slowly and then so fast?
Hang on, folks. Eventually I will get up to speed again.
Yesterday was brilliant, and warm for the season. I am waiting for the days where your breath mists out into the air. Is it because I am older that time seems to move so slowly and then so fast?
Hang on, folks. Eventually I will get up to speed again.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The Unicorn Meat Eating Cats
The unicorn meat eating cats are wildly excited about having a girl in the house. They have been missing female companionship since Echo went to the Bridge over a year ago now. They spend more time looking outside than going outside...although the light is enticing, and the view from the window makes them think there is a perpetual state of spring in existence.
This is a Beginning. Let's see how it unfolds.
This is a Beginning. Let's see how it unfolds.
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