looking about.
I think I need a thought-clearing post. Not that I have anything
terribly valuable or controversial or dramatic to say. I think I've
done my share of arm-waving and tearmongering for one week. Mostly, I
am choosing to deal with my thoughts privately right now.
But I thought I'd unload a few details, notions, quirks,
thoughts...nothing of importance. But still rattling around in me
somewhere. Pardon the overflow.
***
I've been listening aggressively and obsessively to the Garden State
soundtrack, which I would recommend both to the melancholic and the
pondering, and also to the dreamers. It's music that creates an
atmosphere of moment-transcending thoughtfulness...and that's exactly
what I've been needing. And who can beat these lyrics?
Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where,
And we don't know here.(Simon and Garfunkel -- The Only Living Boy In New York)
I could have been your pillar, could have been your door
I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.
Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,
A whole long lifetime could have been the end.
I could be yours so true
I would be, I should be through and through
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first. (Nick Drake -- One of These Things First)
They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll stay (Iron and Wine -- Such Great Heights)
There is something about a resonant lyric that is more fulfilling to
me than most things on earth. I hear songs in my head all day, even
when I'm not listening to them. I will know something is really good
when it plays in my heart as well.
Music makes one feel so romantic - at least it always gets on one's nerves - which is the same thing nowadays. -- Oscar Wilde
***
I'm about to enter a health-kick phase. Something along the lines of
cherishing the body I was given, since I'm lucky to have it at all. Of
course, what precedes all such resolves is generally a small freakout of eating
things you're about to give up: loads of Chinese food, pizza, nachos,
chicken wings, and chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven. Which
is kind of funny, since the point of health kicks is to begin
viewing your pending improvements as liberations, not sacrifices. We always get the whole perspective thing wrong, mmm?
I'm not that clever and reasonable, though, since I seem to have a bellyfull of ice cream and pepperoni pizza. Oops.
I'm still going to drink coffee.
Count on that.
***
The weather has grown cooler and more cloudy in a rather rapid
fashion around here, signaling the beginning of fall and the need for
proper shoes. I still haven't bought any.
One of my guy friends informed me that I'm probably not a real girl,
since the shoe lust doesn't run rampant in my soul. And it's true -- if
real girls are shoe nuts, then a fake girl is what I shall be forever.
I'm happy with air between my toes and flip flops -- right up until the
time comes for snow boots, if that time comes at all. I can't handle
what they charge for a decent pair of shoes, let alone a lovely pair.
All I want to get is ballet flats and a pair of knee boots, but I'll be
damned if I'll be fleeced in the process of getting shod!
So many better uses for a dollar.
***
Okay, maybe not quite done with the week:
I realize that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone. -- Edith Cavell
Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats
away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his
objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the
ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false
with the true. -- Martin Luther King Jr.
I have finally begun to realize that there is no shame in crying
when there is something worth crying for. There is much greater shame
in forgetting how to grieve at all. The greatest shame, however, is forgetting how to love.
***
There is an orchid in my room that my mom bought me last Saturday.
It's not a normal one of reasonable size, but just an odd stalk of
almost tiger-printed mini blooms that lurks on my dresser, having been
marooned in a bud vase for days.
I just went to look at it again. Every last bud is thrown wide open,
revealing colours that weren't even evident when we bought it. It's
impossibly lovely -- both fragile and delicate all at once. But what I
like best is how wide open it is. It reaches for the light with every cell, and has drunk impossibly from the few rays that steal into my room each day.
Even in the shadows, it won't stop trying to get what it needs. For a flower, that's pretty damn smart. Smarter than me.
The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require his attention. -- Flannery O'Connor
I've decided to embrace my paleness. I'm not pale right now, mind
you, and I know I'll always get a bit of colour in years to come, but
I'm done with the burns and the striving for the right shade of brown
with my naturally freckley-rosy Irish skin. I've abused my skin cells
long enough, and there's nothing wrong with being Snow White instead of Mowgli, is there?
Here's to big hats, giant sunglasses, and gauzy coverups. Sigh. I
swear, I will have myself convinced by next summer. The thing is, I too
often do things in the moment without thinking that end up impacting me
horribly later, and I certainly can't pretend that my
epidermis-scorching habits are healthy -- everyone knows they aren't,
including me. Skin cancer runs in the family.
Looks like I will be blooming in the shadows like my little tiger orchids, if only to save my own life.
***
Television drives me a bit batty. While we plan to get cable for the
hockey season (some of you will get that, some of you won't), and I
don't mind certain programs here and there, the constant assault of
images and words and spin nearly makes me want to become peacefully
Amish or Hutterite or Luddite at times.
I never know what to believe, even as I see it. I want to be someone
with a discerning eye -- someone who sees things, questions them, and
takes time to consider the real truth of the matter. But I swear,
things go by so fast that we allow ourselves to be persuaded and
convinced without much of an argument at all.
I don't allow that to happen to me with words, so I'm going to refuse to allow it with
sights and sounds, too. Sometimes I just fade away from my critical mind,
but it strikes me that now -- more than ever before -- I need to have my eyes
focused and wide, wide open.
***
The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.-- Dorothy Parker
The picture of my eyes above was taken on a good, good day. I was
fairly sparkling with possibilities. It's a tough thing to preserve
that sparkle in this world, where you are constantly seeing both beauty
and tragedy, and always having to figure out just how to respond.
But if I maintain the eagerness and delight in them -- and I don't
know how, as yet -- then I think I will forever garner smiles from
babies and old men and women, who are truly the only people on earth
who actually see things for what they are, more often than not. One
because of innocence, and the other because of experience.
In between, we're all just muddling through.
11:38:06 PM 
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