as usual, i'm behind the times. it's now the end of march, and i'm just now cracking open a bag of what used to be my all time favorite holiday candy, the minty christmas nougats by brachs. if you don't mind having sugary candy stuck in your teeth for a while after eating them, the peppermint taste is quite strong. again, if you like peppermint...
***
it's been nearly a year since dan started his new job. i am very, very proud of him. when i think of this pride, i have a hard time not weeping, so thankful am i. dan made a decision, at some point, to live, to try, to keep trying. i have great respect for this courage of his, the sheer tenacity of being on the bottom and crawling back up.
i think of organisms living deep in the ocean, swimming slow to the top, breaking the meniscus of water, and gulping in air.
***
in so many ways i feel that i am behind. i am late. i am slow. when i was a kid i got the turtle award for being slow. it was second grade and at the end of the year we had a picnic in a park. under the pavilion, with the taste of cheap hot dog and orange drink from mcdonalds lingering in my mouth, my hands sticky, i remember that green award. other kids got awards for being smart, or speedy, whatever. i got the turtle award.
i guess i think of it with bitterness--why would you reward someone for being slow? but then again i review in my mind the story of the tortoise and the hare--slow and steady wins the race.
my middle sister married three years ago this fall. i hear conflicting reports about how the tedium of every day life and taken for granted-ness is wearing on their union. am i glad that i have not yet made an honest man of dan? i don't know. perhaps it is fate, kismet, what have you, that we did not marry all those years ago when we first spoke of it. perhaps we needed to go through and experience what we did, find our separate selves and the full appreciation for what we have together. it is difficult to see that, when you are living in that moment.
***
with time comes perspective, objectivity even when you are reviewing your self, or at least a semblance of objectivity. yes, i may be slow. and life may not be the headlong race that i often feel i am just watching roll by me, quick and flashy. maybe i'm just running in a different race. the marathon, not the 100 meter dash.
i eat another red striped white nougat, take a long look at the mashed up green pine tree in the middle. the wrappers are a little crisp; i'm sure that they are not meant to wait four months before being used and recycled. sometimes i suppose that me being behind is unhealthy. then again, is it so horrible to be reminded of snow and wind chills and warm blankets, when the sky is low and gray and damp april is in your bones?
i know that dan gets frustrated with me because of the speed at which i manuever through life and its varied obstacles. i know that i get frustrated, with my self and my own meandering. but having been to the points that i have--watching dan grasp at life and find a hold, remembering my own struggles, and contemplating that the struggle in life is constant--at those points and at the ones i can imagine occuring--i am glad that i move slowly through the world.
the earth itself is slow--a creature out of sorts with time. it slumbers for a few months, and upon waking, takes its time to rinse sleep from its eyes. it'll rain for a few more weeks, before blooming hot and humid into the next season. probably by then i'll have eaten the rest of my leftover mints.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
the lone four leaf clover
i've spent hours of my life, short and few to be honest, squatting in a patch of clover, searching for that elusive lucky one in the middle of all the normally shaped plants. just that one--searching and searching for that one, as if the rest of them were not symbolic in their own green solidarity.
***
yesterday at this time i was getting into my car, to drive to the st pat's parade downtown st paul. my sister had the brilliant idea to march in it--all you have to do is pay twenty bucks, and make a banner, and ta-da! instant parade group.
a coworker advised me that it was an "irish" parade, which meant it was a generally unorganized crush of people. in the interest of shared genetics, i believed my sister, who told me that the twenty clamshells paid for the organizers, etc, and i figured it'd be like the parades i was in as a teenager, with our high school band: lined up people, someone telling you when to march and how far back to stay from the preceding folks.
what actually transpired was more of a chaotic shuffle of people dressed in green sequins, home-made kilts, tall hats purchased at wal-mart, and irish step dancing groups in sweat suits.
the actual parade was only about half an hour long. once we got started. my family was number 106. due to the fact that it was an irish parade, we marched between numbers 57 and 93. not that we can't count. we just don't much care for organization.
i'd spent the previous night making a banner--three hours with my glue gun and a heap of multi-colored felt swatches, which turned out better than i'd hoped, including our family name and our coat of arms. if my sister emails the pic, i'll post it...i think.
at any rate, we made it to the staging ground at around 1145. we actually started marching at 110 or so. there were about five hundred people all gathered in the shade of a five-story orange brick building, with pale green trim around the windows. in the shade, it was about 25 degrees. in the sun, about 35. the difference was sublime, once we made it into the sun. i actually had an image in my head of people bursting through the imaginary line between shadow and light, coming to life and blooming. it actually reminded me of when people finish marathons, the ones who aren't crawling to completion--these would be the ones with hair swept back in the breeze of their own making, arms flung out and back, head held high, cheeks red with accomplishment.
once we got going we marched happily for the whole half hour, finding three other parade goers who shared our last name and spontaneously joined us on the route. it was amusing to have them just step in, strangers who probably shared all the same name mishaps as we did: "no, it's not pronounced that way...switch the a and the e, and you've got it...well, that works, even though it's not really right..."
***
after wards i was exhausted; we met at my sister's house for irish stew and soda bread and coffee, all of which was quite tasty. after that, i schlepped to the mall of america and shopped for two hours, came home, and collapsed. i think i read for forty-five minutes, and then, with henry curled at my side purring, i fell asleep. i don't remember turning off the light, just that my alarm clock read 9:18 pm.
***
today my face is wind-chapped. my thighs are tired; sitting here i can feel the muscles ache, a pleasant experience that reminds me of the ground i covered yesterday.
the thing i found, amid all those people, surrounded by my family, was how alone we all really are. i usually consider that on clear winter nights, when you can see every star in the sky, and feel small and dwarfed by the universe. yesterday, though, in the crush of parade, with the hogan-logan clan singing and hoisting a st patrick statue above their heads behind us, clasping my home-made banner and trying not to shiver, all i could think was that i was alone.
in the mall, the huge gaping space reserved for capitalistic spiritualism, i rode the escaltor. behind me a mother grouped her children to her, calling names and ordering them close. i pictured geese crossing before my car, goslings cuddling up to their parents.
when does it happen, the division between being a child and being an adult? being able to travel on your own, not being afraid of the big world? when does it happen that you find yourself alone, and are just as safe and comfortable as if you held your mother's hand?
***
on my way to my parking spot there was a woman walking in front of me, probably fifteen years ahead of where i am. she sported a wedding ring and from the lines on her face and the size of her purse, i'm sure she had children somewhere--college, home, out underage drinking with friends.
my insecurity lessened as i watched her do the same things i did, unconciously and conciously scanning the parking garage for potential attackers, clasping keys so that they could be used as a weapon.
from the sea of bodies we'd left behind, we separate out, we become individuals, we get into our own cars and lock the doors. the herd thins, parts, and i escape into anonymity.
***
yesterday at this time i was getting into my car, to drive to the st pat's parade downtown st paul. my sister had the brilliant idea to march in it--all you have to do is pay twenty bucks, and make a banner, and ta-da! instant parade group.
a coworker advised me that it was an "irish" parade, which meant it was a generally unorganized crush of people. in the interest of shared genetics, i believed my sister, who told me that the twenty clamshells paid for the organizers, etc, and i figured it'd be like the parades i was in as a teenager, with our high school band: lined up people, someone telling you when to march and how far back to stay from the preceding folks.
what actually transpired was more of a chaotic shuffle of people dressed in green sequins, home-made kilts, tall hats purchased at wal-mart, and irish step dancing groups in sweat suits.
the actual parade was only about half an hour long. once we got started. my family was number 106. due to the fact that it was an irish parade, we marched between numbers 57 and 93. not that we can't count. we just don't much care for organization.
i'd spent the previous night making a banner--three hours with my glue gun and a heap of multi-colored felt swatches, which turned out better than i'd hoped, including our family name and our coat of arms. if my sister emails the pic, i'll post it...i think.
at any rate, we made it to the staging ground at around 1145. we actually started marching at 110 or so. there were about five hundred people all gathered in the shade of a five-story orange brick building, with pale green trim around the windows. in the shade, it was about 25 degrees. in the sun, about 35. the difference was sublime, once we made it into the sun. i actually had an image in my head of people bursting through the imaginary line between shadow and light, coming to life and blooming. it actually reminded me of when people finish marathons, the ones who aren't crawling to completion--these would be the ones with hair swept back in the breeze of their own making, arms flung out and back, head held high, cheeks red with accomplishment.
once we got going we marched happily for the whole half hour, finding three other parade goers who shared our last name and spontaneously joined us on the route. it was amusing to have them just step in, strangers who probably shared all the same name mishaps as we did: "no, it's not pronounced that way...switch the a and the e, and you've got it...well, that works, even though it's not really right..."
***
after wards i was exhausted; we met at my sister's house for irish stew and soda bread and coffee, all of which was quite tasty. after that, i schlepped to the mall of america and shopped for two hours, came home, and collapsed. i think i read for forty-five minutes, and then, with henry curled at my side purring, i fell asleep. i don't remember turning off the light, just that my alarm clock read 9:18 pm.
***
today my face is wind-chapped. my thighs are tired; sitting here i can feel the muscles ache, a pleasant experience that reminds me of the ground i covered yesterday.
the thing i found, amid all those people, surrounded by my family, was how alone we all really are. i usually consider that on clear winter nights, when you can see every star in the sky, and feel small and dwarfed by the universe. yesterday, though, in the crush of parade, with the hogan-logan clan singing and hoisting a st patrick statue above their heads behind us, clasping my home-made banner and trying not to shiver, all i could think was that i was alone.
in the mall, the huge gaping space reserved for capitalistic spiritualism, i rode the escaltor. behind me a mother grouped her children to her, calling names and ordering them close. i pictured geese crossing before my car, goslings cuddling up to their parents.
when does it happen, the division between being a child and being an adult? being able to travel on your own, not being afraid of the big world? when does it happen that you find yourself alone, and are just as safe and comfortable as if you held your mother's hand?
***
on my way to my parking spot there was a woman walking in front of me, probably fifteen years ahead of where i am. she sported a wedding ring and from the lines on her face and the size of her purse, i'm sure she had children somewhere--college, home, out underage drinking with friends.
my insecurity lessened as i watched her do the same things i did, unconciously and conciously scanning the parking garage for potential attackers, clasping keys so that they could be used as a weapon.
from the sea of bodies we'd left behind, we separate out, we become individuals, we get into our own cars and lock the doors. the herd thins, parts, and i escape into anonymity.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
slouching
the chair i have at work routinely rotates down. today i noticed that it'd done it again. i get so used to having to reach the keyboard in a weird manner that it becomes second nature. i wonder in the mornings why my neck hurts, or my shoulders.
i'm slouching.
at work i slouch because my chair is sneaky about swivelling down. at home i slouch on the sofa, i slouch while doing a crossword before bed, i slouch as i type this. when i slouch my back bows out, backward, and i hunch up a bit.
i feel a lot of the time that that's how i go through life. i'm permanently huddled a little lower, stomach too lazy to lift up my rib cage. or perhaps it's just my abdominal muscles, waving the white flag. or my vertebrae, loose links in their bone chain.
i'm not getting anywhere, at my job. i'm not getting anywhere with my writing, with anything.
when i was seeing my therapist, helene, i felt this guilt to move forward. and when i started to take my meds, and remembered to exercise and watch what i was eating, i felt as if i could move forward. the sun sinks south for winter and i lag--email unchecked, games unplayed, people ignored.
slouching is malicious, i've concluded. if i wasn't slouching my back probably wouldn't hurt, i'd write more often and maybe get published, perhaps i'd be in touch with more people.
it's all a big bottle of What If. i can get stuck in that miasma for days. in fact, i have been.
whenever i drink from that bottle, my slouch deepens. i compare myself to other people in my life--my sister, friends--and i find myself lacking.
and the slouch deepens--it's despair, and it tugs me down quite faithfully.
dan wrote in his blog that he thinks of serena, often, and it keeps him awake. i do too--probably more often than i need to. it's the what if of where she is at--is she "better" in some way, better than i am? better off, better emotionally, not such a mess?
does she slouch, thousands of miles west?
i wonder this about many many many things. does my sister have time to slouch? my homeowning friends? or is it just me, tripped up and spineless?
i feel like an invertebrate--perhaps an amoeba--that's been reformed into this human self, propped upright around a skeleton. my amoeboid nature wants to slouch, and there is more of it than the bony structure upon which it's been molded.
and i slouch.
i'm slouching.
at work i slouch because my chair is sneaky about swivelling down. at home i slouch on the sofa, i slouch while doing a crossword before bed, i slouch as i type this. when i slouch my back bows out, backward, and i hunch up a bit.
i feel a lot of the time that that's how i go through life. i'm permanently huddled a little lower, stomach too lazy to lift up my rib cage. or perhaps it's just my abdominal muscles, waving the white flag. or my vertebrae, loose links in their bone chain.
i'm not getting anywhere, at my job. i'm not getting anywhere with my writing, with anything.
when i was seeing my therapist, helene, i felt this guilt to move forward. and when i started to take my meds, and remembered to exercise and watch what i was eating, i felt as if i could move forward. the sun sinks south for winter and i lag--email unchecked, games unplayed, people ignored.
slouching is malicious, i've concluded. if i wasn't slouching my back probably wouldn't hurt, i'd write more often and maybe get published, perhaps i'd be in touch with more people.
it's all a big bottle of What If. i can get stuck in that miasma for days. in fact, i have been.
whenever i drink from that bottle, my slouch deepens. i compare myself to other people in my life--my sister, friends--and i find myself lacking.
and the slouch deepens--it's despair, and it tugs me down quite faithfully.
dan wrote in his blog that he thinks of serena, often, and it keeps him awake. i do too--probably more often than i need to. it's the what if of where she is at--is she "better" in some way, better than i am? better off, better emotionally, not such a mess?
does she slouch, thousands of miles west?
i wonder this about many many many things. does my sister have time to slouch? my homeowning friends? or is it just me, tripped up and spineless?
i feel like an invertebrate--perhaps an amoeba--that's been reformed into this human self, propped upright around a skeleton. my amoeboid nature wants to slouch, and there is more of it than the bony structure upon which it's been molded.
and i slouch.
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