Archive for the ‘ ponders ’ Category

Full Life

Still-Life

 

If the real truth is found in silence, then I have been more honest with you, Reader, in the past six months than ever before.

 
The real truth is that I am a small person whose life can only be witnessed by the few who jostle for proximity. The real truth is that I have so much to say and with such feeling that the utterance seems to cheapen it by dilution.

 
Reader, I am marrying a man. I am marrying the man that I want, the man that I dreaded because he was too perfectly my inner soul’s desire and threatened to make my life happier than I felt it had a right to be. Happiness is for the weak, for those who close their eyes to the sorrow of the world, for those who will not sit in silence and bear up under it alone, for those who are Human and not Atlas.

 
I forget that I am human, Reader.

 
And furthermore, I forget that grasping happiness though it runs through your fingers and linking arms with a person though they walk at a different pace and relinquishing sole proprietorship to another gloriously faulty spirit—these things are brave. These things are beautiful. These things make the universe mean something more, even if you are only dressing up entropic atoms with sentiment. I choose the sentiment. I choose to feel.

 
I get angry because I wasn’t watching the road and slammed on breaks and food and papers and shoes and jackets and books have careened into the crumb-crusted carpet of my dying Toyota.

 
I get surprised because my family and friends actually left their comfortable homes, got into their cars, drove into the scary ITP, huddled silent and sweaty in a spare room, and celebrated our engagement with wine and cake and stories and hugs and tears and letters and laughs.

 
I get overwhelmed that the logistical felicity of 35,000 ticket-holders depends on my dexterity with Excel, Adobe, iPhone, vehicle, GPS, small talk, Outlook, clothing shopping, and getting a good night’s sleep (at which I suck).

 
I get sorrowful because I miss my close friend and all I could think about while I listened to him tell his story about moving across the country is how much I will miss him when he is gone and how talking on the phone isn’t the same as accidentally bumping into each other when you readjust in your seat across the booth or as squeezing each other tight when you say goodbye with a hug or as seeing what’s really happening inside the face though the words sound normal enough.

 
I get jealous of my beloved because I want to forge a fairy-tale home for him that is cool in the summer and warm in the winter and pleasing to the eye all year round and brimming with the hearts of people who love him and need him and respect him and teach him and hear him and sometimes my best-laid plans are corrupted by my own need for him to build me a fairy-tale home that is always the right temperature and situated in a convenient location and full of furniture that doesn’t make you sore after a three-wine-glass conversation.

 
I get proud of myself for acting like an adult, which basically means that you keep on acting even if you don’t hear applause or get a review (let alone a good one!) in the paper or get the contract renewal before the current one expires.

 
Life has been extraordinary to me and it’s filled my little clay plate with a helluva lot more tasty and prickly food than it can manage, and I don’t ever want to give the impression that I am insensible to that bounteous fact. But sometimes, standing there without saying anything, just holding your plate with both hands in front of you and your face turned down so you don’t trip while you’re walking—sometimes, the silence is all. Thanks for listening.

Are You Happy, Do You Know It?

Playing around with a bit of a theme…

…sorry the aquarium is a bit of a background noise, haha.

The Pleasure of Sitting

Pets get to do it all day, sitting.
I get to do it all day in my office, sitting.
People think you’re lazy if they catch you, sitting.
Sometimes your body insists you spend some time, sitting.
But muscles rebel and seize up sorely if you take one attitude too long, sitting.

Finding the sweet spot of sitting is trickier than it seems, and it’s so very rare that my psyche is unprepared to enjoy it, when I get that moment of peace to just…sit.

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Michigan Sky

Velvet isn’t always black or dark or deep.
Sometimes it’s sharp and clear and high
Like a Michigan sky.

The loveliest silk washed o’er the high ways,
Frosty tops and homespun bellies
Bulging with the lake-weary winds
Turning home to the dry prairie tickles.

My green soul leaps with the cherry-throated grosbeak
To meet the goddess of the Air full-stretched across my face.

The lush season of the sunbeams is nigh
And many a pliant wood rejoices in the un-freeze.
Wrap us up in cattail down and tuck into the summer.

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The Best Parts of Life Have No Record

Bahaha! *laughing and crying simultaneously*

Bahaha! *laughing and crying simultaneously*

I watched a film tonight about hunting Nazis—prosecuting war criminals using documentation, interviews, eye-witness accounts, etc.

Quite apart from the obviously incendiary content, the film threw me into contemplation of the past two and a half months of my life.  Months, which according to this blog, never existed.  Months, which according to my iCal were completely unpopulated with events.  Months, which according to my bank account, were only spent eating food and sleeping under a roof—oh, and an occasional theatrical excursion.

There is no record of the 1000+ backordered items that my staff and I have delivered to our customers.  Nor of the 13-hour days with only a meal and a half to see me through.  Nor of my emotional, spiritual, or psychological journey from a “college graduate” to a “young adult.”

And yet, all of this and more has happened.  One of the perversities of our digital age of immediacy is that there will forever be a record of the fried baby octopus I ate for dinner a week ago.  But vanished forever in the recesses of my spirit are the undulations of my soul, my connections with other people, my disillusionment with myself.

Facebook, play on.

WordPress, write one.

Heart, beat on.

There is One listening.

Making It Count

Today’s world spins on returns.  What will you get back from what you invest?  Is your profit margin high enough?  Can you administer yourself and continue to proliferate on your current ratio of input to output?

I’m sick of all these questions.

I spent much of my evening giving meticulous methylene blue swabs and dips to an ailing gourami fish, my Rochester, and working on water quality for three guppies and two snails—Aramis, Porthos, Athos; Hikaru and Kaoru.  All of the above will die at a ripe old age within the next 24 months.  Each will have cost me an average dollar amount that is astronomical in proportion to physical size.  And yet, I find it worthy.

There’s a generosity of spirit and selflessness that comes with keeping pets.  And believe me, this is not me tooting my own horn: at quarter past midnight, measuring pH and mineral content isn’t what I’d call exhilarating.  But it is peaceful in a way because it frees one from the stress of self-performance and into something grander than the webs we humans spin.

And I’m thankful to be untangled once in a while.

Piccolo the Algae-Eater's perspective on my life

Piccolo the Algae-Eater’s perspective on my life

Bundling Smalls

My family watches this lovely show on the History Channel called American Pickers.  In short, I greatly admire the show’s premise: assigning value.  It’s a positive practice, assigning value.  Antique shops have the right idea when they describe their activity as “appraising” or “appreciating.”  Reinforcing the elements of worth in an item and its history brings a sense of respect and meaning to pieces of our lives that can easily be overlooked or forgotten.

While I’ve certainly grown in appreciating objects around me, I’m going to take a moment and bundle together the smalls (seconds) of my day into a package deal that I think is worth celebrating 🙂

  • waking up to the sun shimmering through my blinds
  • small little chirps of my parakeets, unsure if I’m awake yet to hear them
  • sitting down on  a hand-embroidered seat cushion made by my grandmother to write a letter at a ladies desk I inherited from her
  • wishing my dad a happy fathers’ day
  • sealing a letter with a heart-shaped sticker
  • getting sweaty on the badminton court
  • diving into the pool, even though I knew it would be a shock of coolness
  • slobbery kisses by my friend’s dog
  • laying on my back on concrete, staring into a sky with flitting bats and the fading sun
  • rescuing a toad from the puppy
  • a game of Twister
  • riding home in my dad’s pick-up with all the windows rolled down
  • hair that smells like curl cream, sweat, bug spray, chlorine, and sunshine
  • snuggling into bed for a good night’s sleep

Sweet dreams!

enjoy the shining moments

enjoy the shining moments