So, I’ve always been a bit of a walker. No distance is too far, no weather condition is too intimidating, that I, in my infinite wisdom, cannot summarily dismiss as irrelevant and sally forth.
This blithe disregard for reality has, from time to time, gotten me into trouble. Like the time I was 4 miles away from my house, and found a 65 pound, cast-iron, 1940’s sewing machine. I was 12, and I had to have it. So, I bought it, and perforce, had to drag it all the way home. In my defense, it served me faithfully for years.
Another time, I was fifteen, and I got hit with a craving. I needed watermelon. It was 110 degrees out, the grocery store was 5 miles away, down the steepest, longest, most nightmarish hill in town, the humidity was unspeakable, but, this was a craving fit to make pregnant women look tame. I had to have my watermelon. I left, I nearly passed out from heat prostration on the way up the hill, I found out my next trip home that the staff had been taking bets on whether I would make it, and I enjoyed every bite of my twenty pound watermelon.
Now that we’ve covered wacky distances…I don’t think I will mention the time that I went for a multi-mile hike in a sleet storm. Twice. Or, the time I went for a walk in 35 degree weather and got hypothermia. Or the time that I randomly decided to go for a walk at three in the morning in a sleet storm.
So yeah, its kind of sad, but I’m a city girl who can make perambulation a near-death experience.
So, when you think about it, my going on an eleven mile hike through a swamp by myself is downright sane. It was a little long, but it was a lovely hike. I trekked through ankle deep muck, through an origami maze of tree roots, through tangled vines fit to make Indiana Jones wince, and enough low-growing foliage to keep a gross of weedwackers busy for a month. I also spotted three owls, one hawk, a red-headed duck, 15 salamanders, 15 dozen snakes, and 15 million mosquitoes.
I can’t wait to go back.
And to finish my day….I helped build a chicken coop. I have such a varied life.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Break Up Music
I admit it.
I am a romantic.
Really. Deep under the layers of well-congealed cynicism there is an edge that just looooooves to go warm and fuzzy at the drop of a hat. Yes, I sing Taylor Swift in the shower.
Okay, now on that note, I have another confession.
One of my favorite genres of music of all time are…..break-songs.
Yes, you read me right, break-up songs. Is it the rage? The anger? The frustrated sexuality? The not so deeply hidden desire all women have to whack a man, especially their man, with a two-by-four on occasion? Is it the heady combination of betrayal and self-righteousness, sorrow, and fury? The joy of communal, massive, emotionalism?
Now, one may say that it is a problem to indulge in these emotions—especially any traumatized men reading this post. But, I would beg to differ. First, as long as their have been music and poetry, the two have been used to express universal problems and emotions—and like it or hate it, as long as their has been love, there have been those hurt, abused, abandoned, and betrayed by it. Second, people are emotional creatures, women especially experience this phenomena, and men especially suffer from it. In that case, men should thank God for break up-music. Break-up songs allow people, especially women, to vent both their feelings and frustrations without taking eggs to a man’s car, or a baseball bat to his head. I will never take a combat knife to my ex’s car, but oh man ya betcha will I sing along to “Before He Cheats.” Third, once you find a relationship worth keeping, break-up music reminds you exactly why it is a good thing and why it is worth a lot to keep it in good health and wellness.
On that note, “Look it Up” is one of my new favorite songs.
I am a romantic.
Really. Deep under the layers of well-congealed cynicism there is an edge that just looooooves to go warm and fuzzy at the drop of a hat. Yes, I sing Taylor Swift in the shower.
Okay, now on that note, I have another confession.
One of my favorite genres of music of all time are…..break-songs.
Yes, you read me right, break-up songs. Is it the rage? The anger? The frustrated sexuality? The not so deeply hidden desire all women have to whack a man, especially their man, with a two-by-four on occasion? Is it the heady combination of betrayal and self-righteousness, sorrow, and fury? The joy of communal, massive, emotionalism?
Now, one may say that it is a problem to indulge in these emotions—especially any traumatized men reading this post. But, I would beg to differ. First, as long as their have been music and poetry, the two have been used to express universal problems and emotions—and like it or hate it, as long as their has been love, there have been those hurt, abused, abandoned, and betrayed by it. Second, people are emotional creatures, women especially experience this phenomena, and men especially suffer from it. In that case, men should thank God for break up-music. Break-up songs allow people, especially women, to vent both their feelings and frustrations without taking eggs to a man’s car, or a baseball bat to his head. I will never take a combat knife to my ex’s car, but oh man ya betcha will I sing along to “Before He Cheats.” Third, once you find a relationship worth keeping, break-up music reminds you exactly why it is a good thing and why it is worth a lot to keep it in good health and wellness.
On that note, “Look it Up” is one of my new favorite songs.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Bibliothetic Panic
I discovered a new phobia today. I walked into the library, headed straight for the dvd section, and experienced a moment of panic. I had a list of three movies I wanted to watch, but I could not, for the life of me, remember the title of a single book or author that I really wanted to read.
When I realized this, several thoughts went through my head:
“My brain is dying.”
“$60,000 for my education utterly wasted.”
Where did my examined life go?
“When did my delight suddenly become work?”
“Darn it, I thought you didn’t become this static until after babies!”
“When did I go from theorizing about my life to actually just living it?”
“Did retail do this to me or did I just devolve on my own?”
And then me being me, I try to justify myself….
“I’ve been busy”
“I’ve been stressed”
“Who needs Tolstoy anyhow?”
And, my justifications are a miserable failure. Because, gosh darn it, reading is valuable, knowledge it valuable, and reading great books just does good things to your soul. Moreover, I will never be able to write a book worth a darn if I keep limiting my diet to fluff.
So yes, I have lapsed from the true faith, but I’m back! Now I just need to figure out where in my never-ending list to begin……
When I realized this, several thoughts went through my head:
“My brain is dying.”
“$60,000 for my education utterly wasted.”
Where did my examined life go?
“When did my delight suddenly become work?”
“Darn it, I thought you didn’t become this static until after babies!”
“When did I go from theorizing about my life to actually just living it?”
“Did retail do this to me or did I just devolve on my own?”
And then me being me, I try to justify myself….
“I’ve been busy”
“I’ve been stressed”
“Who needs Tolstoy anyhow?”
And, my justifications are a miserable failure. Because, gosh darn it, reading is valuable, knowledge it valuable, and reading great books just does good things to your soul. Moreover, I will never be able to write a book worth a darn if I keep limiting my diet to fluff.
So yes, I have lapsed from the true faith, but I’m back! Now I just need to figure out where in my never-ending list to begin……
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Like Dorothy, I sometimes feel like I have traveled halfway around the world only to come...home. Granted, I have not yet realized what "home" is, but I begin to suspect that whatever it is takes some sitting still and just living to attain it.
There is not much to report. I made a bid to get funding to get a Masters in Clinical Counseling. It was unsuccessful, but in considering the attempt I learned some useful things about me, and the world, and now, I am simply waiting. Waiting, living, and mastering the art of daily life.
As a first post in two years, this one is a poor start, but as an apology for my brevity, I will leave you with one of my favorite Hopkins poems.
Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.
There is not much to report. I made a bid to get funding to get a Masters in Clinical Counseling. It was unsuccessful, but in considering the attempt I learned some useful things about me, and the world, and now, I am simply waiting. Waiting, living, and mastering the art of daily life.
As a first post in two years, this one is a poor start, but as an apology for my brevity, I will leave you with one of my favorite Hopkins poems.
Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.
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