I was sitting at my desk this morning drinking a cup of English Breakfast Tea and remarked about something I had seen on a cartoon (Higglytown Heroes) I had seen this morning while I was getting the J-Man ready to go to daycare.
I mentioned one of the cartoon moms was a Realtor and I thought it was a weird thing for a cartoon mom to be, and mentioned a couple of other weird socially significant things that occurred to me.
And then I realized I was sitting at my desk with a cup of tea talking about a cartoon as if it were actually something important.
A few years ago, I used to talk about business strategies, cultural movements born by the Internet, philosophies, religion, the economy, life, love, the drama of living and other exciting, relevent, important things. Today I'm talking about cartoons.
It's okay and I don't feel weird about it -- more accurately, I think it's just absurd and strange these morphs that we experience.
One day, I will read a book in its entirety again, dammit. One day I will be able to have a thought thicker than 1/4-inch deep. One day I will sleep through the night. (That would help my higher brain functioning, no doubt.)
Just not today.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Banana at 2:20 p.m.
Nope. The title has nothing to do with this posting. It's a between-you-and-me reference just for a new, charming, magnificent friend. You know who you are. Even if I don't. Another inside ha-ha.
So, I was leafing through some old journals. It's shocking how much drivel I could muster in my twenties. Oh, wait...it still is. It's all a bunch of crap about love and finding myself and dreaming big. Oh, wait...it still is. Huh. I wonder where this is going? Do the questions ever stop? I think not. If they do, you're either dead or watching too much of Who Wants to Marry My Dad? or A Bunch of Whiny, Slutty Women Rolling on the Beach Looking for Love. Never heard of that last one? You will.
A lot of stuff spilled out while I was flailing about in those angst-filled years:
The day I decided to be happy, I was hit with the worst kind of pain...lost love.
There's a knot in my stomach that only goes away when I lay my hand on the steady rhythm of my heart.
There are many lessons scattered among my anguish. But the joy of experience stings and boils rock hard in my center.
The rain no longer rings of anguish, but of gentle moments.
This unbearable longing for a place to call home seems to override any fears I've developed about being stuck in one place.
I can't imagine another human being allowing this to happen.
Partners take turns pushing and swinging-- looking away and longing after.
When I looked at the cyan patch of sky brushing the arch of my car window, I felt God.
If I didn't know better, I'd say I was really selfish.
I wistfully thought of my bed -- the one I'd return to... empty. No one there to pull back the covers and welcome me in with a warm hand and sweet whisper...
They cannot see the forest for the trees. I cannot see the trees for the forest. We are both missing an essential part of true happiness.
I read these words and ask "Was this really me? " And I know. Because I know her--me-- so well. And I finally like her - then and now- I like her.
So, I was leafing through some old journals. It's shocking how much drivel I could muster in my twenties. Oh, wait...it still is. It's all a bunch of crap about love and finding myself and dreaming big. Oh, wait...it still is. Huh. I wonder where this is going? Do the questions ever stop? I think not. If they do, you're either dead or watching too much of Who Wants to Marry My Dad? or A Bunch of Whiny, Slutty Women Rolling on the Beach Looking for Love. Never heard of that last one? You will.
A lot of stuff spilled out while I was flailing about in those angst-filled years:
The day I decided to be happy, I was hit with the worst kind of pain...lost love.
There's a knot in my stomach that only goes away when I lay my hand on the steady rhythm of my heart.
There are many lessons scattered among my anguish. But the joy of experience stings and boils rock hard in my center.
The rain no longer rings of anguish, but of gentle moments.
This unbearable longing for a place to call home seems to override any fears I've developed about being stuck in one place.
I can't imagine another human being allowing this to happen.
Partners take turns pushing and swinging-- looking away and longing after.
When I looked at the cyan patch of sky brushing the arch of my car window, I felt God.
If I didn't know better, I'd say I was really selfish.
I wistfully thought of my bed -- the one I'd return to... empty. No one there to pull back the covers and welcome me in with a warm hand and sweet whisper...
They cannot see the forest for the trees. I cannot see the trees for the forest. We are both missing an essential part of true happiness.
I read these words and ask "Was this really me? " And I know. Because I know her--me-- so well. And I finally like her - then and now- I like her.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Living Out of Character
Last weekend we were graced by the presence of a beautiful, large hawk staying for a day or two in our backyard. I first saw him early in the morning sitting on the back fence, not doing much of anything but turning his head now and again if something caught his eye.
I thought it strange that he would be there -- generally you don't find hawks downtown. They are either in the country or often I see them near the highway sitting high on an electrical pole or in a high tree. I've never seen one sitting on a fence in someone's backyard.
But there he was and I leaned on the jamb of my kitchen door and watched him for a long time while everyone else was asleep.
Finally he moved to fly down and pull some worms out of the ground. "Worms...", I thought. "What a strange choice of breakfast for a noble hawk." But he spent a while pulling worms out of the wet ground and then finally flew back up to sit on the fence.
A squirrel ran across the fence rail toward him and stopped about two feet away, watching him as I was. The hawk turned his head to look at the squirrel, completely unfazed, uninterested in what the squirrel might be doing. No interest in making a meal of him. Maybe he was too full of worms, I don't know, but it was strange.
Later in the day he moved to a tree and sat there for a time before I finally lost track of where he was. I was sure that would be the last I saw of him.
The next morning, I glanced outside the kitchen window and there was "my" hawk again, sitting on the fence in the same place he was the day before. A blue jay swooped down within inches of him and flew away. The hawk flew off into a high tree to get away. Two blue jays followed him and swooped several times, pecking him. It was hard for me to watch. He just sat there, not flinching, not protesting, not defending himself. The jays finally gave up. Maybe it was a fight that is no fun if your prey doesn't fight back. Or maybe they figured he would not hurt them after all.
I called a lady who does hawk rescues and she told me if he is able to fly there's not a lot she can do. She said he sounded like he was hit by a car and might be dazed and would probably be that way for a day or two and not to worry about it.
But I did, because that's my nature to fret over stupid things that I can't control. Days later I pondered over the parallel, how sometimes I feel like that hawk -- like I'm living out of character.
I thought it strange that he would be there -- generally you don't find hawks downtown. They are either in the country or often I see them near the highway sitting high on an electrical pole or in a high tree. I've never seen one sitting on a fence in someone's backyard.
But there he was and I leaned on the jamb of my kitchen door and watched him for a long time while everyone else was asleep.
Finally he moved to fly down and pull some worms out of the ground. "Worms...", I thought. "What a strange choice of breakfast for a noble hawk." But he spent a while pulling worms out of the wet ground and then finally flew back up to sit on the fence.
A squirrel ran across the fence rail toward him and stopped about two feet away, watching him as I was. The hawk turned his head to look at the squirrel, completely unfazed, uninterested in what the squirrel might be doing. No interest in making a meal of him. Maybe he was too full of worms, I don't know, but it was strange.
Later in the day he moved to a tree and sat there for a time before I finally lost track of where he was. I was sure that would be the last I saw of him.
The next morning, I glanced outside the kitchen window and there was "my" hawk again, sitting on the fence in the same place he was the day before. A blue jay swooped down within inches of him and flew away. The hawk flew off into a high tree to get away. Two blue jays followed him and swooped several times, pecking him. It was hard for me to watch. He just sat there, not flinching, not protesting, not defending himself. The jays finally gave up. Maybe it was a fight that is no fun if your prey doesn't fight back. Or maybe they figured he would not hurt them after all.
I called a lady who does hawk rescues and she told me if he is able to fly there's not a lot she can do. She said he sounded like he was hit by a car and might be dazed and would probably be that way for a day or two and not to worry about it.
But I did, because that's my nature to fret over stupid things that I can't control. Days later I pondered over the parallel, how sometimes I feel like that hawk -- like I'm living out of character.
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