miércoles, junio 29, 2005

St. Augustine

Birds at the tip of Anastasia State Park





Colonial edifices



and Spanish moss







Bridge of Lions (Ponce de Leon's eponymous)


Castillo de San Marcos


Indiana I. on Safari (sort of)















Nuestra señora cremosa or Our Lady of La Leche



St. Augustine is not only the first city of what is now the US of A but houses quite the loveliest shrine to Our Lady of La Leche... snarky commentary omitted, but lovely picture of the creamiest of creamy... darling K... (still not converted yet!)

Let me preface this with the obvious, given the known history of Kirsten and my luck with cars and planning, something was bound to go amiss, but, I will get there eventually.

We wandered around the very tiny historic quarter after lunching with her mother and step-father and my parents and the girl, and ended up seated by the fortress sharing dirty secrets and such, and wishing that we could just drop trou and pee, but realizing that a tourist attraction at midday necessitated somewhat more discretion. By night was a different story, but again, I will get there eventually, maybe.

So K. was lamenting the fact that this blog has become somewhat tamer than before, and I realize that perhaps she is right. Here's the thing. I didn't think that I was such a potty-mouth (fingers) but I keep getting visitors who are referred by lude and lascivious key-words, and in fact I wouldn't be surprised if a technorati search for something like "sexy nude teen fucking stallion under water with fingers inserted into nostrils" wouldn't pop this bad boy up on someone's midnight blue-flickering screen, and I know I have never written about anything of the sort (until now, that is) so maybe, just maybe, I have been censoring myself a little. I'm no Larry David, y'know, I just say what is on my mind... and I realized that I must be morphing into a teenage boy because every thirty seconds my mind seems to be on one thing. Gaah. Whatever, I can't be responsible for my nomadic brain.

So here are some racy thoughts for the day. I guess. K. and I basically spent two days walking preparing food and talking, with a few drinks interspersed in the mix. So far, my goal of a glass of red wine a day has been met, in fact I had several. Bill broke out a lovely Syrah from Santa Barbara of all places, before we went out to the Milltop bar (on top of the grist mill) to hear her cousin Ian's guitar teacher play. He was very good, deep rich voice, amazing guitarist, and he played a great rendition of Dylan's "Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall". Fabulous:
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

But he ruined it, when I stopped to thank him on our way out the door, by calling me "darlin". Grrr. I'm not your darlin... Ah well. Then we went back to the illuminated fortress, where we wandered around the darkened park grounds. We were both totally relieved (ha, and totally relieved after allowing ourselves to deface, if only with ammonia, the beautiful monument to belicosity in the midnight moonlight) to be able to have wonderfully shame-free, graphic conversations about sex. This may seem strange, but it is not often that you get to have these discussions with friends, where you can talk about the kink that you want and not feel like you are being judged (or like you have to avoid eavesdropping menfolk, for sure). So here's the dirt. K. promised that next time I am in the bay area we are going to Good Vibrations, because I am extremely curious, but too damn shy to just walk into a sex-shop by myself. Internet she says, and I say... I'd really rather look at them in person, hold them in my hands... it is an investment, n'est pas? So why am I so embarassed? Isn't what I feel and want totally normal and acceptable? This is the thought that I was having, well, let me start at the beginning. I love the word for shame in Portuguese "vergonha" which is close to the Spanish, but sounds so much sexier (I believe the Italian sounds very similar). Just the way it slides off your tongue. The word even tastes good. And there is this "orgulho" the opposite, but intimately linked concept, just like the various "pride" movement followers who aim (in their own way) to validate that aspect of their lives about which others have made them feel shameful. (Sidebar, asexual pride? now that is completely counterintuitive... is it something like the anti-breeders? well if it floats their boat... but count me out!)

Anyhooo. K. and I listened to music, but did not get raging drunk, instead we just shared tantalizing stories and fantasies until 4 in the am, after escaping the mosquitoes and palmetto bugs in the hot and steamy tropical night. Yes we had girly drinks, but that just wasn't the highlight. The highlight, of course was the dialogue. Interesting recurring theme. I was joking with my dad on the airplane that in order to become solvent, I should start writing for Hustler. He laughed and said, "well maybe not Hustler, but you should really think about writing romance novels". And then K. was talking about the same thing, she was contemplating a Tranny FTM romance novel and had done some research. Here are the major obstacles (I mean above and beyond personal pride and academic obligations) there are certain words that I can't use. During our three hour walk on the beach on Anastasia Island we discussed the problems with erotic vocabulary. There are many, a few examples will have to suffice. I can't write words like "pussy" or "twat" (nevermind "honey-pot") with a straight face and mean anything other than a very silly euphemistic reference in a jocund tone, and the word "cunt" just makes my skin crawl, and think of sleezy men in low-riding Chevy Novas. "Throbbing mound" also makes me giggle, but used correctly might not be too horrible, but is absolutely, without a doubt, Harlequin (though I have never read one, I swear!). Now, using anatomical references I actually do find sexy, sometimes, but you can't say something like "and then he inserted his glans between her inner labia, glancing off her clitoris with each thrust..." without losing half your audience (wait! what was that?! I know I learned it in 6th grade health class). And for the male organ I am also limited by my own prudishness or quirky linguistic aversions. "Cock" is ok, but it doesn't thrill me, "shaft" kinda works, but honestly the first thing that pops into my head is the sly seventies detective and the pumping bass, with the ladies in the background "mmmm. Shaft!" so clearly, this is a problem for me. "Turgid member" is overly literary and "sex" which might be the romance novel standard for either penis or vagina (or variation thereof... hmmm. useful for its ambiguity) is just a little too, qué sé yo, unimaginative. "Dick" can only be used with "head" and not that kind, you know, think Bush. As in Deborah's catchy phrase, translated from the Irish to the American: "Bush is a wanker = Bush is a dick(head)".

But now I have completely lost you, or myself. Here it is in a nutshell. How do you talk (or write) dirty without bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of the language that revolves around the unspeakable acts? Here is the most linguistically complex problem we discovered. How do you refer to that wonderful part of the body, just under the curve of your buttocks, the top of your hamstrings, where caressing hands fit so nicely and work so furiously? There is no name for that part of the body, or way to describe it that doesn't totally destroy the erotic tone for me. Then also, K. remembered a sex scene from Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent (I read the book, long ago, but failed to remember this part) where the lover-turned-murder victim offers her "peach" to her lover for him to take her up the ass, saying "I bet your wife doesn't do this for you." Peach? Gimme a fucking break. I think I would have to vomit if I were to refer to my rear-end or anyone else's as a peach. Adjectivally speaking it might work, on some occasions, but definitely not as a pat euphemism. "Buttocks", a bit stodgy, "bum", infantile, "arse" (Brittish and also, unrelatedly, hateful, hateful expression... if a man whispered in my ear "let me rip into your arse" I might spit out, or snort, whatever liquid I happened to be imbibing, or perhaps choke on my own spit, and not because the act itself were distasteful, but that horrible word! - think: finger nails on chalkboard). "Bottom" can work, maybe, but it has all those connotations of being a top or a bottom, which might not be where you want to go, and if not, it is a just a tad too prim and proper, despite the depraved librarian (or school-teacher) possibilities that it offers (yeah, I would know). "Ass" is too prosaic (sorry prose, what I mean to say is, pedestrian), and "butt", well, even moreso.

Perhaps my standards are too high? I have this other major stumbling block. I have only begun to explore my own fantasy world (really, I have had myself on a super-rigid tight rein up until just about a year ago) and I am surprising myself with what I find, that said, I also have a very difficult time imagining fantasies for other people, that is, things that I wouldn't like, or do, myself. I insist that I am an extremely unimaginative person, only being able to envision slight variations on things that I have done (or might do) myself, and I can only base my fantasies in some sort of reality. This poses a problem if my protagonist is a gynecologist who falls in love with a lumberjack. What tools would they use? His or hers?

Wow. I have gotten way off track in my relation of this girl-trip, but then, most of our conversations could have been tangentially related to this ludicrous rant.
So anyway, after a long walk and a romp in the rough and ready Atlantic, grouper and snapper for lunch and the exchange of our CD burning wishlist (I am finally going to have the Cure's singles and DM's Violator!!!) we tried to pick up the rental car that I had reserved in the morning to find that A) the airport rental was in fact seven miles south at the Walmart (of all places) and B) that it had closed at 6 pm, of which the young man with whom I made the reservation failed to notify me. Seethe. Panic. Resignation. Nothing can ever be simple with us. So my daddy (here I come to save the day!!!) dropped I. and my mom at the park around nine and drove an hour down to Daytona to meet us, and K. and her mom and step-dad bustled into the car to drive me the hour north (I was mortified at putting them out:(. We coincided almost to the minute, and all was well. So much for being a grown-up, self-sufficient girl in the world. Sigh.

Now, I need to end this post here, I will post some more photos now that Blogger has its own photo-hosting! (I will still be using my Flickr account, albeit differently) but enough is enough.
Here's us just before leaving, what could we be laughing about, you will wonder...

domingo, junio 26, 2005

It's a small world, after all...

Shoot me. I would do it myself, but I just can't bring myself to put me out of my own misery.
I hate crowds. Always have, always will. I like people, not always, but mostly, I do, just not throngs of them. So where do I find myself? Yes, I am ashamed to say, the mecca of capitalist slime... Dworld. Right, I said, shoot, me. It's just that when you are a five-year-old girl there is nothing more exciting than fantasy, and my five-year-old girl was promised by my parents a trip when she was five. So here I am, suffering through the oppresive heat, abiding her every wish. Ok. So she is having a great time. And while gaudy costumes and flashing lights aren't exactly my thing, well, there is something to be said for the pleasure of making the most beloved person in your life happy. Even if she takes anticipatory whining to new levels.

Of course the ulterior motive, and the reason I don't allow myself to feel like such a terrible hypocrite (never mind that the amount of money spent in one day could supply an entire African village with protease inhibitors for a month, but...), is that I am also visiting with my 80-year-old grandmother who lives here in Orlando, and my Aunt Sandy and Uncle Bob, too. I know I shirk family responsibilities, or rather, I am a terrible correspondent because I never have time (though you'd never know it based on my writing... different audiences provide different forms of inspiration, I suppose.) but, there it is. I'd like to crawl under a rock.

However, amid the freakish extremes of capitalism in all its wretched deformity, (and they now fingerprint you so that you can't transfer your ticket to someone else, but I wonder if there isn't some secret data collection being made, for a fat little profit - you know, "here we will give you the names and fingerprints of everyone that comes into the park every day, and in turn..." well, perhaps I am too imaginative, or mistrusting of the powers that be, but we are in Florida for fuck's sake), I was at least pleased by the fact that if only superficially there is an overriding theme of conservation, ecology and multicultural tolerance. Bah. Take it for what it's worth, I am always trying to find the silver lining, despite my innate negativity. It is this sick joke that has been played on me, eternal ambivalence, intercalated with hopefulness and despair in intermittent and rapidly increasing cycles. I think that there may be a drug for this... but nothing I've ever taken has worked.

Take for example my attempt at taking anti-depressants last year... they basically killed my libido and ambition as well as my "pain" so what do I do? In the middle of the largest upheaval in my personal history I drop them, cold turkey. Hey, I've never claimed to be anything but a fuck up who likes to sing songs and tell stories. Then there was the time, how many years ago now? At least 7, yes 7, I was living in Mexico at the time, I tried taking St. John's Wort. But after several months, with no noticeable change in me, or rather, all kinds of other crazy things going on which affected my mood, oh, just little things, like falling "in love" or, oops, getting pregnant while I was trying to finish the school year that had been extended by the worker's strike at La Ibero. If it weren't for that strike... I met M. while living with his best friend, and while we were officially "living together" it was much more about convenience (he was at the national dance school two blocks away) than love (I am convinced that if I had been a teenage boy we could have worked. ha ha.). He was cute, I'll give him that, but M. blew me away with his guitar playing (guitar goggles are my downfall) and the way that neither of us could stand the cello player who kept going way flat when no one else in the whole concert hall seemed to notice the horror... anyway, this has nothing to do with where I was going with this post. It was about the complete and utter aleatory existence which we live. If there hadn't been a strike (leaving me at home and solitarily writing stories in the middle of the afternoon), if M. hadn't been asked by J.J. to pick up a score for Handel's Messiah for me, and if the UNAM hadn't subsequently gone on a student driven strike for the following several months, my life would be absolutely different. I might be living in the South of France, with a man named Pierre, or a woman, Monique perhaps? I know, I know, the same could be said about each and every moment of each and every day. But yet, some events seem to hold more significant sway over the outcomes of our lives.

Ah well. There are several "if only" I had... or hadn't... moments for which I am grateful or that I wish I could redo, but this is real life and as a very smart person once pointed out to me, there are no bonus lives after accruing 100,000 points. So we are stuck with ourselves, our good and bad choices, our successes and failures. Maybe, just maybe, one day I will learn to quit while I am ahead, but I think that maybe I am thick as a brick, and never will learn this lesson.

So I have decided to begin drinking red wine, instead. J. you will laugh because I insisted vehemently for several days that I don't drink and then you watched me pass through the whole gamut from light beer to wine to hard liquor in those same several days. But here's the thing. Ever since I moved to CA, and there is no reason for this because I haven't acquired any new wine-tasting skills (yes, yes, I have a sharp olfactory sense and a good palate, but absolutely no training) but just because I think since we arrived with Eric and Lucía last August, we just started drinking socially more, or maybe we just have more wine-drinking friends. Another mystery yet unsolved. I remember our first meal in Santa Barbara. It was Indian food at a restaurant for whom I will make no effort at publicity because their service is not only lacking, but downright offensive... in any case, Lucía mentioned that you had to find your grape and stick with it. Hers was Pinot Noir. Mine is unequivocally Shiraz. It took me a while to discover this, trial and error mostly, although I had an inkling before when Jenny's last visit to NH she introduced me (another felicitous "if only" moment?) but without fail the only reds I always lust after are Shiraz and Syrahs. There it is. So, I wonder if I drink a glass of red wine a day, will I be a happier person? Will I save this dying planet (of course not) but will I care just a little bit less about my ultimate non-impact. Maybe. It's worth a try isn't it?
Dad did buy me a very large bottle, but tomorrow I escape to St. Augustine, and K. and I have larger fish to fry...

Strange that we have to both fly across the country to see eachother when we finally live on the same coast in the same state. But then, it is a small world, after all.

sábado, junio 25, 2005

Blue

Creative ways to combat insomnia... singing oneself lullabies.


this is an audio post - click to play


this is an audio post - click to play

jueves, junio 23, 2005

Lucky?

On the tiny scrap of paper, torn with zeal from the chocolate (and therefore sacred) folds of crusty cookieness:

"Your determination will bring you much success.
Lucky numbers: 4, 8, 27, 28, 39, 42"

and on the back

"Learn chinese - Gift
Li-wu"

I suppose this bodes well for tomorrow's flight.

A few minor musings: For how long are these numbers determined to be lucky? and to what might they refer, I wonder?
And for what reason do I need to know the word gift, is it the act of giving or receiving, is it the same word when it is an offering to someone else as opposed to a petition? I am better at giving gifts than receiving them. We already established that long ago. No one can ever seem to guess how simple the things I want are.

However, today I did receive another marvelous gift from Mom (the thing about birthdays here are that they never end)... a massage from Donna, the family masseuse. There is something so amazing about offering up your pain to the hands of another, especially one who knows your body well. It baffles me that some people don't like to be touched. I suppose I can theoretically understand this stand-point, but if I could have someone else's hands kneading the lactic acid out of my muscles on a daily basis, I would do it in a heartbeat. Seriously.

Now that money might not be such an issue, perhaps I can pursue that avenue in my *real* hometown. Alas, I am still 10 days away from California and missing it. Quite a bit. The consolation (and what a consolation it is!) will be a mini-vacation from the babe, and a wild night on the town with K. on the ocean. (Ok, perhaps it will be a tame night, but we plan to talk very loud and be very opinionated wherever we go. Shouldn't be too hard.)

Tonight I made my peace with NH. I turned out the lights and opened the window, turned on the whole-house fan that sucks the wind in at great force and let the air press up against my face. The bed lies level to the window moulding, and ever since the very first time I set foot in this bedroom, having stepped off the plane from Buenos Aires in the winter, into NY in the sweltering summer, and driven the five hours north to this new place, I would always look out across the horizon, as the late summer sun was setting over the pines, and long to know what my life would be like when it all worked itself out. I am still wondering, pining, aching. But it feels nice for a little while.

miércoles, junio 22, 2005

Astonishing...

List of accomplishments for today, (or rather yesterday) June 22, 2005.

1) Began and finished "the curious incident of the dog in the night-time" by Mark Haddon.

It was a quick read and I am on vacation, and as is always true, I read much faster when it is not required of me. I know I am hopelessly behind on the best-seller list (actually, I don't even know what is on it, I confess) but this was a fabulous book. I was reminded of our NH neighbor Robert who is home-schooled, along with his brothers and at 15 is taking classes at MIT, but is still one of the quirkiest kids around. I remember when he was 11 and he was explaining to me and my mom the double helix structure of DNA and how all the puzzle pieces (which I also confess to have set somewhere else in my memory) intertwined, the R and the T etc... I was astonished by Haddon's ability to truly capture a mind incapable of abstraction, the true idiot-savant... and I was also reminded of the interesting classes on educational psychology I took in which we examined the characteristics of emotional development. How is it that some people get trapped? Curious.

2) Forced myself to go shopping, again. It would be criminal to not take advantage of NH's no sales tax, I mean, the government should not have any more of my money than it already does to do the terrible things that it does to the environment and humanity... Although, I was noticing that unlike in CA, bathrooms are not all furnished, in fact hardly at all, with protective seat covers, which requires either a) a hovering balancing act in the bathroom, or b) a blatant disregard for one's own physical well-being. I'll leave you guessing as to which school I profess allegiance. And then I thought that maybe this was precisely because of the lack of taxes, that is, maybe all our tax money in CA is *really* being flushed down the toilet, I mean there could have been contractors bidding for the paper supply and the highest bidder winning, right? But then I remembered that the same lack of sanitary precautions was true in Massachusetts, which does in fact have quite a bit of tax, thereby declaring null and void my prior argument. In any case, I digress.

The good news is, I am now the proud owner of:
a) Finally!!! good hiking boots from EMS that won't rip holes in my heels and into which I can fit my custom insoles.
b) lightweight hiking socks
c) high-impact sports bra for making myself go to the gym (this is agenda number 1 for the summer, I must pick an arbitrary time, say high noon, and go every day until it is no longer a chore - Laura says this takes three weeks.)
d) not one, but three, new bathing suits from LL Bean's outlet store for a grand total of US$56.

This forced shopping, after which I groaned at my mother that I couldn't take much more (I. loves shopping) produced other ripple effects, like:
a) I ran into my old boss, the ex-principal of the school at which I taught, as we were both shopping for hiking boots. It was a shock, not unpleasant, to see her, as I would have had no other news of her, being a personna non grata these days under the new administration.
b) put us in Nashua at the perfect time to meet Paula, Melissa's mom, for Vietnamese food. After which we got to see the wedding pictures of the wedding to which I wish I could have gone in Xalapa:( You looked beautiful, Melissa, if you are reading this (I think you did last week) but I know that internet is a bit shaky since you've moved to Puerto Peñasco.

3) Took I. to Mack's apples for ice cream before closing, one of her few remaining goals for this visit. Now if any of you are familiar (which most of you are, as you lived here longer than I, but bear with me for those who are not from here) with small-town New England (or anywhere probably) every town has one random gathering spot, that may have no rhyme nor reason, but remains a social hub nonetheless. For Londonderry, Mack's is it. There are wonderful trails that go up into the orchards and cross the river, and every season offers its delight: Fall = Pumpkins and U-Pick apples and the annual scarecrow dress-up competition among local groups and individuals. This is my personal favorite as the leaves are turning and October offers its blazing blue skies and crisp air, moist, vaguely sweet with the early rot of the leaves on the ground as they compost themselves in piles. Winter = sledding down the big hill and skating on frozen ponds. Spring = strawberry picking, nature walks and food for the voracious ducks and geese, and Summer = ice cream all day, every day from 10am to 9pm. Smack dab in the middle of town, Mammoth Road before you get to 102. Needless to say I ran into various ex-students, one being my most hideous problem child from last year, but even to him I could smile and genuinely tell him that I love CA, and that I hoped he was well (no lie). I also encountered the librarian who was one of my favorite people, the mother of one of my ex-classmates, and an all-around interesting lady.

4) Visited the CVS where I accomplished the following:
a) Procured thumb splint for this nasty tendonitis in my left hand, which is most likely aggravated by typing, but almost certainly caused by lifting a small person repeatedly with thumbs inserted under armpits. This is truly bad form, but what do you do when you have a sick child who requires you to hold her? The immobility helps, I think.
b) Acquired not one, but two forms of lipstick, and one mascara. What??? I know, Jenny's girly ways tempted me, for a brief moment, to be just a little more "sexy" (as I. would call it!) And since I threw away the old scraps from my last splurge because the make-up made me ill, I needed new stuff, if only to let it sit for the next five years). This of course may well be due to infection by cats (and to understand this you must go read Jenny's post on the effect of a certain protozoan cat parasite on human females.) Sorry, can't link with Safari... I mean, I could, if I were to cut and paste the html from an older post with a link, but that just seems like too much work just about now, and since I am using my account on my parent's computer, instead of my own, I didn't want to be downloading firefox just to have a more complete toolbar. I know I am lazy. So what?

5) Learned the french word for: to astound, astonish, shock or surprise!

6) Went to bed at 1:43 am EST.

Early morning deep thoughts...

If the relationships that we have within our own families are the ones on which we base all others, and if we bear the burden of reliving or improving upon or retroceding into the basic structures that we have ingrained in our being what happens to only children?

I ask this only because I was just musing upon the different types of amorous relationships/ partnerships in the observable universe.

Couples tend to fall into varying categories, and we tend to find ourselves seeking some sort of replacement or stand-in, it would seem, such as: (and of course these are only the most typical, no time for exhaustive studies, I mean, really, I don't do this for a living:) And of course there are variations on these themes (choose your gender and sexual preference, I think these models might still work - tragically)

Father-daughter (the one is always seeking a father figure to lead the way with a strong hand... say)
Mother-son (where one is constantly taking care of everything, and clucking about it...)

but here is perhaps the most perplexing, and confusing of all
brother-sister: (where love grows into something that is comfortable, and caring and totally asexual)

Hence... my question what happens if you have no siblings to speak of? Also, what if you would really rather replace yourself? Hmmm. No problems being solved here!

martes, junio 21, 2005

Before and After

Late night drinking Shiraz and grilling kabobs, and an early morning at Laura and Andy's lovely love nest:) near Central Square...

Tea for two

Then on to a diner with Aunt Shelley, boy is it great to rant with someone who *knows*.

Trainspotting

Now, I have fully trained the munchkin to be my cohort and travel companion, fearlessly braving the T, to South Station where we took Concord Trailways up to Manchester. As the I-93 landscape drifted by I was reminded of countless field trips in my youth where I would delve into myself for hours, letting my eyes flick across the speeding horizon, communing with the passage of space and time. I love being alone. Not that I don't like to be with other people, but...

When we stepped off the bus in Manchester, by the river, there was Abbie, waiting with sleeping boys in the car. We decided to take them all to Crystal Lake (as per I.'s request) which was just up the street from our old apartment. It is nice to reminisce in our old stomping grounds, and I knew that here the kids wouldn't need bathing suits to swim.

Crystal Lake

Finished my book late last night, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, perhaps that is also why I felt the need to surround myself by the pines and the lake. Still no writing but I was drawn to a certain character who seemed to be spying on us as we played and while we left, perhaps he will be the newest protagonist. He needs a proper name.

lunes, junio 20, 2005

Old friends

There is something comforting in having old friends. People who have known you, who still know you and surprisingly still like you despite or perhaps because of what you were and what you have become. Being at home, that is, my parent's house is a fully disconcerting experience, especially because no matter how much older I am, or how grown up I may actually feel, to my mother I will always be somewhere between 12 and 15, and the object of her incessant instructions...
Take for example last night.
Jeff came over (after spending the day with his parents) and while we had gone out and talked for extended hours the night before, being old friends, we strangely did not run out of things to say, as we examined our own lives and their mutual interactions, filling in long gaps of time where we had lost touch, and exploring such concepts as love, desire and good film all from completely emotionally detached positions. We played billiards in the basement and narrated our lives previous to when we had even known eachother, again, for we had undoubtedly done the same 10 years ago upon our initial acquaintance.
Mom comes in to the living room around midnight. "Well, I'm going to bed now. You probably won't see me in the morning, I have to leave around 7:45." "Good!" I cheerfully reply, "that way we can sleep in..." "..." "?!" "Well someone needs to take the trash out." "Ok, I'll do it," I resign myself to the eternal role of harried teenager, "but once I get up." "Well they come awfully early." "Ok..." I reply through gritted teeth, "Then when Jeff walks down the hill to his car, I'll take the trash and recycling down." This met with approval.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't want to be an ungrateful guest, and I know that the well meaning gatherings of neighbors that she plans and then subsequently stresses out about, barking orders for their preparation and the cleaning of the house are indeed a sign of goodwill. But... I just want to hide out with my nose in a book and have no stress whatsoever, and I fail to see how I can possibly be counted upon, as if I had never left the auspices of this crazily-cluttered house, for the basic functioning of daily routines, as my sporadic hiatuses are nothing more than a trifle, a mere wrinkle in her orchestration of the universe as it affects her. I am trying my hardest to remain calm and cheerful. I opt for the teenage strategy of passive agressive ignoring, or partial completion of most orders, like a cat, demonstrating a scrap of autonomy. I may well go nuts in another day.

So, back to the interesting ideas on friendship that we were digging up, and stirring around like the boiled laundry of a third-world nation. It is amazing to rediscover friends and realize why we so deeply like them, and it is also incredibly refreshing to have male friends that offer deep insight into the masculine psyche from a genuinely cooperative place. The thing about old friends is that they don't offer the "twinklies" that meeting and "falling in love" with new ones offer, but yet... the twinklies can only get you so far, I think. He had this interesting insight into how we feel when we have "that" emotion for other people and it boils down to the urgent need to narrate some sort of working order of one's life to another or other people. Curious. I think I have always known that, but he framed it in such an excellent way that it washed out many of my own figurings.

I like smart people.

Meanwhile, it is so strange to be here without M. I don't mean this house (which actually, thank god he's not here because the fur would really be flying, if metaphorically... we tend to have a lot more tolerance for our own parents...) But I have been revisiting many of my old places, like the river, which was swolen beyond belief, and the absolutely uninspiring streets of ManchVegas, and having this weird sensation that several different eras of my development are all conflated and competing simultaneously for my attention.

Amoskeag...

It is like a bittersweet reverie of everything that came before, and after, we met. I think him not being here makes the focus very hazy, like I am lost inside of myself, nothing pressingly urgent, no real time that is present.

Thinking about losing myself. I know, I have probably already lost you all as I am thouroughly inarticulate. The feelings are somehow bigger than words, not painful, not joyous, just more massive, like the roiling sea. So I clarified quite a few ideas as the encroaching darkness of the wooded night persisted, I need to write a few things, now, but I can't until I finish the book I am reading, as if its unravelling has some intrinsic connection to the narrative that I need to write.

Clearly, I won't subject you all to that.

But, speaking of old friends... Here are a few shots from yesterday afternoon...

Elsa was my colleague, (and we share a birthday!) though having gone through a PhD in French and then having to teach high school monkeys, might drive me mad. She and Dave are finally expecting!

Elsa and Dave

And of course we can't forget Joe and Abbie, and the boys... I think Caleb may yet be smitten with I. and Isaac is already 2!!!

Joe and Abbie

The kids

Beautiful baby

Ciao indeed!

domingo, junio 19, 2005

Feliz dia del padre

De los hijos al papá...

Miss you Daddy!

this is an audio post - click to play

sábado, junio 18, 2005

'Round here...

Wildlife comes to life here in the unfortunately urbanized Londonderry air... may my cup always run so full. Yeah, yeah, I'm a country girl at heart.

Iris

Peonie

Poppy

And I.'s eagle eyes spotted this lovely lady out the back door.

ciervo

Side-by-side blogging

Nothing can be more fun than sitting by a dear friend, and having her email you an interesting article from the seat next to you. Ludicrous, perhaps, but there is something collective and comforting in the tandem-style internet engrossment of which we are partaking. We have been lounging mostly, walking around some, talking quite a bit, and sadly, shopping.

There are few activities (scooping out the cat box at my mother's command jumps to mind) that I detest quite as much as shopping (although as a friend-accompanier, I can deal with a little mostly because I focus on the conversation and not the assault on my senses). I hate it. I am instantly drained upon walking into the pasty flourescent-lighted bodegas. And still I bought myself a very touchable tight black v-neck sweater to replace the grey sweater I lost between picking Jenny up at the airport and returning to the car (sometimes I wish my hips were a little more sensitive to pressure, or lack thereof).

Here are the two conclusions that I have drawn from this semi-excruciating experience (yes, I honestly haven't shopped in over a year, save for a brief foray into the lingerie section mid January for a totally boring white cotton bra).

1) I detest shopping because clothing never looks right on me.

2) I look much better with no clothing at all.

Sigh. No chance of living in a nudist colony any time soon.

viernes, junio 17, 2005

Home is...

This is home, sort of, for I. it is her very first home, for me, if feels oddly outgrown. Nevertheless...

Home

It is where there is sometimes rest after travel... (and before my mom drives me crazy:)

Traveller

And where the pusses are always purring;)

Baudelaire bends to her will

Where fur flies (Baudelaire's in particular):

Furball

Home is where you can lounge about with Corleone (yes, I was Godfather obsessed 14 years ago when I named him) in your underwear, and no one will say anything to you, or care, or even notice...

Yin yang

And where you get to have whatever your heart desires for a birthday dinner (Coquilles St. Jaques caught my fancy this year!)

Birthday dinner

and lest we forget, the same Mohn Streusel Cake that I have had for every year for at least the last 20. (No opiate tests for me:)

Poppy seed cake

Home means friends visiting from afar... Jenny flew from Philly (best b-day present, of course, was her presence!)

Stretch!

And Jeff surprised me by coming up from NY, and calling from Boston just as we were headed there ourselves... to Alewife.

Alewife

Alewife station

So after Jenny and I people watched for shagability from above, and Jeff arrived from South Station (depositing his luggage in Mom's car), we left to walk around Cambridge where we walked along the Charles

The Charles

and then back to Harvard Square where we saw this frightening sight... a proselytizer with an agressive bent! Heaven's to Betsy!!! (if we don't convert to born-again christianity we ARE going to Hell!)

Scary dude

Later to meet up with Laura for drinks at the Red House after a long Friday at the MIT press!!! (and Andy, her filmmaking Beau, who if you check out Laura's blog, you will see has been cited by the BBC!)

red house

Waiting for drinks in Cambridge

And yes, curiously these three are also my only visible on-line friends. I am not as much of a loner as I purport to be... And clearly with the most loving intent Jeff tells me that if he didn't really know me, and only read me, he would most likely think me a neurotic freak, which I am not (he says) and am in fact quite likeable. Ha. See, I am really rather even keel in reality:)

Here we waited for a ride back outside of Alewife for Mom and Brina to pick us up:

ET Phone Home

Finally, home is where your family is... no Dad, but Uncle Bill took a picture of the girls after dinner in Belmont (while Jeff and Jenny discussed the finer points of the second Star Wars trilogy (:

Family

Splendid holiday indeed!