the impossible,

I know I ponder the theft of param from the world. Maybe she was on borrowed time the night that I first found her having used all her lives. I can only imagine. She seemed offended mostly as she was dying. Like oh dammit, I did it didn't I. This sucks we all seemed to be thinking. It breaks my heart in all sorts of ways. More than deaths of older animals or ill animals. It was nice to pray with my mom for the cat though as we sat there. She did seem more out than in if the tales of cats are true. But I thought for sure she'd be the one to call 911 and save someone's life one day. What a reckless but prescient cat. I had her in my arms one moment before which makes in worse in that I wish I'd have carried her into the house and locked her away from harm. But that goes to inevitability doesn't it- it's so hard to say what prevention looks like when you let your animals be themselves and be free- and she seemed heartily defiant when it came to cars and to the neighbors driveways. I do wonder the point of it all - all of that and then to come to this in so short a time. I mean really- it only made it better in that either God would miraculously heal her or she would die in a moment. I gave her all night to make up her mind even though she died over 5 minutes time, but in the end I pictured her with Jesus, and I buried her in the backyard with a sprinkling of miniature roses. Mortimer attended at a distance, being the only of the three other cats to really sense the depth of what was occurring. But anyway,

And now what. We're so lucky to not be exposed to death more often and to be able to mourn the loss of a cat and not have rows of human bodies to bury. And I find it hard to have witnessed healing on Friday, to a strange encounter at Ralphs to hear about another womans healing, to have my cat die and then cathy come over to drop off some fishing line just this morning and ask unknowingly if I could pray for her cold for healing. And as I prayed her breathing actually became clearer. What can we do.

It is like you say a matter of surprise. But it's an honest untainted reaction to both the good and bad of what comes to us. And I suppose that's how it should be- its a bad day when we both predict a miserable outcome and hope for nothing more or find no joy in something so miraculous as someone being healed of scoliosis or the unfathomable construction of a pomegranate.

But still it is hard upon us to be caught so constantly in between.



 

Dear Me, [silence]

So, though yes, I do have lots of bells and whistles to distract me, I wake up every morning to see if my friend has blogged and she hasn't. I can only conclude she isn't talking to me. Which is easy to conclude since she isn't in fact, in any form whatsoever communicating with me- not even making chipper or sarcastic comments about my photos. I can't say I've gotten a strong psychic message from her either. The only thing I know about her life is that her husband may or may not have bought a van down by the river. Which while seeming inconsequential, I know, is a story... a thing i've missed. But how can that be helped, ... i wonder? Sure its only been like 9-10 days or something but then I couldve died yesterday so sometimes silence matters. But we all make choices. There are loads of people I haven't talked to in 9 days. Except for Cathy of course who manages to talk to me everyotherdayatleast.

And we all could've died for that matter, yesterday. Or tomorrow even. So if I had my last letter would've been to Bruckner about young werther, and what would that say but that I died alone in a foreign land, indebted and adventuring. Though I did hear a chilling story about a backpacker being brought to the farmstay since they were the only ones in the area that spoke english, and they thought he was ill, and then gravely ill. But by then it was too late- becausethe entire time, he didn't think he was that bad. But delirious people who've had a fever for 4 days shouldn't be trusted. Nor should they be without medical attention. And they should tell people. And they got him to a hospital in da nang, and then they were encouraging the staff to get him to Saigon, but by then his legs had turned black and he'd died. This was on top of a story from a guy who had just recovered from Dengue Fever. Believe me when I got bitten by a flying ant the other day I was watching the spot carefully. And all the premonitions of earlier days was hovering around me.

Well anyway enough poor me. I'm in Vietnam after all in this horrible tourist town called NhaTrang, surrounded by grim looking russian tourists, which I hadn't even wanted to come to in the first place. Except I'm here. Because I'm avoiding the middle. I guess I have plenty to do, I saw in a vision of it that it was an octopus. And then I looked up the symbolic meaning of the creatures- it indicated "difficulty"... maybe difficulty extricating myself from this lacklusterfuckingtown. I'm in a bad mood though...

To be fair, on my transport to the trainstation we almost got into a headoncollision with a mac truck-think chunky army green tonka truck. I finally exclaimed WATCH OUT! The driver barely came out of his stupor [unconsciousness] to meander over in time as the mac truck began to grow concerned and flashed his lights. Thomas, fellow passanger and escaper of death, thanked me later for helping to save our lives. [saying that was the most dangerous moment he's had traveling the world in the entire year and he's been to india!] He kept an eye on the driver after that and I didn't even remember how it managed to escape my lips except we were all thinking surely he's going to get out of the way in time. Surely he's not ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL. The mac truck driver thought so too, otherwise I think he would've engaged his horn too. We were all too unbelieving. Until I wasn't. Just before my parents were underwhelmed by my skyping them from vietnam, exclaiming oh, it's green, and hold on, let me take this call. So it's a good thing I'm alive to be able to complain about this all retrospectively otherwise that would've been our mutual last memories of each other.

Meanwhile a mostly pleasant overnight train to NhaTrang where I survived on a quarter bottle of water, almonds and a cliffbar. And I passed out to WillyWonka&theChocolateFactory. I woke up a bit too heavy from sleep and the revolving bottom bunks of people. I don't know why I was so tired except the sway of the train maybe. So I woke up blurry with an idea of finding my way to the hotel, which didn't seem so far away, with a quick glance of the map and the idyllic countryside whisking away behind me. I felt secure but on exit, I'm getting harassed by a guy who wants me to come to his hotel, which is all while i'm trying to orient myself anyway, and then after he gives up this woman completely high on something pretends to lean over and peer at my map like she's going to help me. I think I have everything protected so I don't really think about it. Until I realize maybe 1minute too late that my phone was upforgrabs in the sidepocket. And now it's gone. Most likely by crazymcshiftyfingers.

Resisting the urge to return to the trainstation and get on the nexttrainoutofthisfuckingtown I persevere. I find a cafe and with the 12minutes remaining of battery power on laptop, and thankfully free wi-fi! I take a picture with my camera of the googlmap from the cafe to the hotel all the while nursing my irritation with some v.coffee. Genius I think. A message pops up from my mother saying Marley is purring on her shoulder, to which I reply I would prefer that as my phone just got pickpocketed- to which she replies "smileyface". Seriously. I know self, I can't believe it either. [ :) ] I mean I know I can at times be melodramatic, but I was being on this occasion quite literal. Luckily I had loaded most of my photos onto my computer. And I'll try not to reach for my phone for everyfoodshot i want to take. I'll just try to forget you ever existed. But it's hard. It's going to take time. I have my life at least. I have that. Not like that other poor backpacker. *shudder* *@(*&!*

Anyway I got to this hotel which seemed a bit bleak. I didn't feel like staying here one night let alone one minute. But it seemed ok to give myself a break and then find something else the next day- which is what i'm doing, and paying more because seriously, i'm over it, so i'm moving digs- and then booking a bus out of this place. Ok self- be patient! Because of tet it's going to take a few days- day 1 DONE. 2 more to go. I can only hope tomorrow to get the bus booked and a mudbath scheduled and then hunker down for the day where everythingisclosed and then get the hell out of here. Except i think i heard mui ne is overrun with russians too- I'm not sure why i'm loathing that population except so far- the flavor of this icecream is not to my taste. And i found myself so much more in love with hanoi- which was unexpected really. So I dont know what to do. But berate the fact that things are written in russian too, as well as the fake croissants and that weird fake mint that ruined my perfectly good mango shake. The coffee is good at least. And just for kicks i'll just assume my money won't run out and the money transfers from my job will go through and everything is going to be just fine. And aren't all travels incomplete without hiccups and neardeathexperiences? So you're on schedule self. You're doing just fine. It's all going to be OK.

-.




 

the best of bailey

Bailey when she was small.
I didn't know her then,
but she was a perfect fit in her owner's hand and heart.

I met her a little later. Her best friend was Moonpie.

She helped bring us all together.

She loved people and parties.

Though she never succumbed to peer pressure.

Labels

So cool, Bailey Brown. 

A furry fixture in our children's lives.

Always there, loving them.

And they loved her back.

Bailey could hang like no other.

She was smart, friendly,earnest, attentive, doting, tolerant, kind.

She was a super-star when it came to doggy tricks and behaving well,
save for stealing an occasional muffin off the coffee table.

She was protective, though if a thief were to come, let's be honest -
she'd probably help him carry things out.

She loved fireworks. To the point I feared she'd run straight into one -
a streak of maniac in an otherwise chill demeanor.

She could win any staring contest, paws down.
(This drove me nuts, particularly when paired with an oh-so-subtle whimper.)

She only wandered in the last year or so of her life,
short trips that grew longer,
until the day she decided it was time to go, to leave us,
to not return.

Bailey was beautiful, through and through.

She loved to camp. 

She liked to bask.

She and Bender were pals. 

A most peaceful spirit.

Gentle soul.

  

We miss you, Bailey. Rest in peace.

#9

I thank the Lord the week has veritably flown by in my mental imagination. Though let me tell you last night, I interrupt the students for talking- i am such a bad teacher- and Eun hee is like teacher, no, i'm telling a story about a student who die. What happened, I ask. Teacher, two friends at ara..highschool. The one girl, say let's both jump. on the ... do you know what is this? Yes, the roof, the ledge. Yes. (they are always surprised at how much i understand sometimes) Of school building. Why!? Scorecards perfect teacher, 80 and above in all subjects. So, we don't know. So, they are there. But her friend, she afraid. And she step down, and girl, while she falling, looking up, they see each other. Eyes. Looking, so she know. And friend she-- what is this-- faints. Yes, teacher, faints, and girl she die, knowing that her friend didnt' die with her. Yes, teacher. (Preceding this was one of my favorite students, Young-bin, asking me, teacher why is life so hard. And i pointed to the head and how it made trouble for us... (the heart also) but there was a gulf where no words of mine could cross.) So sad. Other students, Chin-cha!? (Seriously!/Really!) Heads nodding. And the tragedy of the two friends making eyecontact is so haunting and perfectly part of the korean drama. i don't know... Ok! Well let's go on to discuss descriptive words and the beauty of jeju...!

I was going to actually babble about more upbeat things. But i've managed to damper my own spirits just now even though i just licked the mug containing my delicious caffe latte. Inexplicable. Well ok understandable. But still. Ok list of things i'm looking forward to: pay-day, maybe some volleyball, a package from mom, maybe miscellaneous car rental for the weekend just because oh and to help Meaghan move... Or maybe next weekend, and purchasing ticket to vietnam on saturday after the paydaying goes through. Paying bills. Needing to start a list related to things not to miss now that i'm leaving. I've had further meditations on intimacy as related to the poem, but have no place to put them right now. And what else?

I had another class, suddenly (the girls of course), erupt into accusatory- Do YOU KNOW JEJU! They're only like 12 yrs old maybe? or maybe younger? I can never keep it straight.

These girls, I've come to love the class as a whole, but I am a little bit scared of them. There's 8 students now evenly divided and the girls were about to make me walk the plank. And i asked them- well what about jeju? Do I like it? What? And then i proceeded to list places i knew and the korean food i liked. And then they quizzed me about where places were. It seemed to satisfy them. Mullify them maybe? I don't know. Something's in the water this week. Or always but it just came to the surface. The same class that was talking about suicide made an inditement against the new k teacher that to end up here must mean that her education was very bad. There are sometimes that I wish i understood more and there are sometimes i dont want to hear at all. I'm sure that's with life across the board really. As vulnerable and ignorant as kids are they can be stupid and cruel. (STO) Stating the obvious. There i go again. It's just going to be that way isn't it. Back forth. Back forth.

And then there's headlice to add insult to injury. Having to sacrifice the sublime of handbells to the mess of infested hair. I shake my head exalting in the blue sky and wincing at the wind tattered leaves.

m.

Life in the Land of UH,

Hey Pen,

Obviously not much happening. Grandma was sick but is now better. Had to ponder funeral (to go our not) and then realized with family you have small family then large family and i AM connected to the larger family so for that reason alone i might go. A host of spanish peeps from regions in new mexico formally of spain. My master plan is to make an uber family chart spreading across all the family lines as far back as we can go. Mmm, flow charts. It's so exciting. Also, Per, this photographer guy I knew and went to Joshua tree with died. That's sad. Some cryptic comment about him being sick on his blog by a commenter and now no more. I did have that vague sense of, aw but i had wanted to, if only we could've. Apparently he went up to the Sequoias, came back with a high fever and then died. It's not a bad place to have just returned from.

I have turned my reckless spending on ribeye steaks in his honor. I also bought the end of the starcatcher trilogy. It was in  $5 bargain bin at Ralphs. Which is good peter pan reinvented fun. Also my eyes might bleed with all the gaming i'm doing. But anyway. The days are passing. Also, One of my dads other friend's wife just died of a stroke on an operating table. I would say it seems to be going around lately. But then it is always going around. It just seems to be going on awfullly close to me. Not too close but close enough.

And i'll i'm doing is quietly going through my days, collecting government cheese and thinking one day God, please prompt me, guide me to this next job thing. And thinking let me not die with all these photos still in boxes and the flow chart not done. The two top exciting things besides that ponderance of the inevitable, is the revival of my phone against all odds or so i thought, the comical plummet of it into the only nearby water basin (cats water dish) and then the canned air, the shaking, and the bag of quinoa- i cant stand the look of the new phones and i'm not going smartphone, maybe there really is a good deal out there somewhere but for now, and kerry bringing me a phenomenal pink dress that cost her $8 at a thrift store in west covina (read sticks). Couldn't believe it. It's an amazing dress. 

Other than that? Meetings. Some spiritual stuff which has come to define the last 2 years, xbox and trying to get my energy back? This is life in the land of uh. Vague apprehension, but otherwise a pervasive sense of calm, monotony maybe? but then that sense of will it, and i wonder, and what if, that keeps me staring out the window at a sideglance, and ooo pretty, but all of it fleeting. Still midstep, still the engine cut with the anchor dropped, still blue skies and quick but infinite realizations. It's now July. It is now the 800th day...

Anything else?

dear friend,

my mom found the head of a kitten on her property and its detached paws... i asked her where jesus was in this image and i can only hope the kitten is now romping around in heaven waiting for us to get there and its going to tell us how jesus brought it back to life and gave it a name. we have no idea what beast brought to bear on the tiny thing or why nature must be so cruel but there it is. i wouldn't mention it but it's one of those dark horrifying things that people don't talk about and yet there it is lingering in the mind. Like the young starling I 'saved' who was so panicked to be captive died in a stretched out mode of panic and fright looking frozen ever outward and crawling with ants... Whatever targeted the young weak innocent thing is probably at the root of that creepy guy in those posters- with that look and those eyes... we all know about. And if my life weren't currently grinding and tragical/comical i would definitely think my mom was in some sort of dark suspense thriller. and then in light of that the strange dreams, the wind- the large branch in the yard, the ominous background music, where else do you go from there. a curious footnote. you think, are those shingles a sign of something? a portent. some insidious thing.

and then go on talking about banal things like wii tennis and some xbox game called the hunter something. and a dvd compilation on contemplation you bought on amazon (i hope it doesn't suck) or being in love with the word codswallop. all of those trappings and fittings until the sinister twinge of the violin. but we go on. we read books on chaos theory. we think- pattern. we think jurassic park is a good example. we believe there's something stirring. we grow watchful. we worry about our own cat with nervous glances at his well being. we remember the word fractal but can't define it. we think- snap-out of it. we draw the blinds and think about the book we read about praying the hours. knowing we're nowhere near vigil but we grow tired. we grow exposed.

but we keep putting on ointment (the shingles which quietly annoy and grow hot) and burts honey lipbalm, distractedly as our foot arches and turns in place. checking our messages and finding the only thing to watch is antiques road show. but we don't hear a word. we glance up and some picture of the brooklyn bridge is worth 30,000. we wish whatever it was, wherever it is was worth a goldmine. we look for something to do now that the nails are done (pink sparkle) and the cuticles trimmed, 3 cut in, probably from that one day when i was dehydrated and drank nothing but tea and cranberry juice. 

but nevermind. and then you remember the neighbor. the one with the jesus sign and the fake flower story from a friend and you think unstable. you think unhinged and ungodly- are there bodies under there? it was in a story i read. but wait they weren't fake it was maryhigginsclark. nevermind. maybe it was really about the goatshead and the probably satanic rituals happening where you might have lived. and you hope for light to break and to sleep through the witching hour so you can sit in your garden full of flowers and think- no, no, everything is going to be just fine.

m

Dear Grain,

Why are you breaking up with us? We had something good. I mean there were good times weren't there? It's not just that you were one of only 3 people who read the blog, though we noticed you really hadn't been reading much of late. And since november it was true you didnt have much to say longer than a sentence update in that other place we won't mention. I suppose we should've said something then. I'd glance to see if it updated but the days went longer and longer and then well- i guess I always thought you'd pop back on with an apology and renewed vigor. It's my fault for not seeing it sooner. For not reaching out. You never really loved us the way we loved you. Is that fair? No. I know. But I guess its one of those things- we've grown apart. Started living separate lives. And now you don't have anything to say to us. We used to love your stories though. Your thoughts about things and your struggles. With or without work. We're going to miss you. I guess it's the final thread and its good of you to decisively chop it off and not let it linger. Not pretend you're ever going to come back with promises and maybes. You've changed. You've moved on without us and aren't looking back. But it came as a bit of shock. We plead, we say- it's different. It's a different voice these enterprises you've embarked on... but then i stopped writing out of the blue and i suppose you have every right to not blog. But still. It's a blow. One less voice over the wires and plastic keys. A death. let's call it that. We've lost the thread of history. I know it's melodramatic. But it's true. A human story in minuitia wiped out and given way for very important things, only big arcs now and coded language. Blogging used to be a fad and a craze and we've hung on out of lunacy or quirk or maybe we both need to see how long we can last. Until blogspot closes or we die maybe? Until we print all the pages and make a tome of all the priceless words. Until we're the very last ones. Ok, you're right. We can make new friends. Friends come and go though. Like Kurt and Horace who died of old age. We miss them still and it's hard to go on sometimes. To keep saying what you have to say even though no one cares. But anyway. Nevermind.

Goodbye dear blog whom we've known for at least 5 years or more. I would go back to check but it doesn't exist anymore. It was as if... and then... So here's to you, no more to have such insight, you have faded back into time, like a star extinguished, reached us finally only years too late, and then gone.

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.... WB.

penolin,

a windstorm is brewing outside and finding its way inside our drafty house. murder she wrote is on, set in australia this time, a perfect compliment to a dark and somewhat ominous exterior. she's come to see if she's a distant niece of a departed so and so. it doesn't seem like this scenario would ever happen to me unfortunately as I have too many cousins wandering about to be the last line of anyone though i'm at the last line of me, but anyway i hope never to run into a deadbody although i often wonder in what scenario would that ever happen. nor do i want anyone i know to be murdered or disappear or die really. i found myself weeping at about 5 spots in toystory3 as if it was the most heart rending thing i'd seen since deadpoets society, and no one died it was just tinged with loss. but nevermind. as you say mortality, the shadowland seems to hover perpetually on the periphery of us sensitive souls. and why some glimpse more of death than others sometimes seems more a matter of design than randomstance- i wonder. even though we can scarcely grasp that death comes for us all. and yet still it doesn't make life a culmination to tragedy. i had a good conversation with my cousin on tuesday all about whether common sense was culturally learned aka inherited by judeo-christian beliefs the country was founded on or if it was "innate" and encouraged or just simply learned... of course right as we left my cousin was about to tell me about the strange occurance that happened to him that one time after his friend had died but it was too weird to be talked about- my specialty i assured him- but he slipped off the hook and into his car. and then mom came home to tell me that she saw a kid open a lid off a type of sucker, lick it and replace it! mom told him that you shouldn't do such things and he said, but i didn't like the taste... obviously not understanding the point. common sense indeed. the mom didn't understand either with the other 4 kids at her heels and the various gluttonous sampling they were doing of the bins. i mean sure, ok, a bite right? we've all been there. i mean whole foods leaves open bits of things as well as costco, but where's the line? when they don't even know the law let alone the spirit.

onto other small matters,
dad is on a rant about me taking all the purple popsicles, which is untrue. they are the most delicious, and there simply never enough. . . and though the day seemed to spin i managed to finish all the necklaces. last of the last of the last... except for a couple more oneoffs here and there.
i woke up still smelling like garlic no matter how much flossing, gargling and brushing and chewing i did of a mint and stringent variety. and i paid that bogus $50 fine- cash mind you. that hurt.

i'm currently pondering if i should cut my hair or maybe just go crazy with layers? as i haven't dyed it lately. anyway tomorrow i yoga and thats about it on my list. resenting my sideburn hair thats for sure. what else. what else. reading aloud the IR 'mysterious benedict society'with mom... pillows... my unbudging waist line...

(que staring into space 20min)

night.
m.

Dear you,

Granted you've violated my sensibilities but i seem to be surrounded by peekers and cheaters! Though i tend not to read books that are overly sentimental puddles of goo and usually do not need to be wary of being tricked into a meltdown. I avoid pink covers and anything called chicklit also and cannot get too close to most of any Obookclub stuff due to forced popularity. For instance the audio book i just finished (totally need more by the way) had something like 5 or 6 deaths with varying degrees of skeletons, murder and old age but none really induced upset. Except for one, which just seemed unfair but it was just one thing among many. Thats the trick i think. You do have to know what you're in for or be willing to let the book take you where it wants and read as little about it as possible so that it can do just that. Part of the fun of reading is the surprise. I don't want to anticipate a word or sentence or plot twist. I want it to just be. You're robbing the author of what they're suppose to be good at. Leading you out into nothing and creating something wonderful. I cannot agree that its good in anyway to peek at the end of the book. It shows a profound lack of trust but then apparently with good reason it sounds like. So i don't know. I mean especially if one is looking at a romantic comedy and one of the main characters goes and dies on you. That sounds especially ridiculous and would only be valid if it was a cut to old age scenario. The end of SixFtUnder had me weeping- expressing a profound grief for aging, mortality and life and love and all the rest. I can't say I've found much else that upsetting except when Phil that crabfisherman dies. I was a mess. But in both scenarios I knew I was going into something with that express end. Certainly they weren't billed as anything other than what I got- though in both I thought much better delivered than I could've imagined. A letter writing campaign to the marketing dept of said book could be an outlet. I mean I would be enraged. well or eyetwitching. you know- something.

One of my favorite psalms- well its a standard really. Is Psalms 23. And there's a part where it says, "And yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." It occurred to me recently that its not just in a specific moment of being in a valley or trial, but its everyday the Lord is with you... and everyday you may face the inevitable curse of man. It's the tragedy of life. But do we need to address it everyday? I don't know. Definitely not in romantic comedies where only pratfalls and silly but blissful encounters occur, with witty banter I hope and exotic travel. Though in avoiding it does it stigmatize it more- should we let ourselves be carried away to tears and sadness oncenawhile. Is it healthy to sidestep when catharsis might be better? Death DOES come for us all. Such meditations don't really cause me to relinquish my life or spend it regretting, or in a grey wearing daze filled with ennui- as the LORD is with me. Maybe addressing pain and the inevitable would be a better measure then suddenly and without warning? But just as a meditation, not as a morbid obsession or a shutting out of it but just a, ah, yes- i see that and in light of it, must walk in a different way-- those shining days of wonder and magic kind of ways...

Well anyway there's also just enough emotional investment in a day to not have it elsewhere, especially in what you're watching. I've been anti-dramas for a while now, just because I don't want to go there. I don't need to. But I let one sneak up on me everynow and then.

Allright, enough ruminating really. My lips are chapped. Its freezing in here. And its uppose to be 105+ in the valley today. Oh excessive heatwarnings shmornings. I've logged some eerchay leading videos, am 1/2 way thru james/peach, currently hungry and craving... a fruit smoothie. Appropriately. Have not dealt w/ the edd or juryduty summons yet and am about to do research on this watchmaker guy for the thing i'm doing now/farmtown/burndvds.

If i die after having sent the fed ex and before dinner i can't say it will make a good end to my story. But maybe, if spun correctly, as life had just been upon my lips, it will be better read.

m.

m-dash,

I’ve violated some of our readers’ (they exist? perhaps) sensibilities again by looking ahead in the book I’m reading to see if the payoff’s worth it. Because I’m a girl with limited time and emotional energy and I don’t wish to waste it. Nor do I wish to be set up for a fall. Emotional maturity is arguably a factor here; why enter into a relationship I know in my heart will end badly? Right? Needless to say, the result of this peeking-at-the-surprise was not at all what I expected. Or maybe I subconsciously suspected, which is why I looked ahead. Really, I was looking for verification that the couple gets together, and ends up happy, because the book is totally billed as a romantic comedy. Lighthearted, but well-written, a When-Harry-Met-Sally-esque affair.

Except that one of the main characters DIES.

I mean… this is not what I signed up for. At all. And I’m torn, because like I say, the book is wonderfully well-written, lauded by Nick Hornby on the cover (always a good sign), quirky, and British. But, hello: Sally did not die in that movie. Therefore, this book is not the same. And it shouldn’t be the same, it should be different, of course it should be different, but that sort of different is a deal-breaker.

I think.

What to do. I’ve only got 3 days left with the book, and this hemming and hawing is not helping.

But it’s all made me wonder if death as a subject is something that I’m spiritually (relatively) okay with in theory, but not in actual, concrete terms. I mean, maybe it’s something we’re never really okay with in this life. I mean, obviously. It’s one of – or the only? – Big Question. It’s a subject I ponder just as much or more than average birds. And I can read about it… I think. But I have to sign up for it knowingly.

I guess I just don’t take it very lightly at all. Even if I wholeheartedly believe that it (life – I mean death) does end up completely okay in the end, unlike on Freaks&Geeks last night when L said her grandmother saw nothing just before passing away – what’s up with the spiritual vacancy, Judd Apatow, hmm? – it’s just… it doesn’t belong in romantic comedies. It doesn’t belong in the stuff you’re sitting down to relax and enjoy and escape with. Because even though the topic is ubiquitous and looming, I justcanthandleit sometimes. Or don’t want to try.

The number of books I’ve preemptively rejected because of this issue is becoming more than a handful. To which I say, oh well. C’est la vie. Or C’est la death, as the case may be.

Can I get a what-what?

yours,

penelope

m,

I’m thinking maybe some new fish tomorrow. I don’t know. Currently, we have an algae issue that is like sheets of slimy spinach over everything. A disgusting but accurate description. I think it will be solved with a tank clean and some drops. And some new fish will be lovely for Christmas, until they die.

I love that currently, K.Lo is matter-of-fact about death. “Your flower is dead.” Or, “That fish is dead, let’s go flush it.” I don’t know how long it will last, or if my answers about heaven and so forth will satisfy the customer. Also, I waited until yesterday to tell her that our friends who lived three doors down moved to another neighborhood. I told her on the way to their new house. Call that mean, but I call it crafty. Or lucky that she took it so well (for now). The not-quite-4-year-old doesn’t need extra drama in her life, so I made it seem perfectly normal that one day our neighbors decided they needed a bigger house and so they sold their old one and bought a new one. Which, it is normal, but you know what I mean. Had I mentioned it earlier, I think the conversation would have been focused on the loss of neighbors, rather than the practical matters, or whatever you want to call them.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I plan at the moment on going to the quasi-midnight service, which is at 9:30PM. I hear there are candles for all and beautiful songs. I considered the 4PM service, which included an activity for kids, but we did an impromptu Nativity pageant at church on Sunday, wherein K.Lo dressed up as an angel, and I think that sufficed. I’m kind of looking forward to going by myself.

Presents are mostly wrapped. We did not go big this year. It’s the first Christmas morning at our own house, with the usual traditions at my parents’ house over the weekend, so I am sort of pinning down traditions, figuring out what they should be on one hand and then easing back into: it will be whatever it is. Maybe lamb chops for dinner on the Eve, and eggnog French toast at some point? Or perhaps just eggnog with rum. Somewhere there must be eggnog, is all I know. And rum. Also, we never did stockings growing up, but to fill out our present stash for the kids in an affordable way, we ransacked the dollar bins at Target. I kind of think that’s going to be a highlight of the morning, stockings.

I still haven’t watched “Love, Actually,” a favorite, and all my Muppets were on VHS, so we are unable to watch without a functioning VCR. All broken in ‘09, so sad. However, the Grinch has been recorded, “Charlie Brown” viewed several times, as well as “National Lampoon’s” and “Rudolph.” Oh, and the moment of missing my entire ornament collection, as opposed to the small stash displayed on our 2009 Charlie Brown tree, did arrive and stayed briefly. Next year. It will come too quickly.

I await your second essay and the needle tale.

love,

pen

Elle est Morte, My KittyCat, by M

Aw, my sweet sweet cantankerous awesome cat ANIMAL died. She rather annoyingly disappeared sometime Friday night just like Meja did. And I noticed her immediate gaping absence the minute I got up in the morning. She had really aged in my absence. Gotten super skinny, more so than normal and wasn't grooming herself in the last week. And for some reason, with Calico's you can really tell- and grooming is always important for the shiny, sleek furred cats. She was at least 18 years old. That in itself blows me away. My albums begin in the autumn of 1992 and she looks at least a year or 2 old in the photo I have of her. And I remember her being happy that I had returned from my trip and she came to me and purred the minute i sat down and dropped my bags, and hung around me alot that whole week I was back, and I groomed her and loved her and then she was gone. It sort of kills me I think she hung around waiting for me to come back before she died. And to have been with me so long-

She loved grabbing icecubes out of cups and knocking over water. She was an excellent hunter of all manner of birds and whatever else. She liked to ride around on my shoulder and mewed at me like we understood each other. She was a pest and her territory was definitely hers and there's a giant Animal sized hole now that she's gone. Bye Kitty. I'll miss you.

man.

I’m so bummed to see that one of my favorite non-fiction writers ever, David Foster Wallace, died this past weekend, at age 46. Suicide. I’m kind of at a loss for words.

He wrote novels as well, obviously, but his essays with their zillion hilarious footnotes always stuck with me since first beginning to study creative non-fic years ago. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again should be on your Must Read Someday list, if you haven’t yet. Both the book and the essay itself are utterly fantastic.

Sigh.

Hier Midi (Yesterday, Noon) by M

There is a canyon road not far from my house and I go up it and catch the freeway often because it's like so un-LA. And there are a few trails I can bound up less than 10min from my house also. I was up there on Saturday and as we passed a herd of cyclists (who love this run) I said, I always say, do not hit them. Do not. Because though at times there is a quasi shoulder and a median other times they have to take up a lane and even on a turn you can stray into the shoulder, because the turns are casual enough that you can easily lose focus and meander. If that makes sense- it's not challenging so you pay attention less. So on this road in particular I'm always, usually, aware.

I was sailing home down the canyon road, after meeting Tricia for a possible ahem, weekly accountability session where um, writing might be exchanged and or discussed, in the middle of the day no less. I'm into this whole new discipline thing where I make myself do things to negate the procrastination factor, aka French class even if the grades are harrowing, and the possible writing despite the terrifying inevitability of actual accomplishment, then the reading through the bible thing and the noting all my workouts thing... though i know it's a slightly unstable house of cards I see myself metaphorically approaching a mountain with Jesus (of course), so I'm okay with it. This sort of perseverance training.

Anyway all this to say my self-bubble was high as I came down the mountain, though slightly apprehensive of the pressure, and it was a good time. Until, I saw the body lying, diagonal, facing away from me down the hill, in the middle of the road- a rather broad, 3 inch band of blood stretching 3ft from their helmeted head. I braked firmly. Saw the cars, piling on the left, the concerned standing cyclist on the phone, staring away from his partner, who was lying as if asleep on their side. I saw a man flaring up a blanket and I thought oh jesus, is this person dead! But then he just covered the cyclists legs. And as I passed I saw a couple people running with towels out of the house on my left, set back into the hill and the guy on the phone almost searching me like he might ask me something, or tell me something, like he just had to say something.

And I thought, oh Jesus, don't be dead. Be okay poor cyclist. I hope you're okay. And luckily as I was proceeding down the hill- all the wind from my sails, the sirens came screeching my way. The fire chief, the fire engine, the ambulance. And hopefully it was possible that the blood loss would be stopped.

And then I got home, and went to Burger King and had a DoubleWhopper w/ cheese and mayo.... and I thought, fuck it. I'm going to eat this fucking burger because that's what I'm going to do. And then I stared into the computer screen a lot and thought of my friend who seems to see accidents all the time and wondered if maybe she cursed me. But at least it was something I could tell her right off the bat without a hello- I saw this cyclist get hit. I'm totally traumatized I said. And she said, I know, right! And I'm like mmhmm. Yes!

And there's nothing whatever I can do about it.

But tell it over and over again.

As I carry the impression down the mountain.

And back up again.

Yes, Just Then I Had Nothing To Blog About, But Now...

So I'm driving home and on the phone (handsfree) with my roadtrip partner in crime to be. It's a sunny warm day and traffic is moving at a good clip, 5 miles from home. Coming home early in fact. The fast lane. Lately avoiding the slower lanes because the trucks crush the pave and make it like a 3rdworld roadhazard from one huge crack and dip to the next.

The fast lane though, the fast lane is smooth sailing. Until suddenly there's some rapid breaking and dodges to the left shoulder. Real fast. In tandem. And me, left with pie on my face. Except the pie is a 3ft long 7in" tall and just as thick, hunk of metal. And i think, well, fuck i'm going to hit it, and oh shit, no, it's not going to clear my car. In one immobile mocking swoop it cracked my bumper, took out my radiator, ripped the coolant line, gashed my oil pan, punctured the transmission pan and sent my OH FUCK! button blinking. But just initially i said, Oh, my gosh, i just hit something. Yes, yes, i am going to pull over- as the impact sent dust into my air vents... I watched it spiral to the side and less harmfully parrelled the oncoming traffic and i saw a truck pulling over to the shoulder and wondered if he'd maybe lost a carthrashingdevice. For a few blissful seconds the car seemed okay. i made it to the 2nd lane when ! "ohshit" light came on and then to the slow lane where the check engine light aka "you're fucked" also signaled my steady decline from okay to not.

I thankfully, speedily made it off the freeway, not interrupted by one car, and had enough time to pull under the overpass as my car began to sputter and die. I remained on the phone with my friend, watching the life of my car ooze down the cement, floods of green and black oily death. She expressed her concern that I'd also just lately gotten a ticket and then i mentioned to her that a car hurtled at her just a few weeks ago as she stood by some guys parked car, and he crashed. I began to immediately worry for our safety on the trip. Then: how am i getting to work? And: Oh, yah, this is my parents car and dad saying, well it's only worth $4,000 and now we've got $2,500 worth of damages and blah blah blah.... I'm not quite ready to buy a car I thought. And shouldn't I call someone about the carthrashingdevice? Has someone already called? Has someone else already hit it? Who lost it? Who for fucksake put it there and left it for me to hit? But I should probably call someone shouldn't I??

In instant replay i continue to hit the object deadon. I think about swerving and if i do it punctures my tire, blowing it, and i spin out and get thrashed by oncoming traffic. In instant replay i swerve and miss it and the next guy hits it. In instant replay the other cars honk and warn me in time, but I still hit it. I still hit it. Still. And my car is still not okay.