In Life, Memoir on August 15, 2014 at 1:50 pm
Growing up an only child in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, and going to bed at night and certain that all the really cool kids were still up and doing really cool things, I came to the opinion that most cool people–and I remember thinking, oddly, in this instance of Mick Jagger–that most cool people didn’t even sleep. I thought that the less cool a person was, like, for example, me, the more sleep they needed, and that the ultra cool people probably didn’t have to sleep at all, that somehow or another they’d figured out, because of their innate coolness, how to get past that which was necessary for the rest of us. Such was the nature of my insecurity that even the necessity of sleep was evidence of my removed state.
Now of course I know better and have (over) compensated for the insecurities. Sleep is a pleasure and not a practice in self-loathing. Too, as harsh as it sounds, I’m glad to see Mick Jagger growing old, and certain that he needs sleep like I need sleep, and even the knowledge that he will die someday, as off-putting as it sounds, gives me a sense of belonging to the rest of the species and on the same level as Mick Jagger, a human being just trying to get by. Just saying.
In The Examined Life, Wisdom on August 9, 2014 at 6:51 pm
The Maine air this evening (6:26pm) is easy and the light the color of honey. There is a wedding going on across the water and I can see the bride adorned in white and sporting tan shoulders and I think on what perfection it (I hope) must feel to be married on such an evening as this. Youth and marriage and an expectant future on a perfect Maine summer evening. Imagine!
I made blueberry jam this morning. That is what I do when the Maine blueberries come in. Two quarts berries yields nine pints. Nine pints of blue perfection to give to friends to spread on morning toast to pair with honey-roasted peanut butter between slices of rustic seeded whole wheat to paste on brie.
Can wisdom exist without tradition I wonder? It was the question that came to me on my morning walk. It was an early walk and the air like this evening was perfect except it was perfect morning rather than perfect evening air. Somewhere between the small hill and dead oak the question presented itself and I have wondered about it since. Wisdom I can’t see detached from tradition and yet I wish it was a thing singular if that makes any sense.
All that is esoteric enough for a night like this. Why spoil such a perfect moment with thinking? (Might a person just experience and appreciate a thing–enough already!)
Sometimes disjointed things come together and it seems that way this evening everything falling into a place and time.
I am sorry for the lack of commas. I just wanted to see what it felt like.
In Life, The Examined Life on July 18, 2014 at 9:38 am
I hurt my back about thirty years ago, then re-injured it ten years ago. If flares up on occasion but mostly I am able to manage the problem. Until yesterday. Now I am flat on my bed watching the reflection of the water below my window dapple the ceiling. That is something, at least.
Sometimes when I am sick, or, like in this case, incapacitated, I attempt to absorb all the discomfort and trouble possible so that when I am well again I will have something to reflect on and be all the more grateful. This works well and is a reminder of how fortunate I am to lead an active life, to have good health, to be able to be up and around and physical. Someday that might not be the case. Should that day come, I want the satisfaction of making due with gratitude.
Lucy, knowing something is amiss, is curled up against my leg. She is a good dog. I have my book and the morning paper, my Pandora station, my computer, and the reflection of the water on the ceiling. This moment will pass, but not without my full attention.