Wilco - Shot in the Arm
The ashtray says you were up all night
And you went to bed with your darkest mind
You've changed, oh you've changed
What you once were isn't what you want to be anymore....
Friday, February 26, 2010
Delight
While I continue to claw through my strange morass of self-discovery, J is conversely lost in a world of unending delight.
When informed that school would be delayed by two hours this morning, she was beside herself with excitement. The prospects for crafting over two whole hours was almost more than she could take. What? Why didn't I let her sleep in? Silly you. She was awake at 6:30 when I peaked in - had already used the bathroom, donned her bathrobe (along with a fancy new headband), and was sitting on her bed with the flashlight, making shadow animals on the wall.
It is now 7:55, and she has accomplished the following:
- Eaten a half bagel and gotten dressed
- Opened, learned about, played with and cleaned up all components relating to her new Crayola Glow Board (thanks cousins Rachel and John)
- Played with and cleaned up Bendaroos
- Concocted an elaborate game with her kitchen set, My Little Ponies and the giant plastic ball purchased recently at Target
- Established an 'apartment' in the basement next to the bookshelf and dress-ups cabinet. What goes on in that apartment is a mystery, but it involves hushed narration as far as I can tell.
I now have to hop in the shower to get ready for a meeting downtown, but am longing to sit silently and watch her all morning, to absorb her sunny energy (and, ok, occasionally smooch on her smooth 6-year-old cheeks). She has been my link to the light at the end of the tunnel of late, and in her presence I am happy and calm. Here's to snowy mornings and sunshine indoors.
When informed that school would be delayed by two hours this morning, she was beside herself with excitement. The prospects for crafting over two whole hours was almost more than she could take. What? Why didn't I let her sleep in? Silly you. She was awake at 6:30 when I peaked in - had already used the bathroom, donned her bathrobe (along with a fancy new headband), and was sitting on her bed with the flashlight, making shadow animals on the wall.
It is now 7:55, and she has accomplished the following:
- Eaten a half bagel and gotten dressed
- Opened, learned about, played with and cleaned up all components relating to her new Crayola Glow Board (thanks cousins Rachel and John)
- Played with and cleaned up Bendaroos
- Concocted an elaborate game with her kitchen set, My Little Ponies and the giant plastic ball purchased recently at Target
- Established an 'apartment' in the basement next to the bookshelf and dress-ups cabinet. What goes on in that apartment is a mystery, but it involves hushed narration as far as I can tell.
I now have to hop in the shower to get ready for a meeting downtown, but am longing to sit silently and watch her all morning, to absorb her sunny energy (and, ok, occasionally smooch on her smooth 6-year-old cheeks). She has been my link to the light at the end of the tunnel of late, and in her presence I am happy and calm. Here's to snowy mornings and sunshine indoors.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Kinship with winter
Warmer seasons bolster my spirits, what with their colors and long days and, well, warmth. But truly I feel a kinship with winter. This snowy weather especially tugs at my insides.
As I ride along country roads and into the small towns nearby, the snow highlights for me quiet cemeteries. The graveyard monuments seem more at home in the cold and gray than in the heat of summer. There is no foliage to distract the eye from the harsh reality of their meaning. Plastic flowers obscenely strike a tone of inappropriate gaiety. Dilapidated and decaying Christmas decorations remaining long past the season act as a truer indicator of grief and loss than stones telling nothing of the people left behind. I see you, cemetery. I understand.
There are abandoned farmhouses along my travel routes as well. In the snow, enormous, skeletal oaks and maples stand sentinel around a deteriorating shell of a home. Overgrown azaleas and rhododendrons are exaggerated and haunting, shielding porches and doorways. The black of empty windows call out to me. "I used to be someone's dream," they say. There is no summer ivy now to lend a romantic air to the sense of desertion, to cheer one with the idea of the inevitable triumph of nature. I hear you, abandoned farmhouse. I understand.
The fields are still mostly covered with a thick blanket, smooth and white. From a distance their perfection is lovely and calming. Yet they entice corruption, and not just from me. Crows, hawks and blackbirds swoop, land, burrow, and flee - attempting to unearth something, anything of substance from the cold barrier hiding the land. And I am well aware that underneath the smooth frosting there are murdered plants and wretched, cold mud. I see you, winter fields. I understand.
With a forecast of additional snow tonight into Friday, and the calendar's promise of another full month of winter, I will hunker down and wrap the season around me for a time. We are kindred spirits, after all.
As I ride along country roads and into the small towns nearby, the snow highlights for me quiet cemeteries. The graveyard monuments seem more at home in the cold and gray than in the heat of summer. There is no foliage to distract the eye from the harsh reality of their meaning. Plastic flowers obscenely strike a tone of inappropriate gaiety. Dilapidated and decaying Christmas decorations remaining long past the season act as a truer indicator of grief and loss than stones telling nothing of the people left behind. I see you, cemetery. I understand.
There are abandoned farmhouses along my travel routes as well. In the snow, enormous, skeletal oaks and maples stand sentinel around a deteriorating shell of a home. Overgrown azaleas and rhododendrons are exaggerated and haunting, shielding porches and doorways. The black of empty windows call out to me. "I used to be someone's dream," they say. There is no summer ivy now to lend a romantic air to the sense of desertion, to cheer one with the idea of the inevitable triumph of nature. I hear you, abandoned farmhouse. I understand.
The fields are still mostly covered with a thick blanket, smooth and white. From a distance their perfection is lovely and calming. Yet they entice corruption, and not just from me. Crows, hawks and blackbirds swoop, land, burrow, and flee - attempting to unearth something, anything of substance from the cold barrier hiding the land. And I am well aware that underneath the smooth frosting there are murdered plants and wretched, cold mud. I see you, winter fields. I understand.
With a forecast of additional snow tonight into Friday, and the calendar's promise of another full month of winter, I will hunker down and wrap the season around me for a time. We are kindred spirits, after all.
Monday, February 22, 2010
MHRS
Today's Most Helpful Running Song - it was a tie:
Casual Affair - my GOD, what happened to Tonic? This album rocked from start to finish.
Run - Kathleen Edwards doing her alt-country-Canadian thing including a loose running theme, depending on how you interpret it.
Casual Affair - my GOD, what happened to Tonic? This album rocked from start to finish.
Run - Kathleen Edwards doing her alt-country-Canadian thing including a loose running theme, depending on how you interpret it.
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