tickle me spring
we rode our bikes down to jessica's in the beaches, had brunch and a walk by the boardwalk. stretched a morning visit into an afternoon beer, you know, it's a sunday.
and what a fine specimen. it is eighteen degrees and everyone looks like they're having the best day of their lives. there was a big line at the ice cream shop and i saw at least ten games of frisbee.
and i have a teensie bit of a sunburn on my nose. i know, so good.
and what a fine specimen. it is eighteen degrees and everyone looks like they're having the best day of their lives. there was a big line at the ice cream shop and i saw at least ten games of frisbee.
and i have a teensie bit of a sunburn on my nose. i know, so good.
sun day
i have these moments, instances, experiences, when i am overwhelmed with a zesty adoration for life and specifically, the one i'm currently having.
like this morning making scones while the sun poured in.
i'm "pro" neuron development
we're teaching ourselves to meditate or as jeremy points out, talking about teaching ourselves to meditate. hahaha, ah my love, speaker of truths.
it's interesting though, thinking about committing time to the silence of your brain. an inward activity that focuses on, among other things, compassion and love. i'd say that sounds worthy of effort.
we're going to start learning by sitting in stillness and quiet for 5 minutes a day, just focusing on our breathing. this will likely not be a joint activity because i distract easily and jeremy for me is especially distracting. i always want to talk to him and see how he's doing. hi sweetie! we're meditating! are you feeling anything yet?
anyways, i like that it's a simple plan. small to start, you know? work gradually up to transcendence and journeys to other spiritual dimensions. that probably takes a week at least, right?
address unknown
dear stranger,
it's me, the person who got that book out of the library after you did. i can see that we both like to dog ear pages of note. i can see that we agree on which pages are noteworthy.
when i read something profound, when i pause to take it in, when i go to fold the page corner and notice a crease already there - i feel connected to you, dear stranger.
i wonder who you are, what you thought when you were reading those passages, if you felt alone, if you considered at all that these creases you left would be like a hand stretched out. if you knew that i would be the one, forward in time to take hold.
it's pleasing to think that our actions in solitude have future implications in collectivity. don't you think? i believe in those things. like i believe in small turns of kismet and fate to somehow bring this letter to you and what's more, for you to understand its yours.
sincerely,
jenn
it's me, the person who got that book out of the library after you did. i can see that we both like to dog ear pages of note. i can see that we agree on which pages are noteworthy.
when i read something profound, when i pause to take it in, when i go to fold the page corner and notice a crease already there - i feel connected to you, dear stranger.
i wonder who you are, what you thought when you were reading those passages, if you felt alone, if you considered at all that these creases you left would be like a hand stretched out. if you knew that i would be the one, forward in time to take hold.
it's pleasing to think that our actions in solitude have future implications in collectivity. don't you think? i believe in those things. like i believe in small turns of kismet and fate to somehow bring this letter to you and what's more, for you to understand its yours.
sincerely,
jenn
the walk home
"we shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
t.s. eliot
you're just so cute, it kills me.
mel won't ever let me take her picture. isn't that funny? i think that's funny. maybe she's just so comfortable behind the lense, she doesn't know what to do with her adorable ebony-haired self in front of one.
it's poppycock. madness.
joke's on her though. even in these, stolen stills i snuck while she snapped some of her own, that beauty shines through.
as beauty always do.
rituals
i read an article recently about ssb (secret, single, behaviour). the things you do when no one is looking and you're left, in your home, entirely to your own devices. besides being humourous and collectively affirming, i thought the article to be vaguely prejudice. being a married does not mean i don't find myself, every now and again, alone in my abode. like tonight, par example. jeremy is out at the soccer season opener and i am left here, with an evening completely unto myself.
and what will i do with said evening you may ask? let me enlighten you and allow me to speak in generalities knowing for the most part, time alone is a smattering of column A with a generous seasoning of column B. in other words, these are my rituals. leave me be for longer than an hour and i'm bound to partake in at least one.
for your consideration, (and perhaps for your peace of mind when you land on one that begs the utterance, "ME TOO!"), here is my smb (secret, married, behaviour).
- i listen to strange music
- i sing. really loudly. the same three songs.
- i drink a glass of wine
- i drink 3 glasses of wine
- i dance. wildly and without caring that we don't have curtains.
- i write
- i have multiple costume changes often including but not limited to: my wedding dress, my black swan halloween costume, my swimming trunks
- i eat food that's been prepared by someone else (take-out, delivery, something from the grocery store deli counter)
- i buy a delectable and completely indulgent dessert from the bakery
- i pretend i'm going to only eat half
- i eat the whole thing
- i put my hair up
- i put my hair down
- i do a headstand by the front door and for the first (but not the only) time in the evening i'll miss jeremy for not being on hand to help me down
- i'll make something
- i'll draw something
- i'll try (and fail) to wait up until jeremy gets home
- i'll leave a loving note/sign/banner made with toilet paper
embrace your time alone! eat the whole damn dessert yourself! and, who are we kidding, have that fourth glass of wine. i'm going to go pour mine now.
and what will i do with said evening you may ask? let me enlighten you and allow me to speak in generalities knowing for the most part, time alone is a smattering of column A with a generous seasoning of column B. in other words, these are my rituals. leave me be for longer than an hour and i'm bound to partake in at least one.
for your consideration, (and perhaps for your peace of mind when you land on one that begs the utterance, "ME TOO!"), here is my smb (secret, married, behaviour).
- i listen to strange music
- i sing. really loudly. the same three songs.
- i drink a glass of wine
- i drink 3 glasses of wine
- i dance. wildly and without caring that we don't have curtains.
- i write
- i have multiple costume changes often including but not limited to: my wedding dress, my black swan halloween costume, my swimming trunks
- i eat food that's been prepared by someone else (take-out, delivery, something from the grocery store deli counter)
- i buy a delectable and completely indulgent dessert from the bakery
- i pretend i'm going to only eat half
- i eat the whole thing
- i put my hair up
- i put my hair down
- i do a headstand by the front door and for the first (but not the only) time in the evening i'll miss jeremy for not being on hand to help me down
- i'll make something
- i'll draw something
- i'll try (and fail) to wait up until jeremy gets home
- i'll leave a loving note/sign/banner made with toilet paper
embrace your time alone! eat the whole damn dessert yourself! and, who are we kidding, have that fourth glass of wine. i'm going to go pour mine now.
the problem pastry
sometimes you can get hung up on something. like the god damn french donuts at the bakery up the street. i guess it started about a year ago when i noticed a sign in the window proclaiming 'french donuts for sale'. having no idea what a french donut was but assuming them to be worth the effort of advertising, i went inside to make my purchase.
"oh no, those have been sold out since 9," the girl said, almost incredulously, "you have to get here really early to get one."
and so began an increasingly determined quest for the elusive donut. one time i was too early ("they're still in the oven"), one time i was too late (9:05am), and one time i got there before the bakery had even opened. that time, (and i confess this in the hopes you'll understand how defeat, even of the pastry variety, can sometimes get the best of us) - i cried all the way home.
i've since enjoyed plenty of french donuts. i remember that first successful trip vividly when i was neither too early nor too late and i saw them sitting neatly in their paper and wicker basket holdings and i waited patiently in line for my turn to say, "i'll have one of those, please."
it was delicious.
airy and sweet and warm - you could tell the thing was made with skill and love in equal parts.
this morning i met mel for one that we shared over coffee and i laughed to myself thinking how something once so mysterious, can be made familiar with persistence and patience, (and an early bird constitution).
"oh no, those have been sold out since 9," the girl said, almost incredulously, "you have to get here really early to get one."
and so began an increasingly determined quest for the elusive donut. one time i was too early ("they're still in the oven"), one time i was too late (9:05am), and one time i got there before the bakery had even opened. that time, (and i confess this in the hopes you'll understand how defeat, even of the pastry variety, can sometimes get the best of us) - i cried all the way home.
i've since enjoyed plenty of french donuts. i remember that first successful trip vividly when i was neither too early nor too late and i saw them sitting neatly in their paper and wicker basket holdings and i waited patiently in line for my turn to say, "i'll have one of those, please."
it was delicious.
airy and sweet and warm - you could tell the thing was made with skill and love in equal parts.
this morning i met mel for one that we shared over coffee and i laughed to myself thinking how something once so mysterious, can be made familiar with persistence and patience, (and an early bird constitution).
letter writing (a protest on progress)
inspired by mel's letter writing marathon, i am going to write and mail a handwritten note for each day in the month of march. i started a list of intended recipients - people i love, people i admire, people i've never met - but left the list incomplete on purpose.
email correspondence is alluring in its instant gratification. we send an email, we get an email back. there is no waiting, no wondering, no need to travel to the mailbox to spy, as if by magic, an envelope addressed in ink to us.
when i sat down to write my first letter last night i thought about all the people i wanted to include on my list but couldn't as they'd passed on. imagine the comfort to be gained if letter writing were possible across the great divide? hello, i miss you, it's unimaginably beautiful here - something like that.
i can hear a bird outside the window right now. i might include that in today's letter. all writing should seek to convey the total sphere of state that the writer was in whilst writing. the bird's song, the smell of cold air through the open window, the grey/blue sky, almost purple near the horizon.
show me your world. write it on paper with pen.
jar of words
collected on thin strips of paper,
cursive fireflies, happy to be caught.
in a jar by the window, folded neatly, folded sweetly,
ink and meaning safe from fading, safe from time.
sunday morning diary
i woke up at 8:30 and for me, that is a sleep in. i can't remember the last time my eyes opened in the morning and the sun had beat me to it. i moved slowly to the kitchen, honouring the drowsy cocoon that'd kept me safe and rejuvenated my cells these last eight (twelve) hours. i tackled not the mountain of dishes, but each individual dish. soaping scrubbing rinsing, paying special attention to the sunshine on the counter and the pleasing (if deceptive) appearance of clean. i listened to the whitehorse album and the emerald isle song on repeat. i thought my headphones to be a nice and respectful touch for the benefit of my sleeping husband but remembered that my singing is out loud. i concluded it must be nice to wake up to your wife singing in the sunday sun and tried especially hard to make it sound beautiful. that's a mistake though, things are always way more beautiful when they're unintentional.
living on the daytime side of mercury
did you know that one half of the planet mercury is perpetually day and the other perpetually night? how poetic. someone should write a book about two people who fall in love, one from the day side and the other from the night and they meet in the middle where it's always the afternoon.
i like to yell out the window to the stray cats that walk by. they stop and look my way as though they're listening. they continue on unmoved.
i know it's nuts and it's just february but it's starting to feel like spring. or like the time that comes just before spring. the spring pre-show. the air smells different and the daylight's stretching longer and i can't stop daydreaming of thawed, rich dirt.
i'm reading norwegian wood. it's beautiful and heartbreaking and simple and complex, like everything i've read by murakami so far.
do you know the saying "for every language that is learned, you gain another soul" - that's the best marketing for linguistics i've ever heard. i want five souls! and i want one of them to be russian!
although completely arbitrary and without any of its own meaning but that which we ascribe it, saturday is my all time favourite day of the week.
i like to yell out the window to the stray cats that walk by. they stop and look my way as though they're listening. they continue on unmoved.
i know it's nuts and it's just february but it's starting to feel like spring. or like the time that comes just before spring. the spring pre-show. the air smells different and the daylight's stretching longer and i can't stop daydreaming of thawed, rich dirt.
i'm reading norwegian wood. it's beautiful and heartbreaking and simple and complex, like everything i've read by murakami so far.
do you know the saying "for every language that is learned, you gain another soul" - that's the best marketing for linguistics i've ever heard. i want five souls! and i want one of them to be russian!
although completely arbitrary and without any of its own meaning but that which we ascribe it, saturday is my all time favourite day of the week.
i do my loving all year round
valentine's day seems to me, a silly occasion. what are we doing to celebrate february 14th that we aren't doing all the other days? professing our love a little louder? purchasing heart shaped confections as proof of our emotions?
maybe the point of a tradition is the tradition itself. we engage in things knowing we're part of a community that's doing the same. we feel connected through our giving and receiving of sentiments and flowers. we are human beings and we are in love! and we are showing each other by buying things!
yeah i just don't get it. i plan to show jeremy how much i love him and i plan to spend zero dollars doing it. after all, the very best gifts are free and come from the heart. they also come from the inside of a bottle of champagne and we have a gift certificate.
happy loving.
x
maybe the point of a tradition is the tradition itself. we engage in things knowing we're part of a community that's doing the same. we feel connected through our giving and receiving of sentiments and flowers. we are human beings and we are in love! and we are showing each other by buying things!
yeah i just don't get it. i plan to show jeremy how much i love him and i plan to spend zero dollars doing it. after all, the very best gifts are free and come from the heart. they also come from the inside of a bottle of champagne and we have a gift certificate.
happy loving.
x
saturday morning (on snow)
i seem to have developed a writing pattern. saturday morning, no matter what time we crawled into bed the night before, i get up with the sun and make myself a pot of coffee. i say i'll make the whole pot for us to share but i know that if i let him, he'll sleep in long after its gone cold.
i slip on the couch and under the quilt, i look out the window and think of the things i want to say. they're never far off and are much more likely to show themselves in these quiet mornings of solitude. i am absolutely a morning person.
we went to a friends for dinner last night, good food and good company and the lovely kind of reflection that follows on the long way home when you miss the last bus and have to walk, hand in hand, to your doorstep. i like to be the first footprints on freshly fallen snow.
it's interesting to get a glimpse into the lives of others. the books they've read the art they've chosen the placement of artifacts, some here some there, that tell a story of a life being lived. that give clues of every day choices. i look around at our clues and wonder what they say that we can't see. objectivity is impossible.
the wind makes the snow appear more intense, we see the swirls and squalls and are confused into thinking it's a blizzard. i'll go outside to meet it and deduce it's nothing more than single flakes meeting and parting, meeting and parting, looking frantically for one other snowflake that's just the same.
i slip on the couch and under the quilt, i look out the window and think of the things i want to say. they're never far off and are much more likely to show themselves in these quiet mornings of solitude. i am absolutely a morning person.
we went to a friends for dinner last night, good food and good company and the lovely kind of reflection that follows on the long way home when you miss the last bus and have to walk, hand in hand, to your doorstep. i like to be the first footprints on freshly fallen snow.
it's interesting to get a glimpse into the lives of others. the books they've read the art they've chosen the placement of artifacts, some here some there, that tell a story of a life being lived. that give clues of every day choices. i look around at our clues and wonder what they say that we can't see. objectivity is impossible.
the wind makes the snow appear more intense, we see the swirls and squalls and are confused into thinking it's a blizzard. i'll go outside to meet it and deduce it's nothing more than single flakes meeting and parting, meeting and parting, looking frantically for one other snowflake that's just the same.
the unbearable weight of unknowing
sometimes i think of the seeming infinity of possible knowledge, (war, art, philosophy, politics, environment, poetry, religion, the intricacies of our human relationships), and it feels impossible for a lifetime.
it seems insurmountable that someone so small and mortal could get anywhere beyond the surface.
it seems insurmountable that someone so small and mortal could get anywhere beyond the surface.
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