1. give me a few drinks and I think I'm the greatest dancer since Paula Abdul.
2. I am not Paula Abdul.
3. Lying awake having just realized that I was filmed during my latest boogey session at this weekend's wedding reception... dear god it is not going to be flattering, I promise you.
4. interesting observation noted during today's post-wedding brunch (aka Group Hangover Meal #1): "You know, everyone was dancing with their drinks in hand last night. I mean usually you put your drink on the table or something and go back and forth from the dance floor... but everybody was dancing with alcohol in their hands last night! I have never seen that in my life!"
5. things get super exciting when you are double-fisting bottles of beer because they have threatened last call and you're working your "Ice Ice Baby" magic with the mother-of-the-bride.
6. I am going straight to hell and cannot believe I have not yet been wrathfully smited. (smited? spelling?) I am not the person to sit next to during a wedding if you are looking for reverence, appropriateness, or romantic/emotional Hallmark moments.
7. Home Shopping Network. Jewelry special: rings.
8. Drove all the way home with the wedding gift still in the trunk of my car. damnit.
9. Going back to topics #1-3, I think I may have recreated The Carlton Dance last night... and by that I mean drunkenly attempted Fresh Prince tribute choreography that probably most closely resembled an epileptic fit. Sweet Lord please do not let that be what the videographer captured.
10. went home to celebrate mama's birthday, Mitchell Mexican Fiesta style, complete with pinata and mariachi singers. Desperately wanted to take pinata into the backyard and blow it up with several rounds of ammunition, execution style... because that's just the Mitchell way. why be satisfied with a blindfold and a baseball bat??
Monday, August 20, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Death at a Funeral
Martha: "Simon?"
Simon: "Simon!"
Martha: "Simon?"
Simon: "Simon!"
Martha: "Si?"
Simon: ".... Mon!"
greatest film in years.
prepare yourself, the Brits are back.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Oh grasses of sleep, bitterly sweet grasses of oblivion...
Find myself awake, having tossed aside efforts at sleep since waking at 4:30. Made myself a cheese and pickle sandwich, an old favorite that harkens back to junior high packed lunches and reminds me of the Jenny Joseph poem that has unfortunately spawned an entire sub-culture of tacky red and purple hat societies.
I fear what will become of me should old age grasp me in its tethers. Frailty, loneliness, and helpless dependence upon others have never been appealing, not now and least of all in the potential twilight of my life. I see how the elderly are regarded, neglected, and scorned... what chance have we - the eager young generations stomping in our stalls - of changing anything by the time we hit the social security years?
The ripple effect, I remind myself... small acts of kindness and the ability to gradually cause hope and change.
I disappoint myself with my lack of service these past few months. There is so much to be done, so much I could do. Even if in tiny increments.
I have never liked birthdays. Mine quickly approaches and perhaps is the reason for this uprising wave of anxiety. It seems as though birthdays are inevitably a disappointment... the one day dedicated supposedly to the glorification of nothing less than one's own existence is bound to fall short of expectation. I find I prefer smaller celebrations, intimate circles to surround and hold each other dearly in a shared and cherished faith in one another, a love made sacred by virtue of mistakes and forgivenesses and the acknowledgment of truth and human ineptitude. We are all failures, ultimately, in some form or another, and therefore beautifully united.
Which reminds me, I have a letter to mail.
_________________________________
My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear,
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst,
for it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once - or yield to song.
Lord Byron
I fear what will become of me should old age grasp me in its tethers. Frailty, loneliness, and helpless dependence upon others have never been appealing, not now and least of all in the potential twilight of my life. I see how the elderly are regarded, neglected, and scorned... what chance have we - the eager young generations stomping in our stalls - of changing anything by the time we hit the social security years?
The ripple effect, I remind myself... small acts of kindness and the ability to gradually cause hope and change.
I disappoint myself with my lack of service these past few months. There is so much to be done, so much I could do. Even if in tiny increments.
I have never liked birthdays. Mine quickly approaches and perhaps is the reason for this uprising wave of anxiety. It seems as though birthdays are inevitably a disappointment... the one day dedicated supposedly to the glorification of nothing less than one's own existence is bound to fall short of expectation. I find I prefer smaller celebrations, intimate circles to surround and hold each other dearly in a shared and cherished faith in one another, a love made sacred by virtue of mistakes and forgivenesses and the acknowledgment of truth and human ineptitude. We are all failures, ultimately, in some form or another, and therefore beautifully united.
Which reminds me, I have a letter to mail.
_________________________________
My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear,
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst,
for it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once - or yield to song.
Lord Byron
worth 1000 words?
my weekend:
1. Wanker Sisters
[yes, she is sporting the 'Tom Selleck tribute' mustache and sequined anatomical bodysuit... hot.]
2. First ever White Castle experience. I hope never to return. Ever.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
page 723
splendid accomplishments today:
1. read Harry Potter, one sitting, as intended. wasn't asleep anyway so figured, 'why the hell not?' and started it at one in the morning. finished by 7 and off to work by 8.
2. at work by 8.
3. cried while reading Harry Potter... a lot.
4. work
5. eye doctor appointment in Kokomo for fresh contacts and a new best friend... we talked for an hour and 15 minutes... it's hot outside... we do that.
6. approved for speeding ticket deferral program. massive relief.
7. continued reign in the Land of Awesome.
1. read Harry Potter, one sitting, as intended. wasn't asleep anyway so figured, 'why the hell not?' and started it at one in the morning. finished by 7 and off to work by 8.
2. at work by 8.
3. cried while reading Harry Potter... a lot.
4. work
5. eye doctor appointment in Kokomo for fresh contacts and a new best friend... we talked for an hour and 15 minutes... it's hot outside... we do that.
6. approved for speeding ticket deferral program. massive relief.
7. continued reign in the Land of Awesome.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
mmmmmm...
rare confession: today I love my life.
the kind of day you wish you could splice and put on some sort of glass mircroscope plate and look at in the future as if to say, yeah... that's how it was... and it was great.
home and content and feeling accomplished and happy and proud to be myself and giddy with the knowledge of unconditional love and beyond that the joy of being so damn happy with people like my brother and my friends... and yes, I spent over 4 hours in the kitchen and wore an apron and heels and created a beautiful evening event and dinner to be reckoned with... and it was good.
really.
a good day.
the kind of day you wish you could splice and put on some sort of glass mircroscope plate and look at in the future as if to say, yeah... that's how it was... and it was great.
home and content and feeling accomplished and happy and proud to be myself and giddy with the knowledge of unconditional love and beyond that the joy of being so damn happy with people like my brother and my friends... and yes, I spent over 4 hours in the kitchen and wore an apron and heels and created a beautiful evening event and dinner to be reckoned with... and it was good.
really.
a good day.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Jesus: Ten Million, Satan: Two
a great weekend:
1. the lake is practically bath-water. mmmm. delicious.
1. the lake is practically bath-water. mmmm. delicious.
2. beer. 'lots of beer.'
3. golf scramble and the kick-ass spread to follow.
4. Bill Clinton impersonations from a man I can only remember calling 'Father O'Brien.'
5. Feeling like Granny Allison on the boat during 'Truth or Dare' and 'Never Have I Ever.'
6. Losing 'Never Have I Ever', like pronto.
7. Elise and I in matching dresses. Unplanned as usual but unsurprising nonetheless. And yes, we looked fabulous.
8. Wedding Crashers.
9. XM radio (woooo Janis Joplin - 'Sixties on Six!')
10. World's greatest purchase: beach hats for everyone.
11. Navigating the boat home in the rain, circa midnight, because nobody else knew where 'home' actually was.
12. Von Shritchell splendor.
Friday, August 03, 2007
to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to
At home after a dinner to-do with the parents and friends. Psych is playing in the background somewhere upstairs. My mother is analyzing her latest knitting project. My brother is at the lake with the girls and Drew is hanging out at a friend's house and probably participating in what I can only hope is a handful of worthy high school summer mischief.
So here I am and my mind is locked upon one specific subject: tomatoes.... several of which took starring roles in what was truly a lovely evening meal. For the record, tomatoes are probably my favorite local summer harvest. Vivid scarlet clusters explode from every novice gardener's plot for the entirety of our few delicious months of midwestern summer splendor. And damnit they make for real good eatin'... and fryin', especially the green ones.
Confession: I love anything I can salt, just can't help myself. Especially grapefruit. Mmmm. Why the hell you would put sugar on such a magnificent product, I simply cannot say. I'm sure my arteries are as stiff as steel piping. And I hate ketchup. It's nasty, goopy, and proven to contain rats and rodents and flies and spiders. Let's face it, the ketchup factory is where sub-par tomatoes go to die. Ewww and what could be more disgusting than people who use it as gravy-substitute to drown the likes of peas and cooked carrots? Disgusting. Grow up and just hold your nose like civilized people.
Regardless, have been pondering the old debate over the classificaion of tomatoes as fruit or vegatable. In terms of straight-up-now-tell-me* scientific fact, they are the ripened ovaries of a tomato plant and therefore a fruit. However, because they are used as a sauce base and usually spiced and salted, this is a difficult concept for the likes of elementary school children grasping the why's and wherefore's of life, the one-fish-two-fish-red-fish-blue-fish curriculum that arranges itself in a neat grid of time tables and shoeboxes and stone soup and sunflower seedlings growing in styrofoam cups. And paper mache - that was always the start of an awesome project.
At any rate, I have concluded that tomatoes are the drag queens of the fruit world. And that is precisely why I love them the most.
*Paula Abdul reference... because that was my first cd ever. And she's awesome. Especially in that terrific music video where she dances with a cartoon cat. (opposites attract?) That was totally slammin', like, seriously.
So here I am and my mind is locked upon one specific subject: tomatoes.... several of which took starring roles in what was truly a lovely evening meal. For the record, tomatoes are probably my favorite local summer harvest. Vivid scarlet clusters explode from every novice gardener's plot for the entirety of our few delicious months of midwestern summer splendor. And damnit they make for real good eatin'... and fryin', especially the green ones.
Confession: I love anything I can salt, just can't help myself. Especially grapefruit. Mmmm. Why the hell you would put sugar on such a magnificent product, I simply cannot say. I'm sure my arteries are as stiff as steel piping. And I hate ketchup. It's nasty, goopy, and proven to contain rats and rodents and flies and spiders. Let's face it, the ketchup factory is where sub-par tomatoes go to die. Ewww and what could be more disgusting than people who use it as gravy-substitute to drown the likes of peas and cooked carrots? Disgusting. Grow up and just hold your nose like civilized people.
Regardless, have been pondering the old debate over the classificaion of tomatoes as fruit or vegatable. In terms of straight-up-now-tell-me* scientific fact, they are the ripened ovaries of a tomato plant and therefore a fruit. However, because they are used as a sauce base and usually spiced and salted, this is a difficult concept for the likes of elementary school children grasping the why's and wherefore's of life, the one-fish-two-fish-red-fish-blue-fish curriculum that arranges itself in a neat grid of time tables and shoeboxes and stone soup and sunflower seedlings growing in styrofoam cups. And paper mache - that was always the start of an awesome project.
At any rate, I have concluded that tomatoes are the drag queens of the fruit world. And that is precisely why I love them the most.
*Paula Abdul reference... because that was my first cd ever. And she's awesome. Especially in that terrific music video where she dances with a cartoon cat. (opposites attract?) That was totally slammin', like, seriously.
night thoughts
a sleepless night has avenged itself upon me yet again. so interesting this wave of elusive unconsciousness wreathed in dreams that we willingly succumb to so meekly each night... and how we can long for it when time, circumstance, fear, or emotion prevents us from falling into the beguiling snares of Queen Mab.
alas, such is the nature of things.
_________________________________________
Nothing is Lost
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten years
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.
- Noel Coward
Thursday, August 02, 2007
vraiment
riding the wave of contentment that only the liberation of an evening with a dear friend can provide. so good just to... talk. (thanks, reef). reminds me of just how much work there is to do, for I have promises to keep...
and miles to go before I sleep...
and miles to go before I sleep...
___________________________________
Seeker of Truth
follow no path
all paths lead where
truth is here
e e cummings
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Barack Obama touched my shirt...
... and skirt.
I may not have been the person wearing them, but remain starstruck nonetheless.
**This incident is further proof of the excellence that is Elise Shrock. Reason #5589 why she is awesome:
Me: [5 min girly ranting/screeching]
Elise: "Barack touched your shirt."
Me: [further delight at high decibel level]
Elise: "And your skirt."
Me: "What?? Oh my god I was hoping you'd say that!"
Elise: "Yeah, I made sure that I brushed up against him so both articles of clothing made contact."
Now that's friendship.*
*Also a great excuse to create a physical moment with the man described as being 'the most handsome man alive in person... Allison, pictures just don't do the man any justice."
Sunday, July 29, 2007
yes.
There are moments when wellness escapes us,
moments when pain and suffering
are not dim possibilities
but all too agonizing realities.
At such moments we must open ourselves to healing.
and what we can do
we must do –
healing,
no less than illness,
is participatory.
But even when we do all we can do
there is,
often,
still much left to be done.
And so we turn as well to our healers
seeking their skill to aid in our struggle for wellness.
But even when they do all they can do
there is,
often,
still much left to be done.
And so we turn to Life,
to the vast Power of Being that animates the universe
as the ocean animates the wave,
seeking to let go of that which blocks our healing.
May those
whose lives are gripped in the palm of suffering
open
even now
to the Wonder of Life.
May they left go of the hurt
and Meet the True Self beyond pain,
the Uncarved Block
that is our joyous Unity with Holiness.
May they discover through pain and torment
the strength to live with grace and humor.
May they discover through doubt and anguish
the strength to live with dignity and holiness.
May they discover through suffering and fear
the strength to move toward healing.
Rabbi Rami N. Shapiro
parker! zoe! melvil!
oh my god just discovered that Broken English is back out in theatres and will be released on dvd next month, just one day before my birthday.
oh my god oh my god oh my god. i really needed that kind of fantastic news today... oh my god so excited. now must debate whether or not to pre-order via amazon...
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Crude, Crass, and Briliant
I may never mature past the intellectual humour level of a 14 yr old boy. Don't worry about it, it's fine.
"Hi, my name is Jimmy* and I'm the president of Gays for Bush!"
"Hey wait a minute, since when did gays support Bush?"
"Since he surrounded himself with Dick and Colin!"
(Reason 4322 Why I Love MXC)
oh my god. so fantastic.
*oh, and 'jimmy' was dive-bombing in the mud pit in his Sunday best short-shorts. HOT.
Two Other Gems from Today's Conv with Elise:
1. Elise: "You know how we both love Harry Potter so much sometimes we wish we were wizards?"
2. Me: "Well... we're both just really spontaneous, very 'fly by the seat of our g-strings' kind of girls, you know?"
[Patsy and Edina for Life.]
"Hi, my name is Jimmy* and I'm the president of Gays for Bush!"
"Hey wait a minute, since when did gays support Bush?"
"Since he surrounded himself with Dick and Colin!"
(Reason 4322 Why I Love MXC)
oh my god. so fantastic.
*oh, and 'jimmy' was dive-bombing in the mud pit in his Sunday best short-shorts. HOT.
Two Other Gems from Today's Conv with Elise:
1. Elise: "You know how we both love Harry Potter so much sometimes we wish we were wizards?"
2. Me: "Well... we're both just really spontaneous, very 'fly by the seat of our g-strings' kind of girls, you know?"
[Patsy and Edina for Life.]
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Salsa dancing and Bossa Nova lessons?
A splendid weekend chock-full of delightful adventures... none of which I have the time to currently detail. But I will forget about them if I don't mention something/make a list before my trip...
**forthcoming (and hopefully collaborative) topics include:
- Civil War re-enactors
- the Bible... and the unbeatable socks/sandals combo
- Penelope Cruz
- white wine chez IMA film screening... and one very unhappy security guard ('protection officer?' jyl?) named 'Dave'
- McDonalds
- cigar shop, the great Tony Bennet, and Reason 783 why Elise and I will always be most successful with older men
- noted exception to previous statement: High School Musical tickets aka "Coo Coo ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson"
- red wine, red lipstick, vulgarity at said performance
- Ab Fab: the Transformation Continues
- Jewish Men Who Rock
- Patio gardening
- cigarette holder vs. cigarette case debate
- shoes
- being pegged as residents of specifically unflattering Indiana towns
- the splendor that is local newspapers, craigslist personals, and Italian food
leaving for the week. still doing laundry and enduring lectures about packing 'comfortable shoes' and 'casual clothes'... sadly, I have no fanny pack or flannel (sleeveless, since it's summer of course) but I shall make do. xoxo
**forthcoming (and hopefully collaborative) topics include:
- Civil War re-enactors
- the Bible... and the unbeatable socks/sandals combo
- Penelope Cruz
- white wine chez IMA film screening... and one very unhappy security guard ('protection officer?' jyl?) named 'Dave'
- McDonalds
- cigar shop, the great Tony Bennet, and Reason 783 why Elise and I will always be most successful with older men
- noted exception to previous statement: High School Musical tickets aka "Coo Coo ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson"
- red wine, red lipstick, vulgarity at said performance
- Ab Fab: the Transformation Continues
- Jewish Men Who Rock
- Patio gardening
- cigarette holder vs. cigarette case debate
- shoes
- being pegged as residents of specifically unflattering Indiana towns
- the splendor that is local newspapers, craigslist personals, and Italian food
leaving for the week. still doing laundry and enduring lectures about packing 'comfortable shoes' and 'casual clothes'... sadly, I have no fanny pack or flannel (sleeveless, since it's summer of course) but I shall make do. xoxo
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Let Freedom Ring
Reasons why my friends are great and July 4th is more than just a holiday:
1. One of my best friends is marrying the Fruit Pizza King. He chops, he bakes, he decorates by theme using blueberries and strawberry slices. Today's edition featured an American flag.
2. Said FPK and crew proved the theory that men never mature past the emotional age of 13, lighting firecrackers in their bare hands, attempting bribery for someone to launch one from a more inappropriate anatomical entity, picking aggressive man-fights over bean-bag tournaments, and eating popsicles. And we all know how much I love popsicles.
3. Snuggling.
4. Hot dogs.
5. Getting off work by 7.
6. Feeling sorry for Marsh employees, particularly the girl cashier who despondently informed me (after I pulled out the small-talk classic, "So... how late you workin' tonight?"... and no it was not a pick-up attempt) that "We don't close until Thanksgiving"... AND SHE WASN'T EXAGGERATING. This particular Marsh is in fact open 24 hrs/day from now until Turkey Day. (Bummer, I say.)
7. Not getting a speeding ticket since Sunday. Goddamnit.
8. Not working tomorrow... and secretly cackling at every other poor sucker who is. mwahaha. I shall be planting my garden, tiddling around my house in scuzzy t/boxers/flip flops, reading, playing piano... and it's Clean Sheet Day, the best day of the week.
9. Gossip. It's evil, the root of all social discord, and completely wicked, but oh sometimes it's just so good to be bad.
10. "Party Favorites" music channel on digital cable or whatever that was... picture a mix of every wedding/mitzvah classic, blend in some Prince/Madonna/Gin Blossoms/"Proud to be an American", and you've got yourself a bbq soundtrack.
1. One of my best friends is marrying the Fruit Pizza King. He chops, he bakes, he decorates by theme using blueberries and strawberry slices. Today's edition featured an American flag.
2. Said FPK and crew proved the theory that men never mature past the emotional age of 13, lighting firecrackers in their bare hands, attempting bribery for someone to launch one from a more inappropriate anatomical entity, picking aggressive man-fights over bean-bag tournaments, and eating popsicles. And we all know how much I love popsicles.
3. Snuggling.
4. Hot dogs.
5. Getting off work by 7.
6. Feeling sorry for Marsh employees, particularly the girl cashier who despondently informed me (after I pulled out the small-talk classic, "So... how late you workin' tonight?"... and no it was not a pick-up attempt) that "We don't close until Thanksgiving"... AND SHE WASN'T EXAGGERATING. This particular Marsh is in fact open 24 hrs/day from now until Turkey Day. (Bummer, I say.)
7. Not getting a speeding ticket since Sunday. Goddamnit.
8. Not working tomorrow... and secretly cackling at every other poor sucker who is. mwahaha. I shall be planting my garden, tiddling around my house in scuzzy t/boxers/flip flops, reading, playing piano... and it's Clean Sheet Day, the best day of the week.
9. Gossip. It's evil, the root of all social discord, and completely wicked, but oh sometimes it's just so good to be bad.
10. "Party Favorites" music channel on digital cable or whatever that was... picture a mix of every wedding/mitzvah classic, blend in some Prince/Madonna/Gin Blossoms/"Proud to be an American", and you've got yourself a bbq soundtrack.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Grasshopper
The paradise of summer lingers in the air as delicately as the honeysuckle scent on my skin or as gently as my bed linens caress my sunned legs, sweet and soft and warm like the promise of a distant and misunderstood happiness. The solstice has come and passed, leaving behind a trail of ever-fading daylight hours, bright summer minutes burning themselves out in what will soon seem a desperate grasp of light known as Indian summer, a time when afternoons are as slow and heavy as Mississippi mud.
Light shines from my nightstand as if to illuminate the air laced with a faint scent of flowers, intoxicating in the exotic femininity of jasmine blossoms and honeysuckle. Scattered across the bed is a stack of books, as usual, and the requisite black extra fine point liquid ink pens that always accompany them.
I can't seem to get one tiny line of an old Dixie Chicks (strangely) song out of my head: "The moon is full, my arms are empty..." The melody seems to play in a constant repeat, much like a music box or carnival ride.
My thoughts are likewise scattered, looping in and out of each other like the classic atomic diagram, a whirl of ideas and hastily hidden dreams. I still find it so hard to describe them or create some sort of tangible existence for them, a defined set of wants, desires, hopes... these elude me to the most frustrating end.
One finds what one seeks when it is meant to be sought, I keep reminding myself. Wisdom, understanding, and the enlightenment of the soul are elusive mistresses, though amorous.
Another thing plagues me. (No pun intended). Had a terrifying incident during my drive to work today involving an open window and a giant electric-green grasshopper/locust. In short, one alighted on my head while I was stopped in the shade of a leafy tree garden on Allisonville Road. Having minutely sensed the rapid flutter of wings, an almost imperceptible hum drowned beneath the Cure, I caught sight of the creature (on my head. my head.) in the rear-view mirror. Suffice it to say my reaction is best compared with an epileptic fit as I screamed and shook my head frantically until the poor insect flew out the opposite window. It remained, legs eerily bending (one can easily see why grasshoppers are compared to musicians, for indeed it appeared to be playing as one would a cello, that strange natural symphony), on my side rear-view mirror until I parked at work, slammed the door as cautiously as possible, and jumped aside as it landed on a neighboring blue Astro-van.
Try as I might, I cannot conclude any sort of satisfying lesson or interpretation of this event, symbolically or otherwise. Besides the obvious Kung Fu reference, of course. Searching for grasshopper mythology has been rather unsuccessful, though I have managed to collect the following
GRASSHOPPER: A symbol of the unbeliever, symbolizes the conversion of pagan nations to Christianity.
Grasshopper
Noble
In Plato's Phaedrus, Socrates says that locusts were once human. When the Muses first brought song into the world, the beauty so captivated some people that they forgot to eat and drink until they died. The Muses turned those unfortunate souls into locusts— singing their entire lives.
I rather like the story of the Muses. Perhaps I am likewise doomed... though a lifetime of music is not so seemingly 'unfortunate,' especially in this world of chaos and cacophony and mayhem... how better to express joys and triumphs and melancholy and anguish and delight than with song?
Nonetheless, a disturbing incident.
I gathered what I've christened my 'starter set' of plants and blooms for the back steps. I simply cannot live without some remote imitation of a garden and the harsh industrial terracotta of the back stairs and bricks and pipes and concrete is utterly withering after so many months. I shall thus take a gamble on several geraniums and herbs and vincas and impatiens and lavender, etc. Daisies too. Tiny ones.
Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells
And pretty maids all in a row.
____________________________________
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's -- he takes the lead
In summer luxury -- he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
John Keats
Light shines from my nightstand as if to illuminate the air laced with a faint scent of flowers, intoxicating in the exotic femininity of jasmine blossoms and honeysuckle. Scattered across the bed is a stack of books, as usual, and the requisite black extra fine point liquid ink pens that always accompany them.
I can't seem to get one tiny line of an old Dixie Chicks (strangely) song out of my head: "The moon is full, my arms are empty..." The melody seems to play in a constant repeat, much like a music box or carnival ride.
My thoughts are likewise scattered, looping in and out of each other like the classic atomic diagram, a whirl of ideas and hastily hidden dreams. I still find it so hard to describe them or create some sort of tangible existence for them, a defined set of wants, desires, hopes... these elude me to the most frustrating end.
One finds what one seeks when it is meant to be sought, I keep reminding myself. Wisdom, understanding, and the enlightenment of the soul are elusive mistresses, though amorous.
Another thing plagues me. (No pun intended). Had a terrifying incident during my drive to work today involving an open window and a giant electric-green grasshopper/locust. In short, one alighted on my head while I was stopped in the shade of a leafy tree garden on Allisonville Road. Having minutely sensed the rapid flutter of wings, an almost imperceptible hum drowned beneath the Cure, I caught sight of the creature (on my head. my head.) in the rear-view mirror. Suffice it to say my reaction is best compared with an epileptic fit as I screamed and shook my head frantically until the poor insect flew out the opposite window. It remained, legs eerily bending (one can easily see why grasshoppers are compared to musicians, for indeed it appeared to be playing as one would a cello, that strange natural symphony), on my side rear-view mirror until I parked at work, slammed the door as cautiously as possible, and jumped aside as it landed on a neighboring blue Astro-van.
Try as I might, I cannot conclude any sort of satisfying lesson or interpretation of this event, symbolically or otherwise. Besides the obvious Kung Fu reference, of course. Searching for grasshopper mythology has been rather unsuccessful, though I have managed to collect the following
GRASSHOPPER: A symbol of the unbeliever, symbolizes the conversion of pagan nations to Christianity.
Grasshopper
NobleIn Plato's Phaedrus, Socrates says that locusts were once human. When the Muses first brought song into the world, the beauty so captivated some people that they forgot to eat and drink until they died. The Muses turned those unfortunate souls into locusts— singing their entire lives.
I rather like the story of the Muses. Perhaps I am likewise doomed... though a lifetime of music is not so seemingly 'unfortunate,' especially in this world of chaos and cacophony and mayhem... how better to express joys and triumphs and melancholy and anguish and delight than with song?
Nonetheless, a disturbing incident.
I gathered what I've christened my 'starter set' of plants and blooms for the back steps. I simply cannot live without some remote imitation of a garden and the harsh industrial terracotta of the back stairs and bricks and pipes and concrete is utterly withering after so many months. I shall thus take a gamble on several geraniums and herbs and vincas and impatiens and lavender, etc. Daisies too. Tiny ones.
Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells
And pretty maids all in a row.
____________________________________
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's -- he takes the lead
In summer luxury -- he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
John Keats
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
