My Elbow's Free!

I got part of my cast taken off yesterday.

And that's all I have time to say. I'm off doing things.

You know, like flexing my elbow.

Unsolicited Opinion: Worldwide Lent

I will preface this by sharing with you what I said to one of my friends last night: "This is America. Everyone's allowed to have an opinion, even if it is completely unfounded." Do I really believe this? No. Do I have an unfounded opinion that I believe it is my right to share? To quote another American: "You betcha!"

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm reading a book set in India. I once ran out of an Indian literature class. Of course, that was unrelated to the literature and more related to the fact that I thought I was going to throw up on my neighbor, but that class did make uncomfortable. We mostly read Salman Rushdie but our professor (Indian himself) also wisely informed us in Indian history and culture. We watched a movie called Earth that is a deeply disturbing, but beautiful movie about a group of friends affected by the partition of India in 1947. It is graphic enough to shock a room full of college students into caring about the subject matter they were studying. India is not only Bollywood. I will never, ever forget the image of a train filled with murdered people.

I know I'm getting a little heavy, but this class broadened my world. I had never thought of India much. Now? I have my unfounded opinions. I want to see with my own eyes this place with its sweeping landscapes, unusual beauty, and crowded cities. I have thought a lot about partition and neighbors dragging each other into their streets to kill them only because of a little matter of religion (there is never a little matter of religion, I think gravely). And every time I pick up a book set in India I am a little afraid, a little nervous as I get acquainted with the characters. There is much potential in these characters (as in all of us) to be both very likeable and frighteningly capable of disturbing acts. And there's also bound to be some magical realism, which is why I keep picking up the books. I like magical realism, especially in adult books.

Today is Ash Wednesday. It is the beginning of my favorite Christian season. I like the act of giving up something, of fasting for a while before you get to say "Alleluia" again.

So I think that India is not so far from any of us, really, and that our world is getting ever more connected and we are able to identify with each other now more than ever before. There is a wealth of information (and misinformation, we must be careful) out there for us, and with books and movies and personal blogs and websites to go through there is no excuse for us to be so isolated. We were not created to be isolated. We were created to delve deeper, to understand, and, eventually, to come to an Alleluia together.

(This is my magical realism: the repetition of the Christian seasons.)

From the Wonderfully Obnoxious Cacophony of Family to Being Quiet at Home with the Dog

My family is often a seething organism of laughter and noise, as evidenced in this picture:



Contrary to the photographic evidence, I did not create the problem by talking. The problem was created by the tall young thing behind me, the one on the left with the smirk on his face. Are you ever too old to wrestle with your brother while taking family pictures? I begin to wonder...

On a related note, the above "young thing" and I had a long discussion Sunday about the difference between snark and irony. I contended that many of his comments were merely snarky and therefore unproductive and, however intelligent, easily disregarded. He contended that he did not care.

I am in another good place this evening.



Reading Clear Light of Day by Anita Desai. Blogging. Watching our dear president. (I do still like him so: "We cannot govern out of anger.")

And in case you were wondering, and to continue with the main theme of this blog:



Roxie is doing pretty well herself. She sends you greetings from the bed.

Here I Am Today

This is me, today.

I'm thinking about a lot of people today: my new friend, who is so much fun to learn about; an old friend who is so far away, but still takes the time to check in with me and ask how I am; a work friend who just found out he has cancer and will have surgery in three weeks; a friend who's getting married and is letting me help plan her day; my cool teenager brother who texts dorky old me to ask what I think; and others, so many others.

I'm thinking about my broken wrist and how little it really matters.

I'm thinking about republicans and muslims and homosexual people and am shocked by all of us, all of our fear and misunderstanding and hatred. And I am thinking about mercy and love and William Langland's words from around 1400: “All the wickedness in this world that man might work or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal in the sea.”

I'm thinking about the path that's led me to this place, here in the world, the paths I didn't take (by God's mercy) and the paths laid out before me and the people I love, and I am surprised again and again by our capacity to care for each other, to give each other exactly what we need, and to rise above the differences we have and the hardnesses we carry in our hearts.

I'm grateful today, and happy.

And hoping to live like this poem.

Because Poetry Is Like Pringles

You can't stop with just one.

"Distraction"
Michael Hannon

Why not kill everything, Lord Shiva wonders,
and makes a start, but gets distracted by a pair of orioles,
male and female, singing in the banana tree.

Published in Poetry East No. 60, Fall 2007.

Driving In the Dark And Goofy Dogs

I dreamed last night that I was driving home in a storm, and it was dark, and there was a lot of traffic. And I was the only car with my lights on. Do you think this has some deep Jungian significance?

And for something completely different? ChetArt's Etsy shop. Love these illustrations, especially this one:

Hopeful Romantic

No matter how many Valentine's Days alone, not matter how many years watching and not participating in the glory of spring, no matter how many nights curled up next to the dog, I am not lonely or upset. I am waiting, I am hibernating, I am ready, I am hopeful.

I am dreaming and reading classic literature and marking favorite poems and being endlessly, hopefully romantic. Because the love between two people, the truly romantic love, does exist and is beautiful, and I love seeing glimpses of it between people that I love in other ways: between my engaged friends, between friends who are creating a family together, between my parents who are still in love with their mates after all these years.

I remember it. I look forward to it. I am so happy to see it around me, to celebrate it today.

And I do celebrate love--the special love between two people, and I am glad that we humans have it. It is so beautiful.

Here's one of my favorite love poems, and I'm posting it in honor of couples who are trying, valiantly, and succeeding together in love. It's by E. E. Cummings, and its title is its first line:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                                     i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)