I recently read an article about a woman who began giving away her precious items, per the tradition of the Native American Lakota tribe. I can't remember where I read it, but it was fascinating because the items she gave away were not castoffs or unneeded trivial things. She gave away her favorite and most treasured items. What a concept!
When I read it I couldn't wrap my head around the idea. At first I thought it was a subtle idea of simplifying life by giving away clutter. But to give away the very finest things one owns? Wow. The premise was to give away something loved so that someone else could feel that love. I did some research on the Lakota Indians, and generosity is one of their four main tenets.
To try and understand, I tried to evaluate my most precious possessions, and sadly couldn't really come up with anything other than my children. Sure, there's photos of family and friends that I treasure, and always my stacks of books. In terms of heirlooms I don't have much: an unfinished quilt from my Grandma Bessie, a tiny little pair of leather crib shoes of #3, some drawings of birds that #2 made, and a couple of handmade items I made when my boys were little. That's it. And in reality, those are precious only to me. I could live without them. Strangely, that felt really good to realize.
It made me think of all the people out buying gifts right now, willing to stand in lines overnight to purchase a gift that may hold no sentiment to the recipient. Really, they are only giving 'stuff'. How to know if a gift has real meaning? If one followed the Lakota tradition of the "Giveaway", what if you gave something you loved to someone who stuck it into a drawer and never looked at it again? Or got any sense of what you gave them? Is that the point? That you simply don't know?
I once did an intricate embroidery stitched nautilus shell for a friend who collected shells. It wasn't cutesy at all, or tacky. It was based on an actual scientific drawing of the nautilus. It was classy! Ha. I had it framed for her. She smiled kindly and said a hearty thanks. A few years later, there it was, on a table at her garage sale. And yes, she charged me 25 cents for the frame (the embroidered piece was free with purchase, LOL). She must have forgotten (I can only hope) that I had given it to her. So I got it back with a sense of humor, but never forgot that I had labored for so many hours on it and that was a waste. Or was it?
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Lit, a memoir, by Mary Karr
Confession is one of the main tenets of Catholicism, and this memoir by Mary Karr seems to be both the confession and the penance she pays in her late conversion to Catholicism at the final third of the book.
Is there such a thing as being too honest? Karr confesses to her lifelong addiction to alcohol, and all the ugly events that occurred during her life because of her alcoholism. She's brutally honest, which takes a ton of guts, because I really couldn't stand her as I read it. She wrote this as a form of atonement to her son for her years of poor mothering and distance.
Essentially she had a tragic childhood filled with ugliness and pain. She longs to be a poet, to find a way to make magic with words and leave her mark on the world. But given that, she spends very little time discussing her actual development of poetry, instead she professes her love for the 'look' of poets: the starving artist, the tortured soul who is misunderstood and unappreciated, almost like she's reaching for the costume. It seems like she wants to join the poet's club rather than actually be a poet. Maybe her real gift is in this form of writing, the memoir. It's her third. She has no trouble with words in this respect.
She writes well, in a witty, self-deprecating way. She doesn't ask for sympathy or pity, and in many ways that would be hard to give. Is it wrong to say she's selfish and rude, when she's gone so far to be this honest? Because that's the impression she gives. She does have her conversion at the end, which I found a little bit offputting, because again she seems to want to join a club rather than really feel a spiritual connection. And yet she points out the all people have a spiritual need, and I do agree with that. But her roller coaster ride with finding sobriety makes her unpleasant and irritating. No doubt some of it had to do with the alcohol.
It's just very difficult to tolerate her reeling off stories of how often she drove drunk with her son in the car, how she avoided caring for her sick son, and how being alone with her child was boring and a chore. I don't get that, alcoholism or not. So many times she put him in danger, when she had the resources to get help and refused it. When counselors told her to count her blessings, she couldn't think of any: not the sweet little boy she had, nor the home, the loving husband, etc. When asked what she wanted in life, her answer was "more money". And while she complained about being judged unfairly, she was the most judgemental of all. It seems so out of touch.
In all, it was a good read in terms of learning about alcoholism and the recovery process. There were a few gems of wisdom in it, as when a counselor told her if she worries she will be judged, she should ask herself 'what do you base that on?' If she admits it's her own imagination and worry, than it has to be dismissed. She's repeatedly told to stop imagining what people think of her, and to realize that everyone is worrying about their own problems, not hers. All her worries about not measuring up or fitting in, which she used alcohol to mask, had to go in order for her to not feel the need for the alcohol.
I admire her candor, and respect her efforts to make amends. I don't agree with all her premises at the end, but I'm glad she got her life together.
Is there such a thing as being too honest? Karr confesses to her lifelong addiction to alcohol, and all the ugly events that occurred during her life because of her alcoholism. She's brutally honest, which takes a ton of guts, because I really couldn't stand her as I read it. She wrote this as a form of atonement to her son for her years of poor mothering and distance.
Essentially she had a tragic childhood filled with ugliness and pain. She longs to be a poet, to find a way to make magic with words and leave her mark on the world. But given that, she spends very little time discussing her actual development of poetry, instead she professes her love for the 'look' of poets: the starving artist, the tortured soul who is misunderstood and unappreciated, almost like she's reaching for the costume. It seems like she wants to join the poet's club rather than actually be a poet. Maybe her real gift is in this form of writing, the memoir. It's her third. She has no trouble with words in this respect.
She writes well, in a witty, self-deprecating way. She doesn't ask for sympathy or pity, and in many ways that would be hard to give. Is it wrong to say she's selfish and rude, when she's gone so far to be this honest? Because that's the impression she gives. She does have her conversion at the end, which I found a little bit offputting, because again she seems to want to join a club rather than really feel a spiritual connection. And yet she points out the all people have a spiritual need, and I do agree with that. But her roller coaster ride with finding sobriety makes her unpleasant and irritating. No doubt some of it had to do with the alcohol.
It's just very difficult to tolerate her reeling off stories of how often she drove drunk with her son in the car, how she avoided caring for her sick son, and how being alone with her child was boring and a chore. I don't get that, alcoholism or not. So many times she put him in danger, when she had the resources to get help and refused it. When counselors told her to count her blessings, she couldn't think of any: not the sweet little boy she had, nor the home, the loving husband, etc. When asked what she wanted in life, her answer was "more money". And while she complained about being judged unfairly, she was the most judgemental of all. It seems so out of touch.
In all, it was a good read in terms of learning about alcoholism and the recovery process. There were a few gems of wisdom in it, as when a counselor told her if she worries she will be judged, she should ask herself 'what do you base that on?' If she admits it's her own imagination and worry, than it has to be dismissed. She's repeatedly told to stop imagining what people think of her, and to realize that everyone is worrying about their own problems, not hers. All her worries about not measuring up or fitting in, which she used alcohol to mask, had to go in order for her to not feel the need for the alcohol.
I admire her candor, and respect her efforts to make amends. I don't agree with all her premises at the end, but I'm glad she got her life together.
In the Wake, Per Petterson
In the Wake by Per Petterson...
I'm sleep walking today as I ended up sucked into this book all night long and ended up with maybe an hour of sleep. A sleep filled with images from the book. Which is really appropriate given that I'm in a similar state to the main character of this book, Arvid.
"Wake" can refer to three things, and all are fitting for this novel by the Norwegian writer Petterson. First, it can mean wake as in not asleep, awake: which is something that happens fairly rarely as the protagonist is sleepwalking through his days haunted by both memories and dreams that seem to keep him out of a fully awake coherent state. It can also mean a vigil held over a corpse before burial, and this fits too: the main character has lost most of his family to tragedy at sea and the remainder of them to divorce and an attempted suicide. He is unable to bury his family, so to speak, as his memories of his father keep pressing at him. Lastly, wake can represent the wave that spreads behind a boat, or the consequences of an event (what is left behind spinning out of control). This again fits as the tragedy at sea is from a burning ship.
All of these forms of "wake" fit into the puzzle of the novel without being overly clever or trite. The character Arvid is complex, and Petterson fills him out into a human that fascinates me yet still leaves me questions unanswered.
For one thing, there's no seeming explanation for the distance from Arvid and his brother throughout their childhood, both emotionally and geographically. Additionally, his relationship with his father seems based on pleasing his Dad even to the point of his own suffering. What does he get out of that? He doesn't seem to care for his Dad, and acknowledges in several places that at his father's many requests, he could have declined at any time. He didn't. He pushed himself to live up to his father's expectations, and yet seemed to have no discernable love for him. Towards the end he concludes that if he knew some of his father's own struggles, revealed after his death, it might have made him closer to him in life.
Another big question for me was why, after his divorce, did he spend so little time with his daughters? He mentions that maybe he's had enough of family and family connections, yet he chides his suicidal brother for not considering what his son would have felt had his suicide succeeded. Throughout the book Arvid goes through his fog of memories (literal fog too) and nearly kills himself numerous times in different ways, albeit without the conscious decision. I wonder if he intentionally tried to dissolve his own role as father so as not to traumatize his daughters with his own death, one that seems lurking behind every corner.
I really liked this book, and the character is someone I could see having coffee with. It asserts that everyone grieves differently (no kidding) but also that grief never fades. It may move into another corner of the mind, as if in a spare room with the door shut, but it is still in residence.
One thing that sort of rattled me was that this book was a translation from Norwegian, and there were a few phrases that seemed really out of whack. I know nothing of language or translation, but I'm curious if that was an intention of the author or a glitch in the translation.
I'm sleep walking today as I ended up sucked into this book all night long and ended up with maybe an hour of sleep. A sleep filled with images from the book. Which is really appropriate given that I'm in a similar state to the main character of this book, Arvid.
"Wake" can refer to three things, and all are fitting for this novel by the Norwegian writer Petterson. First, it can mean wake as in not asleep, awake: which is something that happens fairly rarely as the protagonist is sleepwalking through his days haunted by both memories and dreams that seem to keep him out of a fully awake coherent state. It can also mean a vigil held over a corpse before burial, and this fits too: the main character has lost most of his family to tragedy at sea and the remainder of them to divorce and an attempted suicide. He is unable to bury his family, so to speak, as his memories of his father keep pressing at him. Lastly, wake can represent the wave that spreads behind a boat, or the consequences of an event (what is left behind spinning out of control). This again fits as the tragedy at sea is from a burning ship.
All of these forms of "wake" fit into the puzzle of the novel without being overly clever or trite. The character Arvid is complex, and Petterson fills him out into a human that fascinates me yet still leaves me questions unanswered.
For one thing, there's no seeming explanation for the distance from Arvid and his brother throughout their childhood, both emotionally and geographically. Additionally, his relationship with his father seems based on pleasing his Dad even to the point of his own suffering. What does he get out of that? He doesn't seem to care for his Dad, and acknowledges in several places that at his father's many requests, he could have declined at any time. He didn't. He pushed himself to live up to his father's expectations, and yet seemed to have no discernable love for him. Towards the end he concludes that if he knew some of his father's own struggles, revealed after his death, it might have made him closer to him in life.
Another big question for me was why, after his divorce, did he spend so little time with his daughters? He mentions that maybe he's had enough of family and family connections, yet he chides his suicidal brother for not considering what his son would have felt had his suicide succeeded. Throughout the book Arvid goes through his fog of memories (literal fog too) and nearly kills himself numerous times in different ways, albeit without the conscious decision. I wonder if he intentionally tried to dissolve his own role as father so as not to traumatize his daughters with his own death, one that seems lurking behind every corner.
I really liked this book, and the character is someone I could see having coffee with. It asserts that everyone grieves differently (no kidding) but also that grief never fades. It may move into another corner of the mind, as if in a spare room with the door shut, but it is still in residence.
One thing that sort of rattled me was that this book was a translation from Norwegian, and there were a few phrases that seemed really out of whack. I know nothing of language or translation, but I'm curious if that was an intention of the author or a glitch in the translation.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
New Books, New Treasures!
Some new goodies to keep me warm in winter:
Shyness and Dignity by Dag Stolstad
In the Wake, and To Siberia by Per Petterson
The Kindly Ones by Littell
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Barbery
Lit by Mary Karr
My Mother Never Dies by Castillon
The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard
Guardains of Being by Tolle
also four by Lawrence Durrell (Greece)
and for Baby 3:
The Cat at Night (based on a rave by Dave Eggers)
Harold and the Purple Crayon (ditto)
Katy No Pocket
Angus Lost
Jesse-Bear, What Will You Wear?
David Smells
YAY!
Shyness and Dignity by Dag Stolstad
In the Wake, and To Siberia by Per Petterson
The Kindly Ones by Littell
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Barbery
Lit by Mary Karr
My Mother Never Dies by Castillon
The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard
Guardains of Being by Tolle
also four by Lawrence Durrell (Greece)
and for Baby 3:
The Cat at Night (based on a rave by Dave Eggers)
Harold and the Purple Crayon (ditto)
Katy No Pocket
Angus Lost
Jesse-Bear, What Will You Wear?
David Smells
YAY!
Being Choosy
"Sometimes it takes the darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn that anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you"
David Whyte
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Tennessee Williams quotes
I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.
******
A high station in life is earned by the gallantry with which appalling experiences are survived with grace.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
This and that...
The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
How is it that no other news organization addresses this stuff? Last night he points out how Fox News and Hannity knowingly used footage from a two month old political event and said it was from earlier in the day. Isn’t that significant? Years ago Cokie Roberts and her news organization (I think it was CBS) was heavily chastised for her standing in front of a green screen and saying “from the White House” instead of actually being there. This is much more problematic in that Fox was trying to show “overwhelming opposition” to health care reform that didn’t exist.
Monday’s show had similar complaints about the health care debate, with Rep. Victoria Foxx stated that the health care bill is “an exercise in the tyranny of the majority”. What? I had to TIVO back to see what she said. Isn’t popular vote a fundamental democratic principle? Does she prefer a ‘tyranny of the minority’? Is it that people who want health care are tyrants? I realize most of this is an exercise in futility but it just seems like such foolishness and scare tactics.
Along the same note, I had internet issues over the weekend and had to wait for Tuesday for a repairman. He shows on time, which should have been a clue that something was amiss. He comes in and first says “Coffee smells good” so of course I offer him some. Then he insists he needs to see every room and their phone jacks, including the bathrooms? The whole time he walks around he is just staring at everything…books on shelves (turning his head to see titles which I do too at people’s houses but more subtly), food in cabinets, just continual eye roving. X says he was looking for wiring issues but I thought he was prowling. Anyway, he mentions he just moved to our town and I asked him if he likes it, and he responds “we feel so blessed”. Oh. Just that one word and his intonation “blessed” and I knew him by heart. Fundamental redneck conservative. And as if reading my thoughts, he said, completely out of nowhere, “it’s so sad that Obama is going to turn us all into Socialists.” LOL WHAT? I ignore him and X giggles a little because he knows I’m annoyed. I go and do my passive aggressive bit by putting on the TIVO with an episode of Jon Stewart, loud, because I really have nothing to say to him and I don’t want to irritate him because he’s IN MY HOUSE and staring at our stuff. Funny thing (or not?) is that when he repairs it, our internet speeds seems slower than before. Coincidence? I think not.
It's just so completely wrong that health care is such an issue, it seems so fundamental. My brother is terribly sick and he can't even get a second opinion on his health issues because he can't afford it. Without children he can't qualify for some of the low income programs. He has no income and no options.
Watched STATE OF PLAY last night with X. Pretty good flick. It was pretty tightly done, lots of suspense, until at the end they had to throw in one more twist that just was too much, made it seem kind of silly. Worth the time though. I laughed when Russell Crowe’s snarky reporter says sarcastically “I have to read a few blogs before I can form an opinion on that.”
Started a new book today Coppola: A Pediatric Surgeon in Iraq. I was sent an advance copy to review before it is officially released. So far, I like it. I don’t want to cry though. Somehow I have enough trouble with the words pediatric and surgeon, adding in Iraq tells me there may be tears. I am such a marshmallow lately.
Played a bit of tourist today just for fun. X had an appointment in San Luis Obispo so we hit the park with baby, as well as the pier at Pismo Beach, the Monarch Grove, and out to lunch. Sort of refreshing to be at the beach, I don’t know why we don’t go more. It’s right there and so often we forget how great it is.
Big news in the yard: we had a Stellar blue jay visiting one of the oak trees. Not a local, unless something is up with his habitat and he’s looking for new digs. Usually the furthest south I’ve seen them has been Atascadero or in the Los Padres Forest. But he was behind the garage, scaring the regular birds to death and grabbing up all the peanuts we tossed on the garage roof. I hope he stays. He’s very handsome. We might call him Spike. And the Ring Tail Dove count this morning, at 7:am, was 52 at just one location. They are eating us out of house and home. A few years ago it was a big deal to see one or two of them around here.
X just brought me an ice cold beer. Tecate. Nice. End of grumbling.
How is it that no other news organization addresses this stuff? Last night he points out how Fox News and Hannity knowingly used footage from a two month old political event and said it was from earlier in the day. Isn’t that significant? Years ago Cokie Roberts and her news organization (I think it was CBS) was heavily chastised for her standing in front of a green screen and saying “from the White House” instead of actually being there. This is much more problematic in that Fox was trying to show “overwhelming opposition” to health care reform that didn’t exist.
Monday’s show had similar complaints about the health care debate, with Rep. Victoria Foxx stated that the health care bill is “an exercise in the tyranny of the majority”. What? I had to TIVO back to see what she said. Isn’t popular vote a fundamental democratic principle? Does she prefer a ‘tyranny of the minority’? Is it that people who want health care are tyrants? I realize most of this is an exercise in futility but it just seems like such foolishness and scare tactics.
Along the same note, I had internet issues over the weekend and had to wait for Tuesday for a repairman. He shows on time, which should have been a clue that something was amiss. He comes in and first says “Coffee smells good” so of course I offer him some. Then he insists he needs to see every room and their phone jacks, including the bathrooms? The whole time he walks around he is just staring at everything…books on shelves (turning his head to see titles which I do too at people’s houses but more subtly), food in cabinets, just continual eye roving. X says he was looking for wiring issues but I thought he was prowling. Anyway, he mentions he just moved to our town and I asked him if he likes it, and he responds “we feel so blessed”. Oh. Just that one word and his intonation “blessed” and I knew him by heart. Fundamental redneck conservative. And as if reading my thoughts, he said, completely out of nowhere, “it’s so sad that Obama is going to turn us all into Socialists.” LOL WHAT? I ignore him and X giggles a little because he knows I’m annoyed. I go and do my passive aggressive bit by putting on the TIVO with an episode of Jon Stewart, loud, because I really have nothing to say to him and I don’t want to irritate him because he’s IN MY HOUSE and staring at our stuff. Funny thing (or not?) is that when he repairs it, our internet speeds seems slower than before. Coincidence? I think not.
It's just so completely wrong that health care is such an issue, it seems so fundamental. My brother is terribly sick and he can't even get a second opinion on his health issues because he can't afford it. Without children he can't qualify for some of the low income programs. He has no income and no options.
Watched STATE OF PLAY last night with X. Pretty good flick. It was pretty tightly done, lots of suspense, until at the end they had to throw in one more twist that just was too much, made it seem kind of silly. Worth the time though. I laughed when Russell Crowe’s snarky reporter says sarcastically “I have to read a few blogs before I can form an opinion on that.”
Started a new book today Coppola: A Pediatric Surgeon in Iraq. I was sent an advance copy to review before it is officially released. So far, I like it. I don’t want to cry though. Somehow I have enough trouble with the words pediatric and surgeon, adding in Iraq tells me there may be tears. I am such a marshmallow lately.
Played a bit of tourist today just for fun. X had an appointment in San Luis Obispo so we hit the park with baby, as well as the pier at Pismo Beach, the Monarch Grove, and out to lunch. Sort of refreshing to be at the beach, I don’t know why we don’t go more. It’s right there and so often we forget how great it is.
Big news in the yard: we had a Stellar blue jay visiting one of the oak trees. Not a local, unless something is up with his habitat and he’s looking for new digs. Usually the furthest south I’ve seen them has been Atascadero or in the Los Padres Forest. But he was behind the garage, scaring the regular birds to death and grabbing up all the peanuts we tossed on the garage roof. I hope he stays. He’s very handsome. We might call him Spike. And the Ring Tail Dove count this morning, at 7:am, was 52 at just one location. They are eating us out of house and home. A few years ago it was a big deal to see one or two of them around here.
X just brought me an ice cold beer. Tecate. Nice. End of grumbling.
Marcus Aurelius
Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.
Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The History Teacher, Billy Collins
Trying to protect his students' innocence
he told them the Ice Age was really just
the Chilly Age, a period of a million years
when everyone had to wear sweaters.
And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,
named after the long driveways of the time.
The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more
than an outbreak of questions such as
"How far is it from here to Madrid?"
"What do you call the matador's hat?"
The War of the Roses took place in a garden,
and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom on Japan.
The children would leave his classroom
for the playground to torment the weak
and the smart,
mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,
while he gathered up his notes and walked home
past flower beds and white picket fences,
wondering if they would believe that soldiers
in the Boer War told long, rambling stories
designed to make the enemy nod off.
— Billy Collins, from Sailing Around the Room
he told them the Ice Age was really just
the Chilly Age, a period of a million years
when everyone had to wear sweaters.
And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,
named after the long driveways of the time.
The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more
than an outbreak of questions such as
"How far is it from here to Madrid?"
"What do you call the matador's hat?"
The War of the Roses took place in a garden,
and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom on Japan.
The children would leave his classroom
for the playground to torment the weak
and the smart,
mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,
while he gathered up his notes and walked home
past flower beds and white picket fences,
wondering if they would believe that soldiers
in the Boer War told long, rambling stories
designed to make the enemy nod off.
— Billy Collins, from Sailing Around the Room
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Billy the Kid, a film by Jennifer Venditti
http://www.billythekiddocumentary.com/ See the trailer here!
"I know I'm unique, but I won't let it go to my head," says Billy, the subject of this 2007 documentary by Jennifer Venditti. He has Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism, and the film follows him from home to school and into his first romance.
Son 2 hated it, he thought the movie "sucked the soul out of him", meaning the boy and the exposing of his condition and his personal wishes and dreams. Of course, he may have been referring to his own soul, as he quit the movie 2/3 the way through.
It was great in that it was enlightening without being preachy or offering false hopes; it was sad in that viewing it you realize he's not likely to achieve any of his dreams. The film was honest, they didn't sugarcoat the condition. In fact, at times it was brutal in that it showed that he was angry, self-absorbed and unreasonable. It seemed harsh that he opened his life to the camera and perpetua, could he have ever really consented to the invasion of his life? This movie will follow him whether he likes it or not. Will that be for the best? Or will they film a sequel, showing him ten years from now? That might work...
Significantly, no mention is made of the causes of Asperger's; although Billy himself reveals a compulsion to tell everyone about the absence of his biological father. Nurture vs. nature? His mom seemed genuinely open and real, incredibly patient.
It's a great film just to use to discuss how all of us have dreams and fears and misplaced hopes, and we all have situations to face that test us. Great flick!
"I know I'm unique, but I won't let it go to my head," says Billy, the subject of this 2007 documentary by Jennifer Venditti. He has Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism, and the film follows him from home to school and into his first romance.
Son 2 hated it, he thought the movie "sucked the soul out of him", meaning the boy and the exposing of his condition and his personal wishes and dreams. Of course, he may have been referring to his own soul, as he quit the movie 2/3 the way through.
It was great in that it was enlightening without being preachy or offering false hopes; it was sad in that viewing it you realize he's not likely to achieve any of his dreams. The film was honest, they didn't sugarcoat the condition. In fact, at times it was brutal in that it showed that he was angry, self-absorbed and unreasonable. It seemed harsh that he opened his life to the camera and perpetua, could he have ever really consented to the invasion of his life? This movie will follow him whether he likes it or not. Will that be for the best? Or will they film a sequel, showing him ten years from now? That might work...
Significantly, no mention is made of the causes of Asperger's; although Billy himself reveals a compulsion to tell everyone about the absence of his biological father. Nurture vs. nature? His mom seemed genuinely open and real, incredibly patient.
It's a great film just to use to discuss how all of us have dreams and fears and misplaced hopes, and we all have situations to face that test us. Great flick!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Scission, Tim Winton short stories
Thanks to an online friend in Australia, I have a link to some hard to find Winton novels to complete my collection. Yay!
Scission came in the mail today. It's his first collection of short stories, before he was ever on the map. It's seriously wonderful. I haven't read it all, but the stories I've read so far are amazing and complex, even though the longest are only five or six pages.
"Wake", my favorite so far, has had me transfixed while I read it three times over this afternoon. It is so nuanced, so subtle. It appears to be the story of an abandoned husband, and you'd think that if you just breezed through the story. But upon reading it again, clues are found to show that there's much more to it. While the wife never appears, Winton manages to make her so visible by how the husband behaves. The things he does while she's gone, and more importantly, the things he doesn't do. I had put it down after the second time, then about an hour later I remembered something from it and had to retrieve it once more. On the third go around, yep, there's still more to it! Wow.
The lesson from this afternoon was to savor this collection slowly. Not to rush through and miss the details that turn the story inside out. Kind of like life?
Scission came in the mail today. It's his first collection of short stories, before he was ever on the map. It's seriously wonderful. I haven't read it all, but the stories I've read so far are amazing and complex, even though the longest are only five or six pages.
"Wake", my favorite so far, has had me transfixed while I read it three times over this afternoon. It is so nuanced, so subtle. It appears to be the story of an abandoned husband, and you'd think that if you just breezed through the story. But upon reading it again, clues are found to show that there's much more to it. While the wife never appears, Winton manages to make her so visible by how the husband behaves. The things he does while she's gone, and more importantly, the things he doesn't do. I had put it down after the second time, then about an hour later I remembered something from it and had to retrieve it once more. On the third go around, yep, there's still more to it! Wow.
The lesson from this afternoon was to savor this collection slowly. Not to rush through and miss the details that turn the story inside out. Kind of like life?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Shawshank Redemption and Body of Lies, two movie treats!
I normally don't have the concentration required to watch an entire movie in one sitting, but this week I managed two.
The Shawshank Redemption, written by Stephen King, is a pretty horrifying prison story. It was edited for TV so I imagine unedited it would have been brutal. In any case, King can tell a story like no one else. If only for watching Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman interact, it's worth watching. It had an ending none of us could predict, and we were all left in awe. If you watch it, consider what subterfuge and the art of distraction has to do with it.
Body of Lies, starring Leo DiCaprio and Russell Crowe. They make Crowe look heavy, grey, and old and damn if he doesn't still look good. What seemed amazing though, was how he completely became another person. Ten minutes into this thriller, you forget he's acting and he simply becomes Ed Hoffman with irritating tics and mannerisms. I think I know why this bombed in theatres, I don't think people really want to think that hard about what is going on in the Middle East. This too had an unexpected ending and the whole viewing had us guessing for what would play out (and we were all wrong too). Great movie. Sadly, I seem to be getting to be less frightened of violence, as long as it's movie violence and not reality.
Both movies were thinking films, and I plan to rent State of Play next.
The Shawshank Redemption, written by Stephen King, is a pretty horrifying prison story. It was edited for TV so I imagine unedited it would have been brutal. In any case, King can tell a story like no one else. If only for watching Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman interact, it's worth watching. It had an ending none of us could predict, and we were all left in awe. If you watch it, consider what subterfuge and the art of distraction has to do with it.
Body of Lies, starring Leo DiCaprio and Russell Crowe. They make Crowe look heavy, grey, and old and damn if he doesn't still look good. What seemed amazing though, was how he completely became another person. Ten minutes into this thriller, you forget he's acting and he simply becomes Ed Hoffman with irritating tics and mannerisms. I think I know why this bombed in theatres, I don't think people really want to think that hard about what is going on in the Middle East. This too had an unexpected ending and the whole viewing had us guessing for what would play out (and we were all wrong too). Great movie. Sadly, I seem to be getting to be less frightened of violence, as long as it's movie violence and not reality.
Both movies were thinking films, and I plan to rent State of Play next.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I may be wrong...
I think I'm wrong. I said two posts ago that it shouldn't matter what an author's personal beliefs or actions are if they are writing fiction and the tale itself is enjoyable. Yet the more I think about Hamsun, from what I learned in the paper today, I can't help but feel cheated.
The subject is just too complicated to give a decisive answer to....
I know as a kid not being allowed to read Sylvia Plath because she had committed suicide. But then when I did read her as an adult, my mind kept going back to what she had done and colored it all differently.
I don't know what I think!
The subject is just too complicated to give a decisive answer to....
I know as a kid not being allowed to read Sylvia Plath because she had committed suicide. But then when I did read her as an adult, my mind kept going back to what she had done and colored it all differently.
I don't know what I think!
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
This book came out ages ago and I've finally got around to reading it. I really loved Middlesex by the same author, so I had pretty high expectations.
The story didn't disappoint, but it was a quicker, shallower read than I had expected. The premise is the suicides of five sisters in the span of a year. That's not a spoiler, it's pretty much on the blurbs and explained in the first chapter. What it deals with is the relics of their life and what significance they carried and attempts to find a connection between their external lives with their disturbed (obviously?) interiors. Learning the personalities of each girl is interesting, and more fascinating is the pull these sisters exerted on every young man around.
Two things bugged me about the book, and I'm thinking maybe that's what Eugenides had in mind. First, he doesn't explain much about why the parents behaved the way they did, and how that could have influenced the girls. Maybe by not delving into that he's challenging the thought of 'nurture' being to blame when children are dysfunctional? It seemed the most obvious direction to head in examining why it all happened, but he doesn't go there directly. By not mentioning their influence, and then not offering any other explanation, is he trying to place all the blame on the indirectly?
The other unexplained (I'm sure on purpose!) aspect was who made up the "we" that serves as the narrator of the story. It's clearly a pack of boys who are fascinated by the whole tragedy, but who was their voice or was it a compilation of all of them?
The story didn't disappoint, but it was a quicker, shallower read than I had expected. The premise is the suicides of five sisters in the span of a year. That's not a spoiler, it's pretty much on the blurbs and explained in the first chapter. What it deals with is the relics of their life and what significance they carried and attempts to find a connection between their external lives with their disturbed (obviously?) interiors. Learning the personalities of each girl is interesting, and more fascinating is the pull these sisters exerted on every young man around.
Two things bugged me about the book, and I'm thinking maybe that's what Eugenides had in mind. First, he doesn't explain much about why the parents behaved the way they did, and how that could have influenced the girls. Maybe by not delving into that he's challenging the thought of 'nurture' being to blame when children are dysfunctional? It seemed the most obvious direction to head in examining why it all happened, but he doesn't go there directly. By not mentioning their influence, and then not offering any other explanation, is he trying to place all the blame on the indirectly?
The other unexplained (I'm sure on purpose!) aspect was who made up the "we" that serves as the narrator of the story. It's clearly a pack of boys who are fascinated by the whole tragedy, but who was their voice or was it a compilation of all of them?
Los Angeles Times article on Knut Hamsun
Today's Times:
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/arts/la-ca-knut-hamsun25-2009oct25,0,5345383.story
Fascinating and a bit disconcerting....I wonder how much of what you enjoy about an author is affected by what you know of his personality off the pages? Does knowing that a favorite author was a Nazi sympathizer change things? It has to, to some extent. That Hamsun sent his Nobel Prize for Literature to Goebbels in tribute? Ick.
"Here, one imagines, {Zcaron}agar is pointing not to Kolloen, who doesn't shy away from Hamsun's most dangerous impulses, but to the type of critic who has sought to pry the accomplishments of "Hunger" from the moral failings of its creator. The same impulse can be found in recent writings on Ezra Pound and Louis-Ferdinand Celine: a separation undertaken not necessarily in the name of postmodernism -- the "reclaiming" of the text -- but simply because it makes it easier on the reader. Such a strategy belies the challenges of any of these writers: to see them whole, their lives and work as part of the same continuum, which makes for an uncomfortably complicated moral and aesthetic response.
In this way, "The Dark Side of Literary Brilliance" and "Dreamer and Dissenter" are daring, frightening books. What if instead of attempting to separate Hamsun's politics and his art, Kolloen and {Zcaron}agar seem to be hinting, we took it for granted that the two were inextricably intertwined -- that one would never have been possible without the other? Where would we be then?"
I'd never really thought of this before. I really don't think I would have enjoyed Hunger as much if I had known this information before. Much less Growth of the Soil, a favorite of mine, in view of what I know now. It definitely changes things. But do I have to dismiss them completely?
An author's personal life obviously affects what they write, but is it necessary to be examined in concert with their work? If someone wants to read Hemingway, should they have to review a biography first? Of course not, because their personal feelings might bias them against accepting the work as is. Does an author need to even divulge their personal views? Do they have to be that open or are they allowed a degree of privacy? Obviously Hamsun was public in his viewpoints, so considering what he said and did is open to discussion, but is it vital to understanding the actual writing? I don't think so...if it's fiction. If it was his personal bio I'd be unlikely to pick it up, but as long as it's a 'story' I don't have a problem with reading his words.
If I read of an author who liked to stomp kittens or shoot at birds, yes, I'd avoid them for sure. But could they still tell a story? Their writing has to be separate from their lives, because who knows what people really are? Should have an author have to manipulate their personal information to avoid exposure for what might be deemed unappealing by whatever demographic they appeal to? It reminds me of the James Frey disaster on Oprah...his story appealed to so many until it was discovered to be fictional rather than autobiographical. He would likely have found success with a fictional offering. The fact he was a confessed liar changed it all, but should it have? It was an interesting read regardless.
It seems timely that today's paper addressed the Hamsun issue as well as more of the Roman Polanski drama. Is he less of a visionary director because of his personal life and all the nasty allegations? To me it's easy to separate the two aspects of his personal and professional life. Do I like him? No. Should he be punished? Absolutely. Does that make his work trash? I don't think so. I'll never pay for a biography but I may just rent The Pianist.
X is currently reading a collection of Oscar Wilde, a compilation of most of his work and a biography and interviews all in one. He's learned that Wilde was in many ways a jerk: selfish and arrogant among other things. But in spite of all that, the short stories are amazingly funny and spot-on in reality. His personal life explains much of it, but is not necessary to enjoy the stories themselves. X keeps trying to juxtapose the differences, but why? Why not accept it as is?
What about an author whose personal life is public before they write? Would anyone take a Paris Hilton novel seriously? Not a chance. But does that mean an unknown author who just appeared out of nowhere is somehow more legitimate or more morally acceptable (until proven otherwise)?
I think I'll use a pseudonym if I ever get published. I'll make up a really pretty name (Rainn?) and photoshop my picture for the blurb to look intelligent and approachable (and thin and pretty!), and maybe even make up a really happy biography ("lives with her thirteen cats").
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/arts/la-ca-knut-hamsun25-2009oct25,0,5345383.story
Fascinating and a bit disconcerting....I wonder how much of what you enjoy about an author is affected by what you know of his personality off the pages? Does knowing that a favorite author was a Nazi sympathizer change things? It has to, to some extent. That Hamsun sent his Nobel Prize for Literature to Goebbels in tribute? Ick.
"Here, one imagines, {Zcaron}agar is pointing not to Kolloen, who doesn't shy away from Hamsun's most dangerous impulses, but to the type of critic who has sought to pry the accomplishments of "Hunger" from the moral failings of its creator. The same impulse can be found in recent writings on Ezra Pound and Louis-Ferdinand Celine: a separation undertaken not necessarily in the name of postmodernism -- the "reclaiming" of the text -- but simply because it makes it easier on the reader. Such a strategy belies the challenges of any of these writers: to see them whole, their lives and work as part of the same continuum, which makes for an uncomfortably complicated moral and aesthetic response.
In this way, "The Dark Side of Literary Brilliance" and "Dreamer and Dissenter" are daring, frightening books. What if instead of attempting to separate Hamsun's politics and his art, Kolloen and {Zcaron}agar seem to be hinting, we took it for granted that the two were inextricably intertwined -- that one would never have been possible without the other? Where would we be then?"
I'd never really thought of this before. I really don't think I would have enjoyed Hunger as much if I had known this information before. Much less Growth of the Soil, a favorite of mine, in view of what I know now. It definitely changes things. But do I have to dismiss them completely?
An author's personal life obviously affects what they write, but is it necessary to be examined in concert with their work? If someone wants to read Hemingway, should they have to review a biography first? Of course not, because their personal feelings might bias them against accepting the work as is. Does an author need to even divulge their personal views? Do they have to be that open or are they allowed a degree of privacy? Obviously Hamsun was public in his viewpoints, so considering what he said and did is open to discussion, but is it vital to understanding the actual writing? I don't think so...if it's fiction. If it was his personal bio I'd be unlikely to pick it up, but as long as it's a 'story' I don't have a problem with reading his words.
If I read of an author who liked to stomp kittens or shoot at birds, yes, I'd avoid them for sure. But could they still tell a story? Their writing has to be separate from their lives, because who knows what people really are? Should have an author have to manipulate their personal information to avoid exposure for what might be deemed unappealing by whatever demographic they appeal to? It reminds me of the James Frey disaster on Oprah...his story appealed to so many until it was discovered to be fictional rather than autobiographical. He would likely have found success with a fictional offering. The fact he was a confessed liar changed it all, but should it have? It was an interesting read regardless.
It seems timely that today's paper addressed the Hamsun issue as well as more of the Roman Polanski drama. Is he less of a visionary director because of his personal life and all the nasty allegations? To me it's easy to separate the two aspects of his personal and professional life. Do I like him? No. Should he be punished? Absolutely. Does that make his work trash? I don't think so. I'll never pay for a biography but I may just rent The Pianist.
X is currently reading a collection of Oscar Wilde, a compilation of most of his work and a biography and interviews all in one. He's learned that Wilde was in many ways a jerk: selfish and arrogant among other things. But in spite of all that, the short stories are amazingly funny and spot-on in reality. His personal life explains much of it, but is not necessary to enjoy the stories themselves. X keeps trying to juxtapose the differences, but why? Why not accept it as is?
What about an author whose personal life is public before they write? Would anyone take a Paris Hilton novel seriously? Not a chance. But does that mean an unknown author who just appeared out of nowhere is somehow more legitimate or more morally acceptable (until proven otherwise)?
I think I'll use a pseudonym if I ever get published. I'll make up a really pretty name (Rainn?) and photoshop my picture for the blurb to look intelligent and approachable (and thin and pretty!), and maybe even make up a really happy biography ("lives with her thirteen cats").
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Blueback and Minimum of Two, a Tim Winton double play!
I had two Tim Winton books to enjoy this week, I felt rich! Better yet, I now have an Australian source who is going to look for the remaining Winton books to complete my collection at hopefully a cheaper price!
First off, Blueback. It is described as an adult fable. It deals with a single mom and her son on the Western Australia coastline. It was a short read and it disappointed. I loved the setup, but it dissolved into a rather preachy ecological lecture on global warming and the overharvesting of the ocean. I can't disagree, but felt it a bit pushy from one of my favorite authors. I couldn't figure out who he was trying to reach: is whaling still a problem in Australia? Or was he going for the women-who-poach-abalone demographic? Just sort of disappointing.
Minimum of Two was an ordinary paperback that I spent an ungodly amount of money on, as it is out of print. I feel like it needs its own safety deposit box. However, once I began I was not disappointed, it was flawless. It is similar to his collection of short stories, The Turning. But this selection is a bit different. All but two of the shorts deal with the same family, and as always he shows differing viewpoints of different events and times. It starts with a young boy dealing with his parents divorce, then the other stories are from the standpoint of the father at different points in his life: dating, newlywed, out of work, dealing with his father's illness, etc. They aren't in any chronological order, so it takes reading them all to see the complete story of the family. I like that there are gaps left unexplained so you can ponder what actually happened.
It's never a happily ever after story with Winton, and this too has it's sadness and poignancy. What I liked though was how, as I already know how fast life can change, as an individual I can only look back and forward in my own life. In this set of stories, I could see his life, backwards and forwards, and see what the main character couldn't see: all his options and choices and how they turned out. Great book!!!!
First off, Blueback. It is described as an adult fable. It deals with a single mom and her son on the Western Australia coastline. It was a short read and it disappointed. I loved the setup, but it dissolved into a rather preachy ecological lecture on global warming and the overharvesting of the ocean. I can't disagree, but felt it a bit pushy from one of my favorite authors. I couldn't figure out who he was trying to reach: is whaling still a problem in Australia? Or was he going for the women-who-poach-abalone demographic? Just sort of disappointing.
Minimum of Two was an ordinary paperback that I spent an ungodly amount of money on, as it is out of print. I feel like it needs its own safety deposit box. However, once I began I was not disappointed, it was flawless. It is similar to his collection of short stories, The Turning. But this selection is a bit different. All but two of the shorts deal with the same family, and as always he shows differing viewpoints of different events and times. It starts with a young boy dealing with his parents divorce, then the other stories are from the standpoint of the father at different points in his life: dating, newlywed, out of work, dealing with his father's illness, etc. They aren't in any chronological order, so it takes reading them all to see the complete story of the family. I like that there are gaps left unexplained so you can ponder what actually happened.
It's never a happily ever after story with Winton, and this too has it's sadness and poignancy. What I liked though was how, as I already know how fast life can change, as an individual I can only look back and forward in my own life. In this set of stories, I could see his life, backwards and forwards, and see what the main character couldn't see: all his options and choices and how they turned out. Great book!!!!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The Object of My Affection
About a year ago I was on vacation, trying to escape some dark times here at home. I felt strong and powerful for what I had been surviving, but at the same time I felt like much of it was surreal, like a bad TV movie. As I browsed shops and boutiques, I had this sense of needing a ‘souvenir’ to remind me of surviving such difficulties and remaining (somewhat) sane.
It was in one trendy little boutique just off State Street that I found a heavy stone with the word “Believe” intricately carved into it. It seemed to fit: I needed to believe in myself and believe in the idea of justice and moving on. I bought it and gave it a place of honor on my dresser. I remembered all of this yesterday as I was dusting the dresser: moving the lamp, my one perfume bottle, the assorted photographs, and the candy dish from my mom. As I picked up the rock, I realized with a start, that it was just a rock.
Not that I had attributed any powers to it other than a memory point; it certainly wasn’t my personal talisman. The word “Believe” seemed so insignificant and trivial for all that I had imagined it would mean to me. For one thing, I needed no souvenir, it’s not like I could ever forget. I knew I was strong without needing the rock to tell me so. And “believe”? Of course I believed in the future, isn’t that why I keep getting out of bed every day and moving forward?
It was there, next to the vacuum and with the dusting rag still in my hand that I realized, for all my intentions, I had been mistaken. That object, the silly gray rock with the blue granite veins swirling through, was something that pushed me backward. It pushed me back into remembering things I had hoped to leave behind in the effort of moving forward. It was just a rock. It now sits in a box on a closet shelf.
It was in one trendy little boutique just off State Street that I found a heavy stone with the word “Believe” intricately carved into it. It seemed to fit: I needed to believe in myself and believe in the idea of justice and moving on. I bought it and gave it a place of honor on my dresser. I remembered all of this yesterday as I was dusting the dresser: moving the lamp, my one perfume bottle, the assorted photographs, and the candy dish from my mom. As I picked up the rock, I realized with a start, that it was just a rock.
Not that I had attributed any powers to it other than a memory point; it certainly wasn’t my personal talisman. The word “Believe” seemed so insignificant and trivial for all that I had imagined it would mean to me. For one thing, I needed no souvenir, it’s not like I could ever forget. I knew I was strong without needing the rock to tell me so. And “believe”? Of course I believed in the future, isn’t that why I keep getting out of bed every day and moving forward?
It was there, next to the vacuum and with the dusting rag still in my hand that I realized, for all my intentions, I had been mistaken. That object, the silly gray rock with the blue granite veins swirling through, was something that pushed me backward. It pushed me back into remembering things I had hoped to leave behind in the effort of moving forward. It was just a rock. It now sits in a box on a closet shelf.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Names
Every time I drive the main drag in our little town, I get terribly annoyed by a sign for a small business: The Smoker’s Hut. Granted, most people have important things on their minds and probably don’t notice, and I do get annoyed at weird things. I have actually found myself irritated by a font in a sign, which is just wretched. Anyway, when I first saw the sign all I could think of was “Wow, a lot of thought went into that business name!” I mean, was The Smoker’s Shop or The Smoker’s Store already taken? What do they mean by Hut? Were they going military like a Quonset hut or more of a Caribbean tiki hut thing? I can picture them sitting around the office, throwing names around, and coming up with Smoker’s Hut! Brilliant! Someone should get a bonus!
I realize it’s trivial, but I can’t be the only one who notices names and what is clever or definitely not. As in, Ye Olde Medicine Shoppe, which is a local pharmacy chain. What were they thinking? Are they trying to tempt the customer with expired meds, or was it more of trying to reach the ‘where do we buy leeches’ demographic? And the old fashioned writing? Don’t evene gete me startede.
It’s not always annoyance: I really love it when there are cool business names: the Frog and Peach Pub in San Luis Obispo is an example. I love that name. I have no idea why. The combining of two unexpected elements? Maybe. The herb shop that is called Out of Thyme? Love it. The scrapbooking seller Rock Paper Scissors, or the paper supplier Papyrus? Great. The coffee shops Daily Grind and Higher Grounds? Again, much better than The Coffee Hut.
Along the same lines are commercials that are either painful or silly or both. Just for Men is selling a men’s hair coloring treatment that allows a man to look neither too old nor too young, by taking away just some of the gray…leaving a nice salt and pepper look. I ignored the commercial when it was on simply because I can’t imagine anyone who would give a damn, until the parting line had all of us laughing out loud. The spokesman gave a knowing wink and said “Now I look like I know what I’m doing, and I still can!” BWA HA HA!
Verizon also did a little touché commercial as a take on Apple’s “We have an app for that” logo by showing their phones and the catch phrase “we have a map for that” showing their superior coverage. Cool!
I usually agree that simple is better and less is more but in this case, clever always wins!
I realize it’s trivial, but I can’t be the only one who notices names and what is clever or definitely not. As in, Ye Olde Medicine Shoppe, which is a local pharmacy chain. What were they thinking? Are they trying to tempt the customer with expired meds, or was it more of trying to reach the ‘where do we buy leeches’ demographic? And the old fashioned writing? Don’t evene gete me startede.
It’s not always annoyance: I really love it when there are cool business names: the Frog and Peach Pub in San Luis Obispo is an example. I love that name. I have no idea why. The combining of two unexpected elements? Maybe. The herb shop that is called Out of Thyme? Love it. The scrapbooking seller Rock Paper Scissors, or the paper supplier Papyrus? Great. The coffee shops Daily Grind and Higher Grounds? Again, much better than The Coffee Hut.
Along the same lines are commercials that are either painful or silly or both. Just for Men is selling a men’s hair coloring treatment that allows a man to look neither too old nor too young, by taking away just some of the gray…leaving a nice salt and pepper look. I ignored the commercial when it was on simply because I can’t imagine anyone who would give a damn, until the parting line had all of us laughing out loud. The spokesman gave a knowing wink and said “Now I look like I know what I’m doing, and I still can!” BWA HA HA!
Verizon also did a little touché commercial as a take on Apple’s “We have an app for that” logo by showing their phones and the catch phrase “we have a map for that” showing their superior coverage. Cool!
I usually agree that simple is better and less is more but in this case, clever always wins!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The House, by Richard Wilbur
Sometimes, on waking, she would close her eyes
For a last look at that white house she knew
In a sleep alone, and held no title to,
And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.
What did she tell me of that house of hers?
White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;
A widow's walk above the bouldered shore;
Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.
Is she now there, whereve there may be?
Only a foolish man would hope to find
That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.
Night after night, my love, I put to sea.
Richard Wilbur, 31 August 09 New Yorker magazine
For a last look at that white house she knew
In a sleep alone, and held no title to,
And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.
What did she tell me of that house of hers?
White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;
A widow's walk above the bouldered shore;
Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.
Is she now there, whereve there may be?
Only a foolish man would hope to find
That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.
Night after night, my love, I put to sea.
Richard Wilbur, 31 August 09 New Yorker magazine
Friday, October 9, 2009
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