So my Italian classes are every Tuesday night in the Galleria. In the hidden corner between the old Macy's and Sacks Fifth Avenue. So today and last week, I decided to go explore the mall a bit. Have some grand adventures.
Get my watch batteries changed.
Buy a few things I need.
There are so many beautiful things in the shops. Rich fabrics, sparkling jewels, fragrant perfumes. And so many beautiful people walking around wearing what they've bought shops like these. I'm easily the least expensively turned out person I saw the entire time. I think even the girl in a tank top and running shorts spent more on those clothes, the sandals, and the make up and styling products than I did on my ensemble.
And the shop people can see that about me. I was looking for a pair of Ecco sandals I've seen on line, and would like to buy. Funny how busy all the sales people are when I walk by. If I stop and ask directly, "Excuse me, do you carry Ecco shoes?" They answer me, but it seems to be a great condescension on their part to do so.
Empty, futile, pointless little snobs.
I know it shouldn't bother me, but it's disheartening, a bit. I want to wear soft, luxurious, beautiful clothing, but I can't afford the quality my tastes lean towards, and a lot of that stuff only looks good on sticks. I am not a stick, and I've always been given reason to be happy with my, ahem, shape. :-P
I feel like screaming that the emperor has no clothes. The only person who I think would have understood was the hired pianist in the Nordstrom's, who played beautifully and seemed bored out of his skull. Bored enough to start his next song in tempo with the service phone ringing over the intercom. I was the only one who noticed, and he noticed my noticing, as I almost stopped dead and laughed aloud, moving on with just a stutter-step and a silent chuckle. Nordstrom's doesn't seem to be the place to laugh aloud.
I was even more unsettled as I wandered into the corner between the Ninfa's Express and the Coldstone. I was overcome by the memory of standing in just this spot watching a CNN report on il conclavo, the conclave, after the death of John Paul II. I remember crying a little for the Pope familiar to me from childhood. A man who, in spite of his authority, seemed gentle, thoughful, loving, and open. Deeply prayerful, quietly wise. I didn't know him personally, but he seemed so much warmer and more fatherly than Pope Benedict seems to me now. Tonight I wept again a little inside.
After a while I got sick of the whole charade, and found a quiet corner to read in before my class started. And I wept a little externally for the unfairness of it all. Have you BEEN to the Galleria lately? Versaci, Armani, Kenneth Cole. There are people in this world who go hungry while these beautiful people buy their beautiful clothes, and the shoe sales man in the casual shoe section, who seems lower in the totem pole than the man selling women's dress shoes, sneers at my request for a $70 pair of sandals.
I'm not an ascetic, and I'm not an activist, and I don't think any of the people in the Galleria are evil heartless bastards.
There's just so much I don't understand, and it doesn't seem right, and it overwhelms me sometimes.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Andy Roony is Always Spot On
I'm horking this from someone elses blog because it made me feel good this morning.
~~~~~
If you will take the time to read these. I promise you'll come away with n enlightened perspective. The subjects covered affect us all on a daily basis! They're written by Andy Rooney, a man who has the gift of saying so much with so few words. Enjoy.......
I've learned.... That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I've learned.... That when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned.... That just one person saying to me, 'You've made my day!' makes my day.
~~~~~
If you will take the time to read these. I promise you'll come away with n enlightened perspective. The subjects covered affect us all on a daily basis! They're written by Andy Rooney, a man who has the gift of saying so much with so few words. Enjoy.......
I've learned.... That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I've learned.... That when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned.... That just one person saying to me, 'You've made my day!' makes my day.
I've learned.... That having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned.... That being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned.... That you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I've learned.... That I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.
I've learned.... That no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
I've learned.... That sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
I've learned.... That simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
I've learned.... That life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
I've learned.... That we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we ask for.
I've learned.... That money doesn't buy class.
I've learned.... That it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
I've learned... That under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
I've learned.... That to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
I've learned.... That when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
I've learned.... That love, not time, heals all wounds.
I've learned.... That the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
I've learned.... That everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
I've learned.... That no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
I've learned... That life is tough, but I'm tougher.
I've learned.... That opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
I've learned.... That when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
I've learned.... That I wish I could have told my Mom that I love her one more time before she passed away.
I've learned.... That one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
I've learned.... That a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
I've learned.... That when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.
I've learned.... That everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.
I've learned.... That the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Soul-Making
I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. And just finished with the requisite sobbing my heart out. Oh, wait, not *quite* finished with that, apparently.
Book seven came in the mail today. I haven't even opened it. I didn't sleep well last night, and I promised myself I'd go to bed at a decent time tonight. Meaning, of course, right after I finish this blog. So I should probably leave it in its package.
Tomorrow I have my first Italian lesson, so I might take my book with me to read while I get myself some dinner in the Galeria food court and wait for my class to start.
Or, well, I still haven't seen the new movie. Didn't manage it this weekend. Maybe on Wednesday I'll go do that instead of hanging out at the Volcano. Even though I haven't played pool in forever. Who knows.
Somehow, this time as I read, Dumbledore's blue eyes became my father's. I saw Ruddygore on Sunday, and there's a song about a little flower that shelters under an oak tree until the tree is torn away.
That's how I feel right now. Five years after his death, these things remind me of him, and how he taught me and sheltered me and loved me.
And left me.
I'll be fine. Really I will. It's just... It never goes away.
A thought came to mind recently. Probably not original, but somehow it made sense. I was thinking about how this will never go away. It may smooth itself out, and become less jarring as the years continue to pass. It's already less acutely painful than it was. At least most of the time.
But it's not something I can eject from myself. I can't leave it behind, because it's now part of who I am. I can't live away from it. I can't live apart from it. I have to live through it, with it, around it.
And the image that came to mind was the grain of sand that becomes a pearl. How painful it must be at first. Sharp, jagged, a focused little dot of agony. And slowly time and faith and love and life begin to smooth it over, round it out. Sometimes it remains knobby and awkward, but maybe it can grow into a soft brilliance of perfection. Always lodged inside of me. It can't ever be comfortable.
But maybe it becomes a thing of incredible value and beauty. I've felt for a long time that Daddy's death wasn't something that had some absolute message, given to me from outside. I do believe in God, and I do believe he is here with me, and has a plan for me. But I do NOT believe that my God killed my father to open my blinded eyes, or to test my faith.
I do believe that God calls to me through this pain, though. And helps me to create my own meaning, gives me the strength and patience to slowly make my grief, and my father's death, something of worth. Something that happened not in vain. I'd still have rather it hadn't happened, of course.
But it did. And these things will happen. Life is as much about losing as it is about gaining. But you can turn the tables, gain a little with the loss, and you *can* beat the house, I believe.
And thinking of this brought me to one of those recurring ideas I have sometimes, and tend to bring here when I'm ready. The idea from John Keats' letter to George and Georgina Keats from February 14th to May 3rd of 1819. (You can tell I'm an English major. I always cite my source.) Keats' presents his ideas as an alternative to the Christian view, though the two aren't mutually exclusive. I've linked the entire letter above for anyone who's really curious, but I'll end with the essential passage, and leave you to ponder how this fits in with my pearls:
The common cognomen of this world among the misguided and superstitious is 'a vale of tears' from which we are to be redeemed by a certain arbitary interposition of God and taken to Heaven-What a little circumscribed straightened notion! Call the world if you Please "The vale of Soul-making". Then you will find out the use of the world (I am speaking now in the highest terms for human nature admitting it to be immortal which I will here take for granted for the purpose of showing a thought which has struck me concerning it) I say 'Soul making' Soul as distinguished from an Intelligence- There may be intelligences or sparks of the divinity in millions-but they are not Souls till they acquire identities, till each one is personally itself. I[n]telligences are atoms of perception-they know and they see and they are pure, in short they are God-How then are Souls to be made? How then arc these sparks which are God to have identity given them-so as ever to possess a bliss peculiar to each one's individual existence? How, but by the medium of a world like this?
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A Smaller Magic
I took a walk this evening, and on the way back I saw beautiful things.
A rainbow, brilliant, lurid, like a heavy brushstroke across the gray sky, with a secondary bow, fainter outside the arc like an accidental smudge.
Clouds, bulbous and creamy, dipping down from the sky like giant fingers dimpling the air below.
Quieter enchantments after the storm has torn the sky with dazzling forked light.
But that was on my way home, with my heart already thrilled by a beauty closer and smaller. Granted, I do see beauty in the strangest things.
The sun hung low in the sky as I walked along the bayou. A lone sunflower stood beside the path like an unabashed eye staring down passers-by like myself. I stopped to admire it, stooped to put my eyes on its level. The sunlight shone warm and golden on the tall grass, rising off of it in a scent of hay and honey. I shaded my eyes and looked out over the gleam of tall blades and slender stalks gilded by the sun’s midas touch.
And everywhere I caught more brilliant glints, like diamonds stretched to silken strands, woven amongst the grass. And everywhere, suspended in the grass, were small movements, scurryings, dippings and dancings. I stood up and leaned closer, examining the minute perfection of a spider’s web, with the spider still working furiously, rebuilding after the storm. I took a few more steps gazing across the grass into the sunlight, as it sparkled and waved over more webs, and more, and more.
Everywhere, as far as I could see, dime-sized, narrow, pale green spiders were spinning webs no bigger than dessert plates between the grass stalks. Everything glimmered and trembled, shaking in the slightest breeze, and shuddering under the lightest little eight-legged touch. For a quarter of a mile I walked, and never saw an end of those webs and weavers, glistening in the light of the setting sun.
I’ve never seen so many. It reminded me of fireflies in the evenings back home, when they’d light the brush and the trees like strands of sparkling lights. But this was a warmer, homier magic. A labor of survival made beautiful in the minute and fragile symmetry of every close-woven web.
Breath-taking.
And humbling.
A rainbow, brilliant, lurid, like a heavy brushstroke across the gray sky, with a secondary bow, fainter outside the arc like an accidental smudge.
Clouds, bulbous and creamy, dipping down from the sky like giant fingers dimpling the air below.
Quieter enchantments after the storm has torn the sky with dazzling forked light.
But that was on my way home, with my heart already thrilled by a beauty closer and smaller. Granted, I do see beauty in the strangest things.
The sun hung low in the sky as I walked along the bayou. A lone sunflower stood beside the path like an unabashed eye staring down passers-by like myself. I stopped to admire it, stooped to put my eyes on its level. The sunlight shone warm and golden on the tall grass, rising off of it in a scent of hay and honey. I shaded my eyes and looked out over the gleam of tall blades and slender stalks gilded by the sun’s midas touch.
And everywhere I caught more brilliant glints, like diamonds stretched to silken strands, woven amongst the grass. And everywhere, suspended in the grass, were small movements, scurryings, dippings and dancings. I stood up and leaned closer, examining the minute perfection of a spider’s web, with the spider still working furiously, rebuilding after the storm. I took a few more steps gazing across the grass into the sunlight, as it sparkled and waved over more webs, and more, and more.
Everywhere, as far as I could see, dime-sized, narrow, pale green spiders were spinning webs no bigger than dessert plates between the grass stalks. Everything glimmered and trembled, shaking in the slightest breeze, and shuddering under the lightest little eight-legged touch. For a quarter of a mile I walked, and never saw an end of those webs and weavers, glistening in the light of the setting sun.
I’ve never seen so many. It reminded me of fireflies in the evenings back home, when they’d light the brush and the trees like strands of sparkling lights. But this was a warmer, homier magic. A labor of survival made beautiful in the minute and fragile symmetry of every close-woven web.
Breath-taking.
And humbling.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Evening
The frogs are clacking
In the bayou
As the light fades.
The sparrows are done
Puffing and scuffling
In the dust by the road,
Shuffling their feathers
Into a deeper gray.
The sun has set,
The air is smooth and warm.
Evening has lain down
Beside the land.
Her head rests on the west,
Drifting softly into night.
In the bayou
As the light fades.
The sparrows are done
Puffing and scuffling
In the dust by the road,
Shuffling their feathers
Into a deeper gray.
The sun has set,
The air is smooth and warm.
Evening has lain down
Beside the land.
Her head rests on the west,
Drifting softly into night.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Like a Peach, Still
Still bruised. Got the blood work back, and Doc looked at my X-Rays.
X-Rays look good. Blood negative for indications of arthritis.
But my white blood cell count is high.
"Looks like you have an infection. Does your throat hurt again?"
"No. I don't feel bad at all."
"What's that on your face?"
"Um... Acne."
"What do you take for it?"
"Uh... I wash my face."
"Okay, well, I'm going to give you an antibiotic for the infection. It should help clear that up too."
(Yeah, right, for the two weeks I take it, *maybe*. I'll have gray hair before I shake this acne.)
"And we'll see you in two weeks. We'll take some more blood and..."
"Oh NO! Not again!"
"Well sweety I have to check..."
"Look!"
I rolled up my sleeve and showed the fairly entact remains of my 2" across bruise from LAST time.
"Oh, Lord. Well we'll... then... we'll just see how your doing in two weeks."
Sigh. So I have antibiotics and no answers. And an ergonomic keyboard.
And Firefly and Serenity DVDs.
X-Rays look good. Blood negative for indications of arthritis.
But my white blood cell count is high.
"Looks like you have an infection. Does your throat hurt again?"
"No. I don't feel bad at all."
"What's that on your face?"
"Um... Acne."
"What do you take for it?"
"Uh... I wash my face."
"Okay, well, I'm going to give you an antibiotic for the infection. It should help clear that up too."
(Yeah, right, for the two weeks I take it, *maybe*. I'll have gray hair before I shake this acne.)
"And we'll see you in two weeks. We'll take some more blood and..."
"Oh NO! Not again!"
"Well sweety I have to check..."
"Look!"
I rolled up my sleeve and showed the fairly entact remains of my 2" across bruise from LAST time.
"Oh, Lord. Well we'll... then... we'll just see how your doing in two weeks."
Sigh. So I have antibiotics and no answers. And an ergonomic keyboard.
And Firefly and Serenity DVDs.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Bob: March 1-July 9, 2007
My cup of Monday is officially full and running over. I got home from work and found out that my last Bob was indeed sick, and didn't make it through the day.
Since neither tank of Bobs lasted the guaranteed two years, I'll be sending away for free replacements. And I'll wait until the weather cools off before I try to hatch new ones.
But the apartment feels a little more lonely tonight.
Good bye, Bob. I'll miss you.
Since neither tank of Bobs lasted the guaranteed two years, I'll be sending away for free replacements. And I'll wait until the weather cools off before I try to hatch new ones.
But the apartment feels a little more lonely tonight.
Good bye, Bob. I'll miss you.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Dangers of a 20-year-old Sorority Girl's Bathroom
So, my elbows have gotten kinda dry and rough. So I'm visiting my Mom's place this weekend, where my kid sister is living over the summer. Hell, I figure, she must have some moisturizer around here somewhere.
So after my shower I root around under the sink, and pull out a bottle that looks promising. Yay! Moisturizer.
I fail to appreciate the full significance of "Luminous Body Moisturizer" until I squeeze out some innocuous looking, creamy lotion, and start rubbing it into my elbows and forearms.
Oh. It has...
Glitter.
Tiny flecks of gold glitter.
Not that there's anything wrong with being sparkly and "luminous." It just seems, I dunno, a bit *much* for Smitty's Market, the BBQ shop Mom and I are hitting for lunch. And now hands to elbows I'm covered in a light dusting of... luminous.
Eeeeeenteresting.
But it does seem to have softened my elbows.
And I smell good.
So after my shower I root around under the sink, and pull out a bottle that looks promising. Yay! Moisturizer.
I fail to appreciate the full significance of "Luminous Body Moisturizer" until I squeeze out some innocuous looking, creamy lotion, and start rubbing it into my elbows and forearms.
Oh. It has...
Glitter.
Tiny flecks of gold glitter.
Not that there's anything wrong with being sparkly and "luminous." It just seems, I dunno, a bit *much* for Smitty's Market, the BBQ shop Mom and I are hitting for lunch. And now hands to elbows I'm covered in a light dusting of... luminous.
Eeeeeenteresting.
But it does seem to have softened my elbows.
And I smell good.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Like a Peach
So, I had blood taken today. They're going to do an arthritis panel. I guess for rheumatoid arthritis.
*is skeered*
I didn't bruise as much as last time. But it's still a bit absurd.
The lab tech stuck the needle in, then snapped the vial into place and...
Nothing happened. There was that moment of, ummmm....
Then there was that moment where I could see her wondering, if she moved the needle around *reeeeeallly* surreptitiously, if *maybe* I wouldn't notice that she was fishing. Um, no. So she just fished. She never really got a good flow. It took forever to fill FOUR FREAKIN' VIALS.
I finally looked up, and said, "Oh yeah, I don't bleed."
She started lauging and said,
"Does this happen a lot?"
Ooooh yeah.
I also got x-rays. My bones are still all there, and that's about all I can tell. My finger bones are really little and narrow and pointy. They looked very sharp and poky.
I go back next Thursday to find out what's up.
*is skeered*
I didn't bruise as much as last time. But it's still a bit absurd.
The lab tech stuck the needle in, then snapped the vial into place and...
Nothing happened. There was that moment of, ummmm....
Then there was that moment where I could see her wondering, if she moved the needle around *reeeeeallly* surreptitiously, if *maybe* I wouldn't notice that she was fishing. Um, no. So she just fished. She never really got a good flow. It took forever to fill FOUR FREAKIN' VIALS.
I finally looked up, and said, "Oh yeah, I don't bleed."
She started lauging and said,
"Does this happen a lot?"
Ooooh yeah.
I also got x-rays. My bones are still all there, and that's about all I can tell. My finger bones are really little and narrow and pointy. They looked very sharp and poky.
I go back next Thursday to find out what's up.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Rough Night :-(
So I had a blazing headache this morning around 4:00AM.
So I got up and started drinking water. That usually helps.
This time it didn't.
At 4:45AM I finally went and took some Advil.
Oooooh no. Bad idea.
The doctor told me not to. I forgot. Until around 5:15AM.
When I was awakended by my stomach turning over.
And I bolted to the bathroom.
Well, that didn't last very long, that Advil.
And my stomach has been off and on all day.
It feels pretty bad right now, after being livable all day.
Oooooooooooooogh.
The moral of the story? Well, you can probably glean your own.
God, there's nothing I hate more than throwing up or feeling like I'm going to. :-(
So I got up and started drinking water. That usually helps.
This time it didn't.
At 4:45AM I finally went and took some Advil.
Oooooh no. Bad idea.
The doctor told me not to. I forgot. Until around 5:15AM.
When I was awakended by my stomach turning over.
And I bolted to the bathroom.
Well, that didn't last very long, that Advil.
And my stomach has been off and on all day.
It feels pretty bad right now, after being livable all day.
Oooooooooooooogh.
The moral of the story? Well, you can probably glean your own.
God, there's nothing I hate more than throwing up or feeling like I'm going to. :-(
Friday, June 29, 2007
No Bed for You!
I'd have to say that every fortune cookie fortune I've ever seen does indeed get funnier or at least takes on a new meaning when you add "in bed" to the end.
But today I got the one that doesn't. :-P It's a shame, it could *use* the extra meaning. It makes... NO sense. Wow. For your entertained bemusement, here it is:
No, really, that's *exactly* what it says.
No joke.
So, no, "Consolidate your interests while the lights are active in bed" makes no more sense, and is not really funny.
*shakes head in confusion*
But today I got the one that doesn't. :-P It's a shame, it could *use* the extra meaning. It makes... NO sense. Wow. For your entertained bemusement, here it is:
Consolidate your interest while the lights are active.
No, really, that's *exactly* what it says.
No joke.
So, no, "Consolidate your interests while the lights are active in bed" makes no more sense, and is not really funny.
*shakes head in confusion*
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My Dentist Recommends Yoga
Yeah, you read it right. :-P
During my regular cleaning, I told my dentist about the faint and non-localized jaw pain I've been having. After a careful check on the left side for cavities, he told me my hunch that I'd been clamping my jaw at night again was correct. I do that when I'm stressed.
He said there were definite signs. Not chipped teeth or extra bone growth, thankfully, which are two of the things that can happen. And I'm not having joint trouble like the other times this has gotten bad. But the signs are there.
You see, when you clamp your teeth, your tongue tenses up and flattens against the roof of your mouth, pressing against your teeth. If you do this often, the lactic acid can be trapped along the edges, discoloring and reforming the tissue.
"So my tongue is striped?"
"Yes, your tongue is striped. Actually, it's more like... your tongue is... fluted!"
"Scalloped?"
"Yes, scalloped."
"Huh!"
So he asked me if I'd ever done yoga, and thinks learning some physical relaxation techniques would really help the clenching. I'd actually been concidering it, so I think I'll look into getting some at home stuff, since my schedule is so erratic.
Especially because my jaw isn't the only thing I've been clenching.
I've been waking up with my hands balled into tight fists. And it's starting to really affect my typing and manual dexterity. My hands hurt, my wrists hurt, and sometimes my forearms hurt. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment tomorrow, I think. This blog is taking much longer than it should. And sadly, it will be the last one I write for a while.
I have made a resolution. No more blogs until at least Monday. No IMs over the weekend. No responding to e-mail unless it's a must. I'm really going to miss you guys. :-( But typing is how I make a living right now, and I need to save it for work until this gets better.
I hope to get this worked out soon. Until then...
Does anyone have a yoga mat I could borrow?
During my regular cleaning, I told my dentist about the faint and non-localized jaw pain I've been having. After a careful check on the left side for cavities, he told me my hunch that I'd been clamping my jaw at night again was correct. I do that when I'm stressed.
He said there were definite signs. Not chipped teeth or extra bone growth, thankfully, which are two of the things that can happen. And I'm not having joint trouble like the other times this has gotten bad. But the signs are there.
You see, when you clamp your teeth, your tongue tenses up and flattens against the roof of your mouth, pressing against your teeth. If you do this often, the lactic acid can be trapped along the edges, discoloring and reforming the tissue.
"So my tongue is striped?"
"Yes, your tongue is striped. Actually, it's more like... your tongue is... fluted!"
"Scalloped?"
"Yes, scalloped."
"Huh!"
So he asked me if I'd ever done yoga, and thinks learning some physical relaxation techniques would really help the clenching. I'd actually been concidering it, so I think I'll look into getting some at home stuff, since my schedule is so erratic.
Especially because my jaw isn't the only thing I've been clenching.
I've been waking up with my hands balled into tight fists. And it's starting to really affect my typing and manual dexterity. My hands hurt, my wrists hurt, and sometimes my forearms hurt. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment tomorrow, I think. This blog is taking much longer than it should. And sadly, it will be the last one I write for a while.
I have made a resolution. No more blogs until at least Monday. No IMs over the weekend. No responding to e-mail unless it's a must. I'm really going to miss you guys. :-( But typing is how I make a living right now, and I need to save it for work until this gets better.
I hope to get this worked out soon. Until then...
Does anyone have a yoga mat I could borrow?
Monday, June 18, 2007
It Loses Something in Translation
It's an interesting problem for a translator. It's an interesting problem for a journalist.
I was listening to NPR on the way home. They were doing a story on brick kilns in China that kidnapped laborers and worked below the radar as far as government regulations go. One farmer described how the polluted smoke would roll down the hillside from the kiln to his farm. He exclaimed, in the words of the translator:
"These companies, they have money and connections, they can pollute as much as they want. We don't have money or connections, and we get in trouble for polluting if we so much as break wind."
I found myself wondering if the term the farmer had used in Chinese was more equivalent to the very polite and somewhat picturesque "break wind" or if what he actually said was more along the lines of something coarse like "farted."
Now, it *really* doesn't matter. But it got me thinking. If the man had been speaking English, and had said "farted," would they have used the quip? It's not a bad word, but it's somewhat crude. And the tone of journalism on NPR is pretty high-brow (though I'm occasionally irritated by grammatical mistakes in their coverage).
If he's said it in English, and they *couldn't* use it, would they have paraphrased? Voiced over? What? Perhaps the person they were interviewing used a more polite term. Though I thought I heard a guffaw of the"Oh no he didn't" sort in the background. But since they had the opportunity to choose the English they would use, and didn't have to use someone's actual English words...
I'm just curious about how NPR handles/handled that. As a person interested in the problems of translation.
I was listening to NPR on the way home. They were doing a story on brick kilns in China that kidnapped laborers and worked below the radar as far as government regulations go. One farmer described how the polluted smoke would roll down the hillside from the kiln to his farm. He exclaimed, in the words of the translator:
"These companies, they have money and connections, they can pollute as much as they want. We don't have money or connections, and we get in trouble for polluting if we so much as break wind."
I found myself wondering if the term the farmer had used in Chinese was more equivalent to the very polite and somewhat picturesque "break wind" or if what he actually said was more along the lines of something coarse like "farted."
Now, it *really* doesn't matter. But it got me thinking. If the man had been speaking English, and had said "farted," would they have used the quip? It's not a bad word, but it's somewhat crude. And the tone of journalism on NPR is pretty high-brow (though I'm occasionally irritated by grammatical mistakes in their coverage).
If he's said it in English, and they *couldn't* use it, would they have paraphrased? Voiced over? What? Perhaps the person they were interviewing used a more polite term. Though I thought I heard a guffaw of the"Oh no he didn't" sort in the background. But since they had the opportunity to choose the English they would use, and didn't have to use someone's actual English words...
I'm just curious about how NPR handles/handled that. As a person interested in the problems of translation.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Happy Father's Day
Whew. Going to bed soon, so it's almost over. Most of the day was all right, really. But it had it's moments.
There was a dark-haired man in Berryhill with his little girl. She looked about two or three, adorable little blonde girl. Most people realize that children are precious and should be cherished as they grow. They'll never be so small and innocent again. My thoughts went out to the little girl, though. Make him proud. Be his joy, the delight of his eyes, and learn everything you can from him. Cherish him while you've got him, because no one will ever love you like your Daddy.
Getting ready for the Father's Day concert, the one actual fatherly event I had all day. It was raining and dreary. I felt so lonely. My father told me I was his better self, the person he would be if he could do it all again. But he is also my better self, the person I am so lucky I have the chance to be like. No one will ever love me or be so proud of me as my Father. God I miss him.
The concert went well, and I felt much better as it went. But it just felt strange. Something kept nagging at me. I finally realized what it was in the Red Lion, when Zev said maybe he should call his dad. Lots of people had been talking about calling home, and the thought had been in my mind that I needed to call home...
And talk to Dad.
I just, I wanted to call him, and... and to tell him... God, everything.
The director of the choir I just joined told a beautiful story about how after his father's death, he had a dream of walking through a beautiful wood behind his dad. And then, in this gorgeous clearing his father stopped and turned, and smiled. Later in his life, he was walking in some woods, and came to a clearing, and recognized the clearing from his dream.
I visited Yellowstone shortly after my dad died, and I was pretty numb. But the mountains and the rivers spoke to me, stirred things inside of me, and I knew my father would have loved this place. I dreamed, later, that I was visiting it with him, and he was loving every minute.
And I wanted to enjoy it with him, but I couldn't. All I could think of was, "You're going to die. You have to know, I have to tell you." But I couldn't tell him. He couldn't understand me. And I couldn't just enjoy being with him again in that amazing place. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't.
What is it about me that has such a hard time treasuring what I have because it's not everything I want? I have to work on that.
My Rice Owls did me proud today. So the day is ending on a high note. And I don't have to deal with this particular holiday for another year. Still, I wish I could have visited his grave.
Sherrie gave me a lovely idea. She said I needed to go out and buy a helium balloon, and release it and watch it float away, and that is how I can call him when I need to.
All of you who have fathers, hug them for the one I can't hug. Hope you and they had a wonderful day.
There was a dark-haired man in Berryhill with his little girl. She looked about two or three, adorable little blonde girl. Most people realize that children are precious and should be cherished as they grow. They'll never be so small and innocent again. My thoughts went out to the little girl, though. Make him proud. Be his joy, the delight of his eyes, and learn everything you can from him. Cherish him while you've got him, because no one will ever love you like your Daddy.
Getting ready for the Father's Day concert, the one actual fatherly event I had all day. It was raining and dreary. I felt so lonely. My father told me I was his better self, the person he would be if he could do it all again. But he is also my better self, the person I am so lucky I have the chance to be like. No one will ever love me or be so proud of me as my Father. God I miss him.
The concert went well, and I felt much better as it went. But it just felt strange. Something kept nagging at me. I finally realized what it was in the Red Lion, when Zev said maybe he should call his dad. Lots of people had been talking about calling home, and the thought had been in my mind that I needed to call home...
And talk to Dad.
I just, I wanted to call him, and... and to tell him... God, everything.
The director of the choir I just joined told a beautiful story about how after his father's death, he had a dream of walking through a beautiful wood behind his dad. And then, in this gorgeous clearing his father stopped and turned, and smiled. Later in his life, he was walking in some woods, and came to a clearing, and recognized the clearing from his dream.
I visited Yellowstone shortly after my dad died, and I was pretty numb. But the mountains and the rivers spoke to me, stirred things inside of me, and I knew my father would have loved this place. I dreamed, later, that I was visiting it with him, and he was loving every minute.
And I wanted to enjoy it with him, but I couldn't. All I could think of was, "You're going to die. You have to know, I have to tell you." But I couldn't tell him. He couldn't understand me. And I couldn't just enjoy being with him again in that amazing place. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't.
What is it about me that has such a hard time treasuring what I have because it's not everything I want? I have to work on that.
My Rice Owls did me proud today. So the day is ending on a high note. And I don't have to deal with this particular holiday for another year. Still, I wish I could have visited his grave.
Sherrie gave me a lovely idea. She said I needed to go out and buy a helium balloon, and release it and watch it float away, and that is how I can call him when I need to.
All of you who have fathers, hug them for the one I can't hug. Hope you and they had a wonderful day.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Game 1. INSANE.
Rice...
Fight...
Never die...
Blue, gray...
In the sky!
Stand! Cheer! Drink more beer!!!
GO! GO! GOOOOOOOOOOOO RICE!!!!!
Oh my gosh. When I joined the game today, we were behind 5-4. Then we went 6-4. Then 10-4. Then 10-5.
Then 10-6. Then 10-7. 8.
9.
10. Tie game.
.
.
.
Rice 11-10. 12-10! 13, 14, 15-10!
Rice ahead, 15-10!
Rice...
WINS 15-10.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
Excuse me while I go collapse.
Fight...
Never die...
Blue, gray...
In the sky!
Stand! Cheer! Drink more beer!!!
GO! GO! GOOOOOOOOOOOO RICE!!!!!
Oh my gosh. When I joined the game today, we were behind 5-4. Then we went 6-4. Then 10-4. Then 10-5.
Then 10-6. Then 10-7. 8.
9.
10. Tie game.
.
.
.
Rice 11-10. 12-10! 13, 14, 15-10!
Rice ahead, 15-10!
Rice...
WINS 15-10.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
Excuse me while I go collapse.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Nawlin's, Sugah :-)
I'm in New Orleans, in the W again. I like this place!
It's been an interesting trip, starting with Hobby security. I wore my green Nerds shirt today, and a TSA agent asked me, "So, are you a nerd?" She seemed quite taken aback when I said, "Yup!"
"Oh, well, that's okay. Nerds are great people." Um, all right.
I've never seen security held up by so many people in a row. First there was the guy in the wheel chair, but that's not at all outlandish, so we'll pass over him. But, then there was the guy who kept setting off the metal detector. He finally figured out it was his "back brace." At least, that's what he called it. Only, well, it looked for all the world like the unfanciest whale-bone corset on earth. Then the girl in front of me had to get wanded. Turns out she had metal in her weave.
o_O
Apparently I'm getting good at this carry-on only travel. The TSA guy at the end of the metal detector was explaining to Miss Metal-Weave that her toiletries were not up to regulations. He was explaining that she couldn't take what she had and could get more at the shops in the terminal, and just as she asked how they needed to be, my bin came sliding out with my neatly packed quart bag of 3 oz bottles lying on top.
"This, here! This is exactly, this is beautiful, perfect, this is exactly, who's is this?"
I think I made his day. :-P People must be getting this wrong. A lot.
Got to New Orleans without incident. We flew along the coast, so I amused myself by staring at the shoreline. The flight attendant taking drink orders had to tap me on the shoulder, and seemed pleasantly amused by my childish wonder with the view.
I decided to practice being friendly and outgoing to strangers. This is hard for me. But I asked the cabby if I could sit up front with him, and chatted about travel in general, foreign travel, the history in New Orleans, and all sorts of stuff. He asked me if I've ever eaten at Mother's, since it was right across the street from the W. He said it was pretty much the best hole in the wall in town.
So after I settled in, I headed over there. They serve breakfast all day. I like places that serve breakfast all day. Their sign says "World's best baked ham." So I got that with my scrambled eggs and grits. It was sooooo good. But I couldn't finish. So much grits. Best grits I'd ever had, but so many of them. I swear I ate half of them, and you couldn't tell I'd touched them. I highly recommend.
After dinner I walked into the French Quarter to catch my tour. I stopped by the Hardrock to see if they had the guitar pick charms. They don't. Again. I swear, I've been to that store so many times, and they only had it once, before I started collecting, when a friend got one. Maybe I'll just see if I can find one on eBay.
The other guy behind the counter said, "Hey, we have actual guitar picks!" I told him that I had guitar picks already, from the Gibson factory in Memphis.
"But these say Hardrock!"
"GIBSON FACTORY."
"Okay, yeah, that's pretty cool."
So, I caught my tour, it was fun, my feet are killing me. But the tour guide was great, and I really enjoy just wandering around the French Quarter.
My room has a DVD player, so I'm watching X-Files now. After this episode, I should get to bed, since I have that early meeting and all. Back in town and back to the usual tomorrow.
It's been a great afternoon.
It's been an interesting trip, starting with Hobby security. I wore my green Nerds shirt today, and a TSA agent asked me, "So, are you a nerd?" She seemed quite taken aback when I said, "Yup!"
"Oh, well, that's okay. Nerds are great people." Um, all right.
I've never seen security held up by so many people in a row. First there was the guy in the wheel chair, but that's not at all outlandish, so we'll pass over him. But, then there was the guy who kept setting off the metal detector. He finally figured out it was his "back brace." At least, that's what he called it. Only, well, it looked for all the world like the unfanciest whale-bone corset on earth. Then the girl in front of me had to get wanded. Turns out she had metal in her weave.
o_O
Apparently I'm getting good at this carry-on only travel. The TSA guy at the end of the metal detector was explaining to Miss Metal-Weave that her toiletries were not up to regulations. He was explaining that she couldn't take what she had and could get more at the shops in the terminal, and just as she asked how they needed to be, my bin came sliding out with my neatly packed quart bag of 3 oz bottles lying on top.
"This, here! This is exactly, this is beautiful, perfect, this is exactly, who's is this?"
I think I made his day. :-P People must be getting this wrong. A lot.
Got to New Orleans without incident. We flew along the coast, so I amused myself by staring at the shoreline. The flight attendant taking drink orders had to tap me on the shoulder, and seemed pleasantly amused by my childish wonder with the view.
I decided to practice being friendly and outgoing to strangers. This is hard for me. But I asked the cabby if I could sit up front with him, and chatted about travel in general, foreign travel, the history in New Orleans, and all sorts of stuff. He asked me if I've ever eaten at Mother's, since it was right across the street from the W. He said it was pretty much the best hole in the wall in town.
So after I settled in, I headed over there. They serve breakfast all day. I like places that serve breakfast all day. Their sign says "World's best baked ham." So I got that with my scrambled eggs and grits. It was sooooo good. But I couldn't finish. So much grits. Best grits I'd ever had, but so many of them. I swear I ate half of them, and you couldn't tell I'd touched them. I highly recommend.
After dinner I walked into the French Quarter to catch my tour. I stopped by the Hardrock to see if they had the guitar pick charms. They don't. Again. I swear, I've been to that store so many times, and they only had it once, before I started collecting, when a friend got one. Maybe I'll just see if I can find one on eBay.
The other guy behind the counter said, "Hey, we have actual guitar picks!" I told him that I had guitar picks already, from the Gibson factory in Memphis.
"But these say Hardrock!"
"GIBSON FACTORY."
"Okay, yeah, that's pretty cool."
So, I caught my tour, it was fun, my feet are killing me. But the tour guide was great, and I really enjoy just wandering around the French Quarter.
My room has a DVD player, so I'm watching X-Files now. After this episode, I should get to bed, since I have that early meeting and all. Back in town and back to the usual tomorrow.
It's been a great afternoon.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Hallmark Moment
I made a Walgreen's run for some deoderant (do you know how hard it is to find unscented solid???). Anyways.
Something drove me, compelled me, I don't know what, and I don't know why. I just felt drawn into the greeting card aisle, with a nagging in the back of my mind that there was something I was forgetting.
Oh, right. The hell. That's what I was forgetting. The pain and the loss and the loneliness had slipped my mind.
I stepped into the Hallmark aisle, thinking it would be nice maybe to get something for Mom. A random thinking of you, for no reason at all. I looked up, and was caught full in the face by a wall of Father's Day cards.
Damn it all to hell.
It never is going to be all better. I guess I should be glad it's as good as it is.
Just every so often, I have a moment.
I love you, Daddy. I miss you so much.
Something drove me, compelled me, I don't know what, and I don't know why. I just felt drawn into the greeting card aisle, with a nagging in the back of my mind that there was something I was forgetting.
Oh, right. The hell. That's what I was forgetting. The pain and the loss and the loneliness had slipped my mind.
I stepped into the Hallmark aisle, thinking it would be nice maybe to get something for Mom. A random thinking of you, for no reason at all. I looked up, and was caught full in the face by a wall of Father's Day cards.
Damn it all to hell.
It never is going to be all better. I guess I should be glad it's as good as it is.
Just every so often, I have a moment.
I love you, Daddy. I miss you so much.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Je Souhaite
I wish my eyes could be
A mirror that you'd look into and see
All the good I see in you
Not without fault
No one can be
But with fault in its place
Not shadowing the shining truth
I see your faults
They stand beside the good
Not behind it, not before
Just as the bad should be
Owned,not gilded over
So should every good
Shine out unblemished
As much a part of us
As all our flaws
And thrown into the balance
Of our souls
To make us human
Precious in ourselves
Whole
My wish is that you always see
All that I see and love in you
Yourself
Friday, June 01, 2007
No Interwebs
My personal on-ramp to the information superhighway is under construction. Or, my modem is hosed. I get no interwebs at home. Sigh.
I post to you now from Mark and Joanna's house. I should probably go soon and be social. If I'm truly motivated, I might go get a new modem tomorrow morning. It's much more likely that I won't get this fixed until Monday at the earliest.
Until then, I likely won't be blogging or IMing. Hope you can survive without me in your cyberlife. :-P
I did, however, pound out a fair chunk of the first chapter of my novel last night. If I took a month off from nightly internet access, I might actually write a book. :-P
I post to you now from Mark and Joanna's house. I should probably go soon and be social. If I'm truly motivated, I might go get a new modem tomorrow morning. It's much more likely that I won't get this fixed until Monday at the earliest.
Until then, I likely won't be blogging or IMing. Hope you can survive without me in your cyberlife. :-P
I did, however, pound out a fair chunk of the first chapter of my novel last night. If I took a month off from nightly internet access, I might actually write a book. :-P
Monday, May 28, 2007
Raindance
I went for a walk in the rain today. My apartment was getting… just a little too small and civilized.
I put on old ragged tennis shoes and some grubby work clothes and took nothing but my keys. I walked out of my complex, across a bridge over the White Oak Bayou, and along T C Jester up to 11th Street. I crossed that and stepped into T C Jester Park.
It took about 90 seconds for the rain to drench my hair and begin rolling down my forehead and dripping off my eyelashes and nose. I can’t really remember the last time I set out walking in the rain without minding if I got wet. I walked straight through ankle-deep puddles because I could. I blinked raindrops out of my eyes to watch the bayou waters flow by, grayish-brown and turbulent. I stretched my hand out to brush heavy crystal drops off of pine sprays and oak leaves.
In spite of the clouds and rain, the air was warm with the scent of uncut grass and wild flowers. I saw Indian blankets and winecups, horsemint and sunflowers, beebalm and evening primrose. I saw flowers I didn’t recognize, small with five petals, a delicate pinkish beige, growing on rose-brown stalks that looked almost like dead twigs. And all through the tall grasses there were deep brown stalks of bluebonnets, some with seedpods still furred and shut, many with them blown open, with tiny rowed cups catching the rain. There were even a few bluebonnets still in bloom, amazing for late May.
I walked under a bridge where West T C Jester crosses the bayou. The path dips down near the water, and the railings were swathed in grasses washed around them in some recent downpour. As the path rose again, there was a sound just ahead and to the right, a sound that has enchanted me in the woods at Glacier, the sound of a waterfall. Here, of course, it’s the sound of a storm drain, but it was magical still to me, to stand there and hear nothing but the sound of water all around, rushing down in the bayou, splashing on the grass and leaves, murmuring in the ditches.
I turned back just short of 18th Street because my old sneakers were rubbing my feet raw in several places. (I find I have blisters on three toes and my right heel. I think I’ll just throw those shoes away.) As I walked back, I watched cliff swallows, small dark birds with creamy bellies and brown faces, flitting and skimming above the tumbling bayou water. I scanned the path and stooped to help unwary snails cross the concrete sidewalk so they would neither drown in the puddles nor be crushed by pedestrians like me. There were some earthworms too, unfortunately drowned already, so I couldn’t do much for them.
The rain quickened one last time as I passed under the West T C Jester bridge again. I lingered, looking up at the nests, and stared at four baby swallows staring back at me.
I went on, but I stopped just before 11th Street, crossing halfway over the pedestrian bridge that spans the bayou just before the road crosses it. I stood watching the water come down from upstream, and lifting my eyes to see the banks and bridges above it. I allowed myself to remember. The last time I walked in the rain like this, I wasn’t alone. There was a hand to hold, a smile to catch, warm, rain drenched lips to kiss the drops off of my cheeks. Memories that still hurt, but didn’t draw tears. I turned to the other side of the path and watched the water flow away. I dreamed of things that were, and things that are, and things that will never be. An egret, gleaming white against the gray water, flew out from under the bridge and glided down stream, towards home. I put away my memories and took it for an omen. I walked off the bridge and crossed the street, back into the neighborhoods.
I passed under a magnolia tree, blossoms like cups heavy with rain and a scent like nectar and ambrosia. I stopped by a deep puddle at a street corner, looked around quickly, then jumped into it from the sidewalk, splashing myself up to the knees and feeling irrationally pleased with myself about it.
I was almost home, and on top of the world when I heard and felt a sickening little crunch beneath my right foot. I’d stopped paying attention to the sidewalk, and had stepped on one of the little snail people. This is why I keep an eye out and try to move them off the sidewalk. I always feel terrible seeing their beautiful fluted shells shattered, slicing into their vulnerable soft little bodies. I felt chastened, dampened, and continued home more slowly and carefully. I stood on the last bridge over the bayou and looked up into the clearing sky. The rain had stopped and there were liquid blue breaks between the clouds. The sunlight was starting to seep through, pearly gray and white.
Now I’m curled up on my couch under a soft blanket, hair still damp from a warm shower, and feet hurting a little with the blisters. Back to civilization.
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