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June 2003 June 1 2003 I was talking to Mom last night. She was telling me everything that she doesn't like about what Bush is doing. She did vote for him. But she isn't happy about his environmental policies and she thinks the tax cut is ridiculous. She does think he and Laura look like good people. Picture me with my eye fluttering, my jaw dropped and my head rolling around on my neck as if it has just snapped loose. I got a bunch of writing done in the morning and then went for coffee and dinner with Renee. So I was in a pretty good mood when I was talking to Mom. When she says things like that I go into a kind of tilt mode. I managed to shake it off and get some more writing done last night. I am really enjoying the work. But there is a cycle. I'm thinking about the structure and I'm moving things and rewriting parts and adding and subtracting and it's feeling good and then ..................my brain just stops. Or I hate it all so much I can't look at it. So far I keep coming back and re-engaging. It feels like this. Heh. No. Not really. I just saw that at Mood Swings. Ohmygawd. It's June. comment 8:51 AM June 2 2003 I'm eating French toast with bananas & mangos. I only eat French toast when I have left over baguette. Which I have today because Abeer came over for dinner. We ate some cheese and olives before pasta. The pasta was spelt with kale, corn and roasted tomato. And we ate ice cream. Which flavors? Peach & Champagne. And Chocolate & Rum. Ya know Zeebah has an idea for a recipe blog. (Which I can't link directly to because Blogger is so dumb these days.I mean really. I can't pages to load. I can't get perma links to work. Sheesh.) Susan's talked about one. Dru has one. But I don't really cook from recipes. Maybe we could have a group food writing blog. Or some kind of pass around meme. I went swimming in the morning. It was probably good for me to get away from the computer and the writing. And today I got some stuff to do that might keep me to busy. But there's a buzz in my head about the writing. I wake up thinking about it. That has to be good. In my morning blog crawl I read Dru posting about Jeanne D'Arc posting about events in Burma. I read this yesterday. I started to write about it and then I stopped. I felt this overwhelming sense of futility and sadness. When I read Dru it felt like some blood returned to a place that's been cut off. Because I was feeling like I had nothing to say. That other people were saying it better. And that may even be true. But there is something important in just speaking it. It is hard to keep the faith. When things keep going ... uh ... badly. comment 9:19 AM June 3 2003 This makes me giggle. It is just too much fun. Dru is welcoming all. And what would be a good name? Full belly? This was my first experience with the mighty MT. Now I see what every one is talking about. It is very cool. And I love being notified about comments. It seems that Zeebah might be moving. I could certainly understand anyone wanting to bail from Blogger. Mike posts news about Amina Lawal. And it would seem that her appeal has been postponed again. Amnesty clears up the confusion about how they are involved with support for Amina and the call to action is still going strong. My thought is that, with the new August date for the trial, a new batch of letters might be a good thing. George does this thing in a side bar where he points to things with a few words. He's pointing to a post with a bunch of links about the FCC give away of the public media with the words: "Relaxed?" Closer to euthanized. Exactly. Amp has a cartoon up and it isn't even Wednesday. Does that mean we'll see two this week? Renee gave me a ride to therapy and came and picked me up and drove me home. Isn't she the sweetest? I got no writing done yesterday. I was just busy with minutia all day. I gotta go do some writing. Now. comment 9:37 AM June 4 2003 I didn't sleep that well Monday night and it was hard to focus my tired brain. But I did get some writing done. But after a while I caved. I watched John Q. I was worried about that the movie would be too Hollywood. And it was. Complete with relatively happy ending. But it did dramatize the problems with our health care system. I cried through a lot of it. And then I worked some more. Until my brain started to disassemble. And then I watched The Lord of the Rings. My compliments go to David. I read these books in high school and some of the story seemed familiar and some did not. I used to wear a button that said Frodo lives. So I enjoyed the film. I do always have trouble when the mutant bad guys have dark skin and look like Aboriginals and the good guys all have light skin. But I guess it has to be seen in context, relative to the book. I just didn't love that part. The Netflix thing is cool. Having movies around at all times is kinda fun. I got more sleep last night. So it should be easier to work today. Susan linked this bit about Janeane Garofalo who needs e-mail support. And while I was there I saw this bit. I used to watch MSNBC a lot more than I do. When this guy got a show I knew things were going down hill. Zeebah is signing folks up for the recipe blog. I'm getting back to work. Now. comment 8:44 AM June 5 2003 Writing my book may be fucking up my blogging. I was reading my post from yesterday I had to wonder how many times a person can say, "And then..." in one little bit of writing. That is how I was feeling when I wrote it. And then. And then. And then. I wasn't really on the page. But this might bring me back. So the government can ask me to sign a contract with my doctor to eat a more balanced diet and exercise more? Oh. Wait. I don't have a doctor. I can't afford one. Well. That takes a load off my mind. I do realize that the article is from England but if they're doing it there ... well. Do I seem paranoid? Yesterday I listened to the Congressional debate on late term abortion. The rhetoric was extreme and repulsive and, ultimately, successful. This is a procedure that is rarely used and generally used when the health of the mother is at great risk. But do we care about the health of women? It is a horrible procedure. I think few woman would opt for it in anything less that dire circumstance. And make no mistake. It is one more step toward dismantling the right to choose. There will be a fight. And it's the government walking into the doctors office and telling them what they can and cannot do. Do I still seem paranoid? The truth is I can't even get it up for a good rant. I'm too preoccupied. All my thinking is about solving the problems of organization in THE BOOK. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. And I did get a lot done yesterday. In the evening, when I was beginning to melt down, I stopped, made a Greek salad, poured a glass of wine and I watched The Shipping News. I remember when I saw the trailers for this movie. I thought - no way. I'd read the book. How were they going to capture the quirkiness of that book? They do a pretty good job. And that's in no small part due to Kevin Spacey. But they make New Foundland look beautiful. In the book it's just grey on grey. OK. I gotta do some work. comment 8:59 AM The world is not a pretty sight. Each day we are assaulted by random terror; opportunistic diseases; the threat of economic instability. Aids devastates families, communities and economies in Africa and beyond. We hear the rhetoric, and see a bit of money flowing, but it's all so far removed, in countries "of which we know little". And while we don't have to live with the consequences, why should we know? - Bob Gedolf I just filled the tea pot with water. Put it on the stove. Did NOT turn on the gas. Fixed some fruit and yoghurt. Poured the NOT hot water into the glass with the tea bag. Ate the fruit and yoghurt. And took a sip of room temperature tea. What is that about? I didn't really work on writing yesterday. I talked on the phone in the morning. Renee picked me up at 11:00 and we drove up to Craig and Adrienne's. They hired Renee to help paint a room and I thought I'd just tag along. We stopped at Andonicos and got a bunch of cheese and fruit and smoked trout and smoked salmon and olive rolls and rosemary rolls and arugala, radiccio, frizee and olives and ice cream. AND lemonade. So we sat around and ate and not much work got done. I'm not a good influence. But it was nice to be away from the screen and sit in a lush green place with dogs and cats and lovely friends. Susan linked up an article about folks blogging from the G8. I love this. comment 8:18 AM June 7 2003 Have you read the book of bitterness? Cheryl came over for dinner. I made a shrimp and sausage and frizee salad. I had a couple of salsas and some blue corn chips. Cher brought green tea and ginger ice cream and wine. Good. good. Good. Ray inked to this. Hmmmm.Lots of good questions. In the course of my morning reading I came across a few people questioning why they write a blog or expressing a general state of ennui. I don't read the blogger who wrote the post that Ray linked to. I have a few times but not regularly. No reason. And I did not read the blogger that she referrers to who left a goodbye note and quit. I used to read a blogger who recently did the same thing. Left a note and quit. When I read it I thought about how that would feel in a ...uh ...off blog relationship. I mean there are folks on the web who I go to visit every day. I couldn't do that off blog. I couldn't even have that many phone conversations. But I can stop by and read a post or two or ten. And I have some strong feelings for some of those people. But just like in off blog relationships I don't comment as often as I should. I don't let people know that I'm there. Reading. I don't communicate my affection. And I don't respond to comments unless there's something specific to respond to. And then I may write a whole post in response. But even in off blog relationships I tend to rely on the feeling between me and the other person. It's complicated. There are bloggers who I felt connected with and lost that feeling. I blame them. Heh. But really. I've written a lot about coming across a blog cluster and really trying to court and woo them. And I got limited response. And I got my feelings hurt. And at a certain point I felt like I needed to back away from the screen. One of the ways a blogger relationship is expressed is through links. That may be about wanting hits but it's also about wanting to have your part of the conversation included. I would write a big ol thang in response to some on-line something, it wouldn't get linked, I'd feel bad. I didn't like it. And my solution is to not participate in some conversations that I might have jumped to a year or so ago. I felt a little lonely when I was doing the 100. I was really grateful to the folks who let me know they were reading. I don't think people do online writing with no hope for response. Or rarely. But I do have to manage my emotions around it all. The question that I find compelling in the Dainty Dirty post is what do we OWE each other. It's compelling because it's something I think about in my off blog relationships. Most of my friends are in families. They have husbands, wives, partners, children. They have jobs. They are busy. What can I expect in terms of time and energy? What is asking too much? As far as blogging relationships go I find them as complex and rewarding and vexing as my off blog relationships. There are people who make my heart ache. There are people who piss me off. There are people who just leave me a little note every day. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Just a little note full of news. When a blogger says goodbye it's sad. I still check Bigger Hand to see if he's back. But I have too many friends who I just don't see as often as I should/could. I don't know. Most of the time I have to remind myself that I do this writing for me. And when someone reads it and likes it I get giddy with joy. But I have to keep tracking the value back to my own intention. I think I owe the people I read on line the same things I owe the people I know off line. I try to tell the truth and come from love. If I have issues I try to be up front with those issues. But there are times when I feel like those issues might be more than I (or they) can take on. So if I can't say something nice I try not to talk out loud. And if I ever decide to quit...I'll let ya know. comment 9:11 AM I will never be someone who writes only about bird song, although I admire birdsong highly - but not enough to withdraw from the historical world, for the historical world is fascinating. What really interests me is the interweaving of the historical and cosmic world. The cosmic world is unmoving - or rather, it moves to a completely different rhythm. I shall never know how these worlds coexist. They are in conflict yet they complement each other - and that merits our reflection - Adam Zagajewski (via Casandra Pages)
June 8 2003 I thought this was funny in light of yesterday's post.
I got it from Dru. The quiz. Not the attitude. Heh. I don't really feel that self contained. I do care if people read me. The question in the quiz about what publishing tool you use is funny. There is a feel. I meant to add a link to Monica yesterday in the post and I forgot. She posted a Clarice Lispector story that seemed to fit in to the conversation. Unintentionally. But apt none the less. Cynthia stopped by yesterday with Cappuccino and ginger cookies. That was fun. I was working on a section of writing that was giving me trouble. I'm still chewing my lip over it. This is what's great about the work right now. I'm thinking about it all the time. I'm problem solving in my head, even when I'm not in front of the screen. But it does mean that I'm preoccupied. comment 8:35 AM June 9 2003 When I was 19 I walked into a truck. Yes. It's true. I lived in Washington D.C., right on the edge of Maryland. I was going to college in Takoma Park. So it was morning and I was walking to a class and a German Shepherd came running across a yard and onto the sidewalk. I thought I'd walk around him and I stepped off the curb. The mirror of the truck hit the back of my head and I went under the truck. Well. My right foot went under the wheel of the truck. I was pulled down and dragged a little bit. There was a hole torn in the side of my ankle. And then there was a long surgery and a month in the hospital and a month on crutches and a scar that looks as if a bite was taken out of my ankle. It's a gruesome scar. But I never think about it. And I can know someone for a long time before they see the scar. Unless you come to my house when I'm not wearing socks you might never see it. I'm not hiding it. But I don't really wear sandals in SF. But of course at the swim people see it. And again, I forget I have it. So every once in a while someone asks about it. Which happened yesterday. It doesn't bother me. It kinda makes me laugh because I do forget and it is so gruesome. It seems like it might be hard to forget. As an event it was significant because it happened at a time in my life when I was trying to get my life together as an adult. Er sumthin. I was studying psychology. I wanted to be a therapist. I needed therapy. Heh. But I didn't go back to college. I moved west. First to SF and then to Boulder. Sigh. Yesterday, before I went to the swim, I was listening to Sunday Salon and they were talking about blogging with a few folks, one of who was Rebecca. I was calling in to say something and Deb rang the buzzer to get into the apartment. Sometimes the buzzer doesn't work. So I had to hang up and go down the three flights of stairs to let her in. And I got really pissed. Not at her. But because I couldn't say my thing on the radio. I couldn't call back because we needed to leave for the swim. It frustrates me that I got so pissed. I really felt this great need to be in the mix. And I feel like I lost some balance. No one suffered because I was pissed. I wasn't yelling at Deb or the buzzer or anything. But I felt all this frustration. Over a local radio call in show. Which I think is about needing to feel like I have something to say and that people will want to hear it. It's fine to want all that but when the need is so kicked up it makes me feel ... yucky. Back in the days when I was sitting in a hospital waiting for my foot to heal I felt stalled. I wanted to be out in the world. And I think I've always felt stalled. Or held back. Or not seen. Or heard. Or something not quite clear. comment 8:41 AM June 10 2003 In therapy last night I said, "There's a girl in Brazil who knows more about my life than you guys." Monica continues the conversation. One of the people who commented on my post is one of my oldest friends. Someone who I've known for close to half my life. We stopped being friends a long time ago. We're sisters now. She is my family. I've been thinking about her and that post and the notion of comments and what function they serve in on-line community and what people OWE one another. Like I said in my post, I don't always comment. I don't write. I don't call. I don't send flowers. I bristle at the idea of proving my love. But I know that relationships need care. I fight depression a lot. And I don't write about it or talk about it sometimes. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I won't have any friends someday because I've been isolating and feeling bad and not communicating. And sometimes when you haven't talked to a person for a long time there's a funny feeling, a shyness. And when that goes away it feels like you've never been apart. But I never feel like I owe my friends. And I always feel like I owe my friends. Both things are true. There's a tension in being close for a long time. Especially when you're someone who doesn't really trust love. For me it's never like ...oh you say love me...well OK. It's more like ... we'll see how long that lasts. We'll see how long you love me if I'm not there for you every time you call. It's fucked up. I learned it early. It's an old habit. Now when I hear those voices I try to talk back. I try to open my heart and be willing. The friend who left a comment and I have been through some things. We've trusted each other. We've not trusted each other. We've laughed at our own crazy hearts. We've talked about it all. Months go by and we don't talk at all. But there is almost never a day in which she doesn't cross my mind. That's the thing with a sister. They become part of you in a way that will not be ignored. We've survived conflict. I'm not sure that's what makes our friendship so strong. Our friendship is rooted in shared humor and intellect and attitude and bad behavior and recovery and our quest for truth and our love of the mundane. And those roots survived both storms and neglect. I don't think on-line relationships are limited. Last night in therapy I was talking about how real I think on-line relationships can be. How passionate. And a lot happens in a comment box. But I'm not always willing to process in a comment box. So if I have an issue I may just back away from the screen. Or not. And look. Community is a many splendoured thing. There are people who challenge me emotionally, intellectually, politically. There are people who I go to for simplicity and the joy of the day. There are people I've been reading every day for a year or more who I never e-mail, never leave a comment to, some who don't have comment boxes and I have feelings for all of them. The other day, when I realized that Cyndy was back, I tried to leave her a comment and the Haloscan server was not letting me in. But there is something about going to a blog and seeing a closed sign. I don't really blame people for wanting to stop writing on line. There are many reasons. And I read people who have taken long breaks. I'd go to their blog every day just to check. Imagine doing that off line. Imagine walking past someone's house every day and looking to see if they're going to open the door and say hi. And yet. I think part of loving someone is learning how to endure absence. I meant to add this part of a Lispector story posted by Monica the other day. "Already at this stage, the first signs of tension between us began to appear. Sometimes one of us would call, we met, and had nothing to say to each other. We were very young and didn't know how to remain in silence." comment 9:26 AM June 10 2003 Wow. This conversation keeps going. Cyndy wrote a fantastic metaphor in a post that has my forehead knitted and my jaw tight. She points to another blogger goodbye, which I won't link but you can find it easily enough. It's another example of someone who I only read a time or two and I liked but didn't add to the roll. There really was no reason for that other than I don't get through my blog roll as it is. So. If you do read Cyndy and follow the links you will read what has me all tight. I am hesitant to write about the feelings I am having. I had my own unpleasant exchange with a blogger who is referred to in the whole story. They were on and off my blog roll in less than a few weeks. I didn't talk about taking the person off my roll. It didn't seem important. And I'm still not going to get into a detailing of why I stopped reading the person. This is all quite surreptitious and I am not someone who likes to prevaricate. But how do we handle conflict? When someone comes to my blog and leaves a comment that is an argument with something I've written I will respond. When someone talks shit about me on their blog I might respond. I might not. It would depend. When someone talks shit about someone else ... it gets more complicated. And I will admit that when someone is writing stuff that pisses me off there's a 50/50 chance that I will back away from the screen. I've taken on a few people. When I do my desire is to hold us both in some frame of dignity and tell them my feelings as directly as possible. Occasionally I lose my cool and mouth off. Once I said something that really hurt someone. I felt like they took me the wrong way but I felt like they were entitled to their feelings. So I didn't argue. But I didn't really work it out. And what am I doing in this post? I'm trying not to jump into the fray and be happy that someone who I found disturbing is getting some criticism. But I am jumping into the fray by writing the post. In part because I like Cyndy and I think she's making a good point. Enough already. Yeah. I feel that. But how do we handle conflict? It's a big topic and worthy of a lot of discussion. And I doubt there are easy answers. I try to write from my heart and my head. Sometimes things get wonky. But it is quite amazing that people are so willing to care about one another. Out loud. In public. And there is a lot of love. A lot of love. But ya know ... sometimes we bump into each other and I'm not always sure what to do. comment 10:00 PM Lots of folks linking this up today. I love Moyers. Uh. I think the answer is yes. Please. Angela says she is supa fat. Me too! This is too beeeyoootiful. The last few days I've been going to bed late and trying to sleep in. But my neighborhood is not conducive. Yesterday the garbage truck, which makes plenty of noise on its own, was parked by a car with a very sensitive alarm. The alarm went off every time the truck loaded more garbage. This morning my neighbor had a sneeze attack that must have lasted twenty minutes. Oh well. So I have to get a chunk of writing in the mail today or tomorrow so that I can meet Stephen next week. Must work now. comment 9:46 AM June 12 2003 I should do laundry. Should I do laundry? I'm not really in the mood. Every time I print out any of the book I get big ol smile on my face. Writing on a screen is great for editing but holding the pages in your hand .... ahhhhhhhhhhhh. It's too easy to feel like I'm not doing anything. Even after six hours of writing. So I printed stuff for Stephen and I need to get it in the mail. And I need to keep working. But I'm not really in the mood. I'm squirmy. comment 8:20 AM June 13 2003 It's Friday the 13th! Cool. I finished Autobiography of a Face filled with sadness. And I haven't shaken it. But I've been trying to keep it at a distance. It's like I'm circling it. Watching. Yeah I see ya. You won't swallow me up again. In the later part of the book Lucy describes having men see her body and begin to flirt with her until they see her face. And then they would recoil. I had exactly the opposite experience. Men would see my face, maybe in a car or something, flirt and then see my body and hurl cruelty at me. It's all too sad. It's too sad a thing to think about the world. I'm working on section of writing that's about my early twenties. And it was a time filled with self doubt and fear. I worked my way out of it. But. In some ways the doubt and fear never really go away. You just circle them. Watchful. You position yourself. You keep them in their place. And when they get lose and hit your body you feel the shaking and you take big breaths until it stops. comment 9:13 AM June 14 2003 Happy Birthday Adrienne! I did not do the laundry on Thursday. But I did do it yesterday. Listened to the news. Colin Powell said something about pushing for peace. Pushing. It wasn't even the dumbest thing I heard yesterday but it did make me shake my head and say a few bad words of my own. I use the word push. I talk about pushing against the dominant paradigm. I think about push hands and the need for balance. But the idea is to push just enough to keep your balance. Not push with tanks. And I may have lost all faith in the Democratic party. I think I say that about once a week. Starhawk was on Living Room talking about the International Solidarity Movement. She was there when Rachel Corry was killed. You don't push with tanks. I watched Billy Elliot last night and the end of Moyers. Folded the laundry. comment 9:21 AM June 15 2003 I get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things that I feel the need to hold close. My Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always been ... who he is. When I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and left my father. We lived with her mother and father. Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned that people tell the truth that they want to hear. I met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him but I never really had him. Ya know? I can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant, longed for mystery. I sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now. So I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I have to work to accept what can not be changed. And I feel adolescent and moody and miserable. And then it's Monday. comment 8:25 AM June 15 2003 I get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things that I feel the need to hold close. My Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always been ... who he is. When I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and left my father. We lived with her mother and father. Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned that people tell the truth that they want to hear. I met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him but I never really had him. Ya know? I can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant, longed for mystery. I sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now. So I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I have to work to accept what can not be changed. And I feel adolescent and moody and miserable. And then it's Monday. comment 8:25 AM June 16 2003 There are things in my book about my fathers. I had more than one. The only absolute connection between being fat and having the biological father that I did was his gene pool. Which isn't actually where I got my fat genes. But I did get my height and big boned body. Mom and her Mom and her Mom's Mom were fat. When I thought that fat was a pathology (as opposed to a body type) I thought that I was using my weight to protect me from men. If there was any truth to that notion it was that being fat doesn't really protect you from heartache. There are so many fat people with so many different life experiences that I'm uncomfortable drawing correlations about fathers and daughters and problems and body type. However. Our fathers were cooked in the patriarchy. Some of them may have made their daughters miserable about their bodies. My father said things to me about my mother's body but when it came to me he said something like ... all the more to love. It might have been a good thing. Except. I never believed him. He wasn't there. Loving me. So. There is such a frenzy of fat hatred these days. I worry that fathers use disapproval of their daughter's bodies to try and manipulate them to lose weight. For their (cough) health. I've heard stories like that. I've heard a story about a father who locked his daughter in the bathroom to keep her away from food when she gained weight. And when she was old enough to leave home she stopped dieting, gained weight, struggled with self hatred and eventually learned to accept herself. Hard won self image. But. I've heard stories of loving fathers who only see beauty when they look at their daughters. Scoop Nisker was on KPFA yesterday interviewing Robert Bly. It was interesting. Sweet. Scoop's daughter was there. She read him a poem. It's nice to listen to men talk about self work. And I have always wished men did more of the work of articulating feminism. That wasn't exactly happening. But there were some emotional moments. Talking about fathers. There was one call-in comment for Mr. Bly in which the caller said he had been in one of Bly's seminars years ago and he felt that Bly had been sexist and homophobic and he asked him for an apology. Bly said he wasn't going to apologize for making mistakes when he was young and still learning. It seems to me that an apology is a very small gift to give. And it can do so much to heal. Bly is such a scrapper. Meanwhile. Thanks to Dru I figured out what was hanging up my page yesterday. I couldn't figure it out. The All Consuming site seems to be down. Bummer. I took out the code until it comes back. comment 7:49 AM June 17 2003 I really do want someone to buy me this. I want to be an expat. I want to live somewhere else. I want to live next door to a man who writes poems and songs. I don't really want to meet Leonard. I just want to know that he's next door. Or that he was once next door. I will admit the bathroom looks a little bit scary. But if I got a bag of money...I'd be there. And I would invite you to come and visit. We could read in the garden and cook with olives and lemons. And we could listen for Leonard. And giggle. Sigh. I was reading this article about the relative health benefits of exercise and I was struck by the sentences that say that men were most likely to die if blah blah blah. Um. As opposed to? I mean clearly the writer meant die sooner. And still I have to ask ... as opposed to? It's not that I think people shouldn't exercise. I think exercise is cool. And I think it's good to take care of yourself. But I also think that people are beginning to believe that they can avoid death. Maybe we can. But. I don't think we get there with paranoia and obsession. Some people are going to work for a high degree of fitness and that's all good. And other's are going to be happy taking a walk every day. And some people are going to smoke and drink and sit on their ass and live long lives. There have been times in my life when I did formal exercise. Mostly I just worked in a kitchen, on my feet, lifting pots, slinging hash. And I've always walked. And I want to move more than I do. I like the ritual of exercise. But, other than swimming, I haven't got a ritual of my own right now. It's a crazy article because it seems to be saying that people who begin to do some exercise aren't doing enough. Jeez. Take a walk. Do some yoga. Swim. Dance. It's fun. But fuck the people who want to fill the gyms with paying members lined up on tread mills, obedient to the social injunction of being healthy. Health is about a lot of things. Sitting in a garden, eating food that's made with olives and lemons, talking to a friend you never thought you'd get a chance to meet, or a friend you haven't seen in too long, listening for the humming of the poet next door, might be a very healthy thing. comment 7:31 AM |
