EATING THE SAME STONE

90 of #100day challenge

No one can say when the unwinding began—when the coil that held Americans together in its secure and sometimes stifling grip first gave way. Like any great change, the unwinding began at countless times, in countless ways—and at some moment the country, always the same country crossed a line of history and became irretrievably different.

If you were born around 1960 or afterward, you have spent your adult life in the vertigo of that unwinding. You watched structures that had been in place before your birth collapse like pillars of salt across the vast visible landscape—the farms of the Carolina Piedmont, the factories of the Mahoning Valley, Florida subdivisions, California schools And other things, harder to see but no less vital in supporting the order of everyday life, changed beyond recognition—ways and means in Washington caucus rooms, taboos on New York trading desks, manners and morals everywhere. When the norms that made the old institutions useful began to unwind, and the leaders abandoned their posts, the Roosevelt Republic that had reigned for almost half a century came undone. The void was filled by the default force in American life, organized money.

— George Packer, Preface to The Undoing, Farrar, Strauss, & Giroux, New York, 2013

'Tis true I am still not reading much, however, I am desultorily listening to The Undoing. It puts me to sleep pretty fast, yet is interesting. I end up rewinding and relistening, which is fine by me. Packer is an excellent writer and it certainly feels as if what we thought of, for better or worse, as the American fabric of life seems to fray and tear so that there is very little common cloth at this point.

I have had other times when my reading mechanism just shut down. When my friend Patty Moore died back in 1994 or '95, I couldn't finish a book but i did start writing poetry around then. 

Patty Moore was a comet of a friend, streaking close by and bonding. We shared an apartment at the 1992 Olympics at Albertville for five or six weeks. I still miss her as there is no one else from that experience with whom to reminisce. She was beautiful, smart, loving, and supportive, a soul seeker. I am not in touch with anyone else who knew her, but they would not have shared our roommate-in-a-foreign-country intimacy. I don't even think I have a picture of her. 

Yet again, I managed to make it to morning yoga. I felt kind of weird this morning and came close to calling it in, but I shook off the nausea and was only 10 minutes late. Andrew, Sonia, and Steven waited for me, as we all like to gossip and chitter before practice anyway. As usual, some parts were too challenging for me in my current physical condition, but I did a reasonable job of keeping up where I could. Both Andrew and Steve are yoga achievers anyway, so even under better physical conditioning I couldn't keep up with them. Side crow with garuda legs anyone? It looks something like this but without horrible socks and too much man hair. I didn't even try.

I need to get to sleep. There is so much to do before we leave on Wednesday. My big task of the day was to go through my dishes and slim down by about 25%. Now I actually have to move things along, but at least I made some de-accessioning decisions. Discarding dishes does not seem like a mission (getting out of town) critical task, but with the new Vernon ware, I couldn't put away dishes until I made some room. 

ANOTHER YEAR COME

I have nothing new to ask of you,

Future, heaven of the poor.

I am still wearing the same things.

I am still begging the same question

By the same light

Eating the same stone,

And the hands of the clock still knock without entering.

— W.S. Merwin, The New Yorker, Dec. 31, 1960 issue