NOT KNOWN, BECAUSE NOT LOOKED FOR

I have quoted him here before, but Jeff Nunokawa nailed something this morning: maybe because of some conversations and email and yesterday's therapy, but this rather floored me this morning.

3296. "You must save what you can of your life;

by Jeff Nunokawa on Wednesday, February 22, 2012 at 4:36am ·

you mustn't lose it all simply because you've lost a part (Henry James, Portrait of a Lady).

A good man, strong as oak and clear as day; lucid and passionate with all of his might for the half destroyed and quite entrapped woman he loves: He would give his whole life to help protect what part could be saved of hers: She had wanted help, and here was help; it had come in a rushing torrent. What keeps her from accepting the rescue he offers? I've spent a long time thinking about it, and I've never really been able to figure it out. For the life of me, I can't see why. Running beneath the surface of the renunciation of all comfort and joy, there must be secret sources among which research will discover nothing irrelevant(Hugh Kenner on "Ash Wednesday").

Maybe, amongst these, (hope so) there are secret sources of salvation, as well as doom; underground springs whose waters--like a resurrection or a warming season--might help revive a parched and perished life. Who knows? Could be. Meanwhile--what was that? Did you hear that?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: At the source of the longest river

The voice of the hidden waterfall

And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for

But heard, half-heard, in the stillness

Between two waves of the sea (T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding", Four Quartets).

reposted sans permission and all copyright held by the good professor, JN.

I particularly liked the Eliot quote, "not known, not looked for / But heard, half-heard in the stillness / between two waves..." There are those sparks of life, love, content, spiritual and intellectual purpose in between the two waves of quotidien concerns of making it through the day. And the night. One's own intense dance between the crushing rock of what is and how might I make it better.

And so I will to the dance for the day, having caffeinated, fed, and fooled around some. And it's only 10:10.

A KNIFE, A FORK, A BOTTLE, AND A CORK

Yeah. Quiet from this quarter. Not debilitated with depression or anything, kind of busy, kind of non-communicative. And there might even be a twinge of "falling off" the habit/commitment wagon.

Yet here I am again. After therapy, before meeting Iris to go to a lecture tonight, I dragged along my laptop so that I could camp out at the New York Public Library (not the one with the lions, although that is just across the street). I'm sitting a a small table near the squeaky escalator. There are laptop plug-ins, so we are always good with that. And I am the one white person at this table of six. I find that interesting.

I am not sure I really have time to go to a lecture sponsored by the Initiative for the Theoretical Sciences on The Origins and Evolution of the Universe, given that today is eBay posting day, but perhaps I will find it enlightening. It might confuse me. Sigh. Guess we will see.

Opposite me, across the room is are two windows. There is a huge American flag blowing in one of the windows. (This will not be a very good photo.) Just something I don't see every day.

Not surprisingly, I would that I were taking a nap. I have a bit of a headache, likely due to under consumption of water. That's not going to change right away.

Later that same night ... so I was glad I went. It was wonderful to see Iris. The lecture was fun and interesting. I felt as if I were part of the New York intelligentsia, and that felt good. I couldn't quote anything that was said, but I understood the general gist.

I left before Iris as I needed to get home and get that eBay thing going, but as I hurried to the subway I had to stop and grab this image of the Empire State Building. That's New York, right?

A HAMBURGER WITH A TRUMPET

I took the day off from therapy so that I would have a long stretch of relatively free time. But, like so many other things in life, it is never enough, never satisfying. 'Twas pleasant to sleep in a bit, but the earlier morning training has taken and it is not easy for me to sleep past 8:00 or half-past these days. Also, Cooder and Emmylou are pretty sure I need to be up. I suppose I should discount their votes, as they will soon be asleep again, but pawing makes sleeping difficult.

I had a good and productive work day with Louise yesterday and felt good and positive. Maybe it was a series of telephone calls with friends who are having tough times, different than mine, but sad, tragic, challenging, and other modes of difficulty and struggle, might have clouded my nascent good will for the day.

A sunny morning has given way to a gray day. The lure of napping is high. I am going to the city tonight as one of the B's has comp tickets to Wynton Marsalis' Stan Kenton Centennial at Jazz at Lincoln Center. I'm sure I will be delighted by it all, but right now, Ms. Let's-Hide-and-Be-Grumpy just wants to nap and not to be bothered by anything remotely resembling a commitment.

Well, I am going to try to ignore that personality, and see if I can make some progress on something besides being in a slightly depressed and despairing state.

I did take a nap, and woke up feeling better, started a work-related email I have been fuming on for a couple of weeks now, so that was a good call.

A perpetual state of slight bummerness or a state of perpetual slight bummerness?

It's 12:01a.m. and stupid cold in here again.

So, House of Swing was fun. Lee Konitz played and it was wonderful to get to hear someone who played with Charlie Parker, et al. He was terrific. He and Wynton, plus the rhythm section did a jam on Stella By Starlight. Afterwards, Konitz left the stage. A jazzed, if you will, Marsalis said that after a musical conversation like that, it was hard to use simple words. The instruments, the music said it so much better. It was, however, "hard to order a hamburger with a trumpet. You might just starve."

Here's a Stella By Starlight with Pat Methany and Jaco Pastorius. Absolutely nothing like Lee and Wynton.

CAN YOU DO IT CAN YOU DO IT CAN YOU DO IT

Back to waking up (if that's what you would call the blind-kitten bumbling) to strange songs in my head. This morning, it was the chorus from Cool Jerk

Can you do it can you do it can you do it

Can you do it can you do it can you do it

Can you do it can you do it

(and now that's some kind of ... eye-opener? challenge?) don't ya think?

Last Sunday, which was very cold, the heat was out in the apartment for many cold hours. Now, it is stupid hot again. I mention this as I have the overhead fans on. The fan in the middle room bumps and ticks and I realize I feel a bit as Martin Sheen did at the beginning of Apocalypse, Now: "Saigon, shit. I'm still only in Saigon."

Going to therapy three times a week is a privilege, of course, but it can also effect you in mysterious ways. You might stumble across something, you might connect with something that you don't even get on the conscious level, which can send your psyche into hiding. At these times, all I know is that I cannot focus. I need to, want to, dive into the canyon that is sleeptime and be away from consciousness.

So, I gave myself forty minutes to check out. Only when I set my alarm, I unconsciously set it for a.m. instead of p.m. My responsible, get-stuff-done self managed to surface and question how long "we" had been gone. 2.5 hours. I did struggle to move around again, but I can still feel the tugging.

If you are wondering what the point might be, so am I. I feel I am still swimming back to my control center, and the current is pretty strong in the other direction. Of course, I am always pleased that I am not terribly depressed, down, but not depressed.

DO THE JERK (JUST ME AND YOU)

The day after.

Get on up. That is all I am trying to do. And, as it turns out, it is not easy. Does it ever feel as if life is a hungry beast that you must struggle to feed every damn day? No time out. And, appearances can be deceiving; just because I don't have a regular gig does not mean that I have stress free time. This is not a complaint, rather, an explanation or just to share with those fortunate among you who work and have worked almost all your adult lives at fairly regular jobs.

Enough of that. One of the dangdest things about getting older is when ideas/notions/suggestions you have long rejected begin to make incredible sense. And I'll just be positive here, apologies to my comrades-in-bummerness, but I am glad I am seeing it now. The ah-ha! for me continues to be stuff. Holy moley. For the longest time (say, up to now), I did not care nor pay any heed to how much stuff I had accumulated. Folks would say, "Wow. What's going to happen to all of this when you die?"

For years, in SallyAnneFantasyLand™, the thought was "Get lost! All this fabric will be used, patterns used, wool knitted, books and magazines read. All the objects will be more comfortably dispersed in my country home(s). Stop judging me and find something else to do." As I mentioned yesterday, I see that time, while there is some left, is getting shorter. All of these things will not be accomplished. Moreover (oh, that word felt good!), carting around all these thoughts, dreams, schemes, plans, and even ideas about myself prevent me from being fluid and flexible now and in the future.

And, just for those yet to see the sanity of this, digging out is painful and time-consuming. I realize the disparate aspects of psychology, consumerism, history-lust, etc, that have brought me to my personal stuff zone, and I am trying to be chill and kind with myself. But shit, there's a lot to do.

So, for all of you dear friends who were worried about what would happen if I ever moved again, I am working on making that less of an onerous task. And I am trying to focus on the things I love love love and want to be able to see and enjoy more. Less visual noise. More calm. (Well, not too much.)

And now we return to our regularly scheduled programming.

i'm trying my best
to dance dance dance ...

FOR SOME TIME I THOUGHT

No, no, no. I am not falling off the map here. I am just a bit tired of what feels like ritual or forced reporting and holding out for something of more depth. Then again, that takes more time and a different sort of attention, so that I end up not writing anything. And clearly, this is not a good idea.

Pam is having surgery today. The last reports I received, and again, these are not so clear, is that she has improved and that she will likely NOT lose her hand, and possibly even not her finger. Those closer correspondents promised to keep me informed, so I will just stay as positive as I can.


Meanwhile, I posted/sent a poem over the weekend that has such resonance in my life, is so on point, I can scarcely believe it exists. Most of you probably read it, but for the record, here it is again:

THE NEW SONG

For some time I thought there was time

and that there would always be time

for what I had a mind to do

and what I could imagine

going back to and finding it

as I had found it the first time

but by this time I do not know

what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less

there is the sound of the rain at night

arriving unknown in the leaves

once without before or after

then I hear the thrush waking

at daybreak singing the new song

— W. S. Merwin, The New Yorker, December 12, 2011

The next day or the day after that ...

All the Pam news is not yet in, but it seems as though her hand is intact, and her kidney function is improving. She lost part of her middle finger, but not clear to the first or second knuckle.

So, back to the Merwin poem, the idea that I will not be able to accomplish everything I have wanted to, nor everything I have collected or "hoarded", depending on your viewpoint, with an eye to tomorrow. Tomorrow, or at least soon, or at least sometime, I will have time (and money and energy) to knit, sew, cook, read, upcycle, travel, et cetera et cetera.

And now I think there isn't enough time. And that what I have collected slows me down, clutters me, maybe even hinders me from some of what I think I want or want to do or want to be.

And at the first, that just stops me in regret, and where there is regret there can also be recriminations of the personal kind. Yesterday, I just wanted to take everything and throw it out the window. Which, upon reflection, sort of makes it other people's problem.

This might be my favorite poem ever. I might even memorize it.

UNENLIGHTENED SHADOWS CAST

Did you ever think about how ominious is the song Hurdy-Gurdy Man? As it came out when I was still quite young, and I was yet to be obsessive about deconstructing my favorite songs, I did not give it much thought. Well, it is on my mind this morning. Better than a commercial theme song I suppose.

Later.

It finally dawned on me why this week, and Pam in the hospital, is so extra difficult for me. Four years ago, this week, my mother's sweet boyfriend ...  hard to call an 86-year old "boy" ... but her sweetie, went into the hospital. Vern was a terrific person and we were so happy that my mother had found someone who "got" her and cherished her so deeply. Vern did after about two months in the hospital.

The following year, the same week, within a day or two of Vern going into the hospital, Carl was hospitalized. He, too, died a within a month of Vern's passing, and within a day or two of my own father's death several years before.

So, this is a tough week for me, the memories of it being cold, the stress of being at the Kidscreen Conference, blah blah blah blah. And this might account for my afternoon dives for a deep nap.

All in all, things are improving for me. I just feel better, notwithstanding that I haven't done any yoga in three weeks. This week, however, I felt as if part of me were living somewhere else.

SLEEP NOT CELL PHONES

I well understand the prohibitions on cell phones in bed. But when you use it as your alarm clock, you need to keep it close, right? And, as it turns, there is the temptation to look at it when you wake up for water.

So, I admit, I am addled today. My friend Pam is still in the hospital, and Kansas Janet is out of town this week, I do not have a clear idea of what is going on with Pam. I got this text message from Pam at midnight:

"Surgery is scheduled for Monday. Thanks for keeping friends informed."

I woke up a bit later and asked, "What surgery?"

Two hours later Pam answered:

Finger/hand. Depends on degree of infection, which came back with a vengeance. Did you say you were listening to Sticky Fingers? Because that's the last thing I listened to before trip to hospital."

And all night I kept waking up, thinking what it would be to lose your right hand. Not just for all the things you do with it, but, for some reason, the idea that you couldn't touch and feel. Cannot touch. Cannot feel. I could not get this out of my mind and woke several times after restless sleep.

And hence the addledness. Not just tired. But so weighted down with the sadness of this loss that it is all I can do to stay upright and awake.

No touch. No wringing of hands. Clasping of hands. Clapping of hands. No "here's the church, here's the steeple..."

Later that night.

I haven't heard from Pam again. I managed to get in touch with her son, who is in Korea, but trying to keeps tabs on his mom. He says things are somewhat better and that the surgery on Monday is to clean out the infection, that she might lose the finger, but even that is not clear.

This all threw me for a pretty big emotional loop, though. Or maybe it was hitting on some other issues in therapy today.

Things are pretty good, except that I feel emotionally run-over. I'll try to sleep through the night and ignore the cell phone, even if it pings.

YES, HERE I AM

Okay, yes, it is true. I am challenged by writing this blog these days. It is not because I am not thinking, musing, and all of that. I am quite ... what? ... full of ... stuff ... thoughts, ideas, plans, frustrations, anxieties, commitments, ... One might say, "Suck it up, sister. That's life."

Not having a regular job requires invention, assessment, and motivation every day. The to-do list changes as the number of set duties and time to accomplish them is up to me. ("And how crazy is that?") While I am quite accomplished at setting priorities for others and keeping them on track, doing it for myself is not such a clear-cut matter. And ascertaining what is most likely to lead to cash, every day, is a moving goal.

So, not complaining, just explaining. This week is one of the big kids' media business conferences, Kidscreen. I can't afford to go, as most of my immediate cohort cannot either. We always talk about doing a panel, but then we don't quite get around to proposing it and all. So another year goes by. I don't do well at this kind of event. Often, my ADHD kicks in. And as if I didn't feel day-to-day angst about the "presentation of self in every day life, " Kidscreen poses even more challenges: you are being judged, and you are competing.

And then comes the ambivalence and insecurity about being in the kids' business. I do love making media for children, but do I love it more than anything else I do? And where is the business going? Really, the question is "where am I going?"

But you knew that.

So, that's where I am at the moment. Time to get back to moderating on occupylive.org, get ready for an editorial conference with KaHug, and figure out what I am going to wear to the Women in Children's Media Cocktail party tonight.

FIND A SPOT

I don't know about you, but it sure takes nuthin' for the day to zoom by. That certainly did not feel to be the case when I had a regular office job. Now, I get up and start working and, suddenly, it is noon, and I have not accomplished even close to what I had hoped. And the hours between 1:30 and 4:00 are totally strange. Time stops and starts. And then it is twilight, and that's when I get wiggy and contemplative.

Tipsy, in a quiet life-tizzy. But getting on. How about I give you this for today?







GROUNDHOG DAY

Celebrate this unlikely oracle,
this ball of fat and fur,
whom we so mysteriously endow
with the power to predict spring.
Let's hear it for the improbable heroes who,
frightened at their own shadows,
nonetheless unwittingly work miracles.
Why shouldn't we believe
this peculiar rodent holds power
over sun and seaons in his stubby paw
Who says that God is all grandeur and glory?

Unnoticed in the earth, worms
are busily, brainlessly, tilling the soil.
Field mice, all unthinking, have scattered
seeds that will take root and grow.
Grape hyacinths, against all reason,
have been holding up green shoots beneath the snow.
How do you think spring arrives?
There is nothing quieter, nothing
more secret, miraculous, mundane.
Do you want to play your part
in bringing it to birth? Nothing simpler.
Find a spot not too far from the ground
and wait.


 — Lynn Ungar, Blessing the Bread (Boston, Skinner House Books, 1996)

YOU DON'T WRITE YOU DON'T CALL

Saturdays tend to go right by me. After getting up in time to moderate occupylive.org and get to the Upper East Side by 10:15, I am somewhat logy the rest of the day. A grey day, like today, does not help the feelings of being displaced, lost, and just floating along. The kitties are fast asleep. I just got out of a long-ish bath. What else is to be done but nap?

And now we are on to Sunday.

I know. You don't write, you don't call.

I just have this free-floating anxiety today. I am disturbed and overly saddened by Miss Becky's loss of her kittyfriend, Lola, yesterday? And I overwhelmed by myself, as I so often am? I have not heard from or about Pam in days and I have no idea how she is? Am I suffering from a bit of under-exercise and no yoga? Do I think I should be watching the SuperBowl?

I will say I really want to climb into bed and take an afternoon nap. What I am going to do is put on my shoes and coat and go for a walk.

Stay tuned.

Okay. I walked. I took a short, sweet nap, interrupted by some football fan screaming drunk before the game. But I wrote and watched Downton Abbey with Tupelo instead of watching the SuperBowl. No regrets on that front.

Now, I am ready for some true sleep. I am posting this so that y'all don't think I am sliding into a bummer or anything.

NOT A SINGLE TOPIC

John will kill me for this photo.

As it John's birthday, and as Melinda is taking us out to dinner in celebration in about an hour, I just thought I would get down to it and write a bit now. There's always that chance that I might not be 100% sober later.

A very up and down day. Just as I was running through the house trying to find my other winter shoe and get out of the house on time, I got a message from Pam who is back in the hospital, very ill again, and this time, from what I have been able to find out, seem about to lose her finger. Not that I can figure out why, but this was made the  more poignant by my having received, yesterday, some rings to sell on eBay from my dear friend JH-M. Although I rarely wear rings, I pulled some out of the cache she sent, and had them on when I received  Pam's message.

And I still haven't found that other shoe and it is cold and I need it.

Therapy was fine. Then I headed over to Louise's apartment to work, thinking about the sad trajectory of parts of Pam's life; how abuse untreated and unaddressed can lead to such profound inability to take care of oneself, denial, and a lot of other things. Pain inflicted on children, and on adults, but children particularly, reverberates in ways that are not instantly apparent. That gun of abuse from Pam's childhood, it just went off. Again. With clearer consequences.

Work with Louise was fine and productive. I got word from Pam's friend in Kansas about how bad it might be.

Then I came home to find out a debt of mine had been turned over to a lawyer for collection. Is that too much information? I could be devastated, but it's just a current reality. I would love to pay it; it's a medical debt and I feel terrible about it. But right now, I am just keeping what money I get (and it is gradually increasing, thanks to those helping) in constant circulation and trying to keep the lights on, the internet running, and the cats fed. (Okay. I am eating, too.) Well, this is a "tomorrow at Tara" topic. Things are tough, and yet they have to be dealt with.

So, I just wanted to share this outside of myself so that I didn't dump it on John and Melinda while they are trying to celebrate. And I didn't want to keep it inside as that might cause me to drink to quash the anxiety.

And you all wanted to share, right?

P.S. It is Graham Nash's birthday, too. He's a good guy.

QUO VADIS?

Brooklyn Public Library with half-moon.

I did sleep better last night, or at least most of it. I woke up a few times to such quiet. There is generally a bit more traffic on the street, but, strangely to me, thing are nearly snow-muffled, though there is no snow. Parking is a little bit easier. Traffic is lighter, foot and car. The kids are not as noisy when released from school, though it is more than unseaonably warm. Having not experienced this neighborhood without some more winterly weather, I don't know if it is just a normal rhythm or something else.

KaHug and I have, in our verbal perambulations, talked about the expectations of our generation. And how they are being so sorely disappointed. Given that many of us were spawned and reared in the bubble of optimism, accomplishment, pride, and hubris that followed WWII, it is no wonder that many of us are back to being, on some level, mewling animals trying to navigate a new world blindly.

I worry for myself, of course, what will become of me, sooner than later, if I can't find steady employment. I have neither the tools for perspective nor problem-solving. Hell, I am not sure I have the appropriate guidelines to even define the scope of the problem, to begin to get a handle on all of it.

7:46 p.m.

I can barely keep my head off of the desk, but 8:00 p.m. seems a bit early for bed. I am not sure if this sleepiness is due to the stresses of the day and all that I am sorting out (much of which has not been trotted out for discussion), the general, daily stress of money and life, or ? ... the weirdness of the weather? It was 61 degrees out today. I walked to the library wearing a pullover sweater and no overcoat. And that ain't right.

The issues around mid-lifer/Baby Boomers out of work and out of illusions continues to dog and intrigue me. And what are quite a few of us to do as we are not prepared for retirement and the job landscape has shifted so that we might not be qualified to do the work there is ... and I am not sure what work is out there.

OBSTACLES TO SUCCESS?

Forbes Thought Of The Day

“ The greatest obstacle to your success is probably you. ”

— Frank Tyger

No doubt. But that doesn't solve the problem in the slightest.

No Downton Abbey last night. Instead I had vague meandering threads of the life of KaHug. Must have been doing a work session with her a bit late in the evening ... perhaps it is best to stay with my own mental dramas at that hour. I seem to be quite susceptible to the problems of others, whether or not they "actually happened" ...


And as I was making my first cup of coffee, (why yes, I am starting this in the morning), I was singing Sympathy for the Devil (it is a good wake-up song), replacing the lyric, "just as every cop is a criminal" with "just as every cat is a criminal." You know I don't think that but Emmy can be challenging.


Just went over to work on my political tweets for occupylive.org. Some doozies out there today: 

Irked by abortion bill, Va. senator adds rectal exams for men

WSJ Publishes Op-Ed From 16 Climate Deniers, Refused Letter From 255 Top Scientists

Winter sun on red brick building. This is not quite brilliant enough.

Utterly egregious crap. No question as to who is running the Wall Street Journal.


10:05 p.m.


Ahhh ... listed enough items for this week on eBay. Tedious work. I hope a couple of things sell, of course, as that is how I am making ends almost meet better. I am not sure if that is proper language there, but I am pooped. It is amazing or maybe merely remarkable how difficult it is even to get rid of things you don't need and aren't using. That might have something to do with the aesthetic value, but I did have trouble even planning to shake loose of some of these items.


This young lady stormed onto the train with a mission, which was to fling herself down and drown herself in her book as soon as humanly possible. And we always love that. I had to see what she wa reading: The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman. Of course. I should have known just by the Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter bag she was carrying. She had pink hair, too. Charming.

I hope I sleep better tonight.

SIGH-O-NARA

8:05 a.m.

Here's an experiment in different living for me. I guess it started with Downton Abbey last night. Breaking my rule, I brought my laptop to bed so that I could watch the most recent episode. Media watching on the bigger screens has been verboten for a while as I have enough trouble sleeping as it is. But my narrative junkie was screaming for a fix, so I succumbed.

The episode was about the end of WWI and a couple of good characters had bad things happen to them. My sleep was restless and anxious; every time I broke sleep's surface, I was thinking about the episode. Good thing I did not continue watching Mesrine or The Onion Field. both of which I have been watching on Netflix. 

So, when I woke up this morning at 7:15 or so, a good 30 minutes before I had scheduled myself to begin the process, I jumped (kinda) out of bed, made it, and am now trying to get a bunch of stuff done. First up, after having had some breakfast and coffee, is to get going on laundry. It's all ready to go, however, having no clean clothes to wear outside presents a problem. Oh well, I'll go dig around. And then it's eBay shipping time.

8:48 a.m.

Clothes awashing. There is already quite a bit of activity in the laundromat, which I expected for a Monday. There's going to be a lot of jockeying for position for dryers, I can already tell. When I came back to the building, who should be shivering on the doorstep but Melinda who had grabbed the wrong keys when she went outside to do a quick errand. That's some kind of serendipity. How often am I up (okay, usually these days), but also dressed and running around?

10:33 p.m.


So much for any insights. I am not sure where the entire day went. EBay packages were mailed, KaHug was advised, ironing was done, items were prepped for photographing for eBay tomorrow. And I could try to write something smart here, but I think taking down the ironing board, (although Emmylou will be greatly saddened and forced to find an alternate sleeping place), and doing even a little bit of yoga would be the best use of my limited (I hope) awake time. Although I didn't walk far today, I did walk up and down my apartment building stairs quite a bit ... I'll have to figure out what that metric is.

Sigh-o-nara.

Oh, and turns out the drunk dude is a regular at this subway stop. Here he is on Thursday, earlier in the day, hence less trashed. Why this woman is speaking to him is utterly beyond me. Perhaps he is more pleasant before he is completely trashed. I will keep you posted.

ANOTHER PLEASANT VALLEY SUNDAY?

Address tiles on the mews near NYU.

It's not a good sign when the song stuck in your head is the theme from The Beverly Hillbillies.

I realize I have been remiss in attending to this blog, to you, and to some extent myself. The good news is that it is not depression, sadness, or despondency that has kept me away from this writing. I have been busy with other things, moving toward more work, and not so prone to self-reflection and communication.

So, just to get you mildly up to date on "the struggle" ... after drinking wine and a martini with Jen and Jay last night, I was not full of vim and vinegar today. I did clean the kitchen floor and kitchen, do some work, and take a nice nap. I realized, inasmuch as I was thoroughly cosy, that I really should make myself take a walk, that when I didn't walk or leave the house, it tended to push me more toward depression or some kind of lethargy.

So I took kind of long one, even though it was dark by the time I left the house. I walked all the way down 8th Avenue to Flatbush, then cut down to 7th Avenue and back home. It was about 2 miles and well beyond the 20 minute walking goal.  That part of town had seemed so far away, it had never really occured to me to walk it.

So, what do I do with this blog if I am not thinking anything? I can report that I feel more hopeful than I did even a week ago. I made a little more money (close to $60 on eBay today).



I must be mentally gestating some things. I haven't done any yoga in days and I need to. That will have to be high on the agenda for tomorrow, along with going to the library, and moving the car. I don't feel particularly creative, but I have been helpful to KaHug and I had some good ideas about getting MW moving along again.

For the moment, it's a life that is creeping in a better direction. I hope to have more good progress or even insight to report ere long.

Looking down Sixth Avenue where the World Trade Center Towers used to be.

ITS ALL ALRIGHT AS LONG AS YOU KEEP THE DISTANCE

Yesterday was all right, as close to good as I've had in a long time. This morning I woke up with a negative bank balance again. I almost bummered, but I have eBay/PayPal funds pending, so I think I can make it to my next check. Yes, it's a bit of a stretch and it won't be comfortable.

One of the high-and-low-lights of yesterday was going to Trader Joe's to grocery shop. I was running perilously low on things like olive oil, butter, and inexpensive but tasty proteins.

By now it is Saturday night. To be sure, alcohol has been a part of the social agenda this evening to the degree that I feel disengagedd.


But that doesn't mean that I am disengaged, am give leave to be disengaged. That I cannot comment in  a reasonable and productive form stays my fingers from writing much.

CHAPEAUX DE CUL

Such a rare thing, it is, for me to say that I had a good day, that even though I am exhausted, here I am doing it. And remember it was just this morning that I mused on my last-night-before-sleep question on whether it were possible to go to bed feeling something like satisfaction?

Don't worry, I'm not that all that. I just powered through lots of tasks. I photographed and posted a bunch of stuff on eBay. I will be pleased when I no longer have to do that for survival income. But some of these items have been sitting around needing to find other homes for awhile, so making progress on that does feel good.

I had a good, intense writing coach session with KaHug. She was all fired up and stimulated by my comments and that is gratifying.

Gosh, not a lot more happened.

Oh, well, there was this funny-ish anecdote. After therapy, I headed for the train, calling Iris who had been trying to reach me. I had on my headset, so it likely looked as if I were speaking to myself and listening to music. I ducked into a deli to grab a little snack before getting on the train. Mostly, however, I was listening to what Iris was saying and thinking about that. As I quickly surveilled the store, trying to find something not fried or equally disgusting, I glimpsed a street-person-ish man somewhat focused on me and moving in my direction up the aisle from the beer obtaination area. I made a quick decision, grabbed what I wanted and headed the other way to the check-out. As I rounded the corner shelf, the fellow was on the ground and I got the impression that he was cursing me.

I just remembered what this reminded me of. I was in Lyon while the '92 Olympics were going on. I had gotten into town late and was hungry, so I set out to see if I could find some food. Yeah, it was a little scary walking around a French town I did not know at 11:00 at night. I was on either Rue Victor Hugo or Rue Auguste Comte, but I think it was Victor Hugo. My hotel was right near the train station there on Place Carnet. Some day, I'll show you the photos.

At any rate, it was late, dark, and there weren't a lot of people around. I could hear a drunk walking toward me on the sidewalk. I believe he was addressing me, but I couldn't hear and don't think I could have understood a drunken man's French from that distance. I waited until he was very near, and then I slipped across the street in such a manner that he could neither access nor follow me easily. He then stopped in some wonder and consternation and berated me for eluding him.

Yes, of course, drunk French man, I am going to stay in your path so that you can accost, annoy, and who knows what else. Asshat. Or as we might say in French, Chapeau de cul ... beret de cul? (I'm sure Laurie or Iris will have something to add to that.) Trilby de cul?

So this fellow today, unfortunately had a prosthetic leg, on display as his trousers were not adequate to cover it. I think he was reaching for me when I moved away, but, as I say, I was fairly absorbed in what Iris was saying, in a hurry, and trying to avoid crazy-person contact. (You learn that in a place like New York. Survival skill.) 

So there I was standing trying to pay and drunk man is still muttering. I realized he was calling me out, saying that I was short, fat, and stupid. I was slightly taken aback but primarily at his fucking ... I'm going to say masculine ... temerity to judge my looks and being and to expect that I would have attended upon him in the slightest fashion merely because I was a female? an unattractive female?

So we have a drunk gimp falling in the store berating my public persona? I don't think so. The other factors may be observable, but I am not stupid, so there is no reason to take the rest of the litany seriously either. 

And as the t-shirt said, "I may be fat, but you're ugly. And I can diet."

My outrage and annoyance were at the high-handed deluded COLONIALIST manner that he was allowed to even address me. Fucking jerk. 

GOOD MORNING, ROMAN EMPIRE!

Good morning, Roman Empire! What fresh hell and degradation is in store for us today? I am still reeling from the cat murder and not wanting to go to occupylive.org as I think it will be on the front page and I will have to look at it again.

Dough. Direction. Joy. That's my mantra, the words I try to remember to say to face the day. Dough, preferably in the form of money, but, as chronicled here, I work on other forms. (Cake counts as dough, right?) Direction, because what to do what to do is not clear to me. Joy because dammnit I'd like to be happier.

As I was falling asleep last night, not feeling pepper peppy or optimistic, I wondered who's head hits the pillow and then feels contentment, safety, satiety, accomplishment, even resolve? I had a longer list of words last night, but I didn't want to disturb my relaxation into sleep.

I need to get some work done this morning as there is light and I have many items to photograph for eBay.

A couple of weeks ago, when I quoted John Leonard's remark on embarrassment and moral consciousness, Laurie had a thoughtful response. In the instance that you didn't see her comments, here they are:

I find the out of context use of the quotation hard to react to, except on the gut level i'm not sure it's true. I think that Hegel said that embarrassment is the beginning of moral consciousness, but that there were other stages in the process. Seeing morality as a social or emotional process doesn't entirely work for me, since I have become so introverted that I operate on an internalized "guilt-based" morality. I'm not too affected by shame but I do avoid being judged by others. I think I have been most severely judged negatively for two things: getting old and getting fat. These are an unavoidable and an avoidable "sin" which for me have no moral content. The kind of thing I find appropriate to judge morally is considering what would happen if everyone behaved the same. Killing is wrong in most instances because it would decimate the population, theft would close down commerce, being cruel to others could lead to people being depressed and even suicidal, etc.

Teaching seeks to make students internalize values, knowledge, not seek external validation. Yet so much of it is based on negative reinforcement. I tend to believe the negative can work if it is something the student can control (being late, missing class) but won't work if s/he is stupid or lacking ability. Embarrassing someone comes in the category of negative reinforcement. The master or employer embarrasses the slave or employee as a technique of control. I also read a jewish philosopher who said that embarrassment was the source of religion! but the master, employer or teacher uses negative reinforcement a lot for motives unrelated to morality.

LOST AND SPINNING

Oh, how typical of me. It's 10:22, I have something cooking. I'm now awake (although I only took at 25 minute nap this evening). And it is crazy hot in here again.

I will spare you the photo, but in my moderating for occupylive.org, I came across a story and a picture of a cat that had been brutally murdered with the word "liberal" carved into it found on the doorstep of its owner, an Arkansas Democrat running for office. Don't look for the story. But I am just nauseated. This is the kind of thing that will wake me at night, as well as keep me from sleeping.

A bit later. Two hours later. Where did the time go? Eating chips and salsa, drinking beer, doing dishes, playing solitaire, reading The Guardian, rescuing Emmylou from the fire escape, and some self-loathing.

You've heard me say it before: lost and spinning. Is anything in the universe besides a human being able to be lost and spinning? (Physics people?)

Even though it sprinkled and gently rained, I walked down to the Library Book Mobile there near B, with a small pile of books (the library book pile is thinning down) then on to to the post office, which is between 4th and 5th Streets, so that I could put some eBay packages into the mail. Then I walked along 5th Avenue, stopped for a slice of pizza that I ate while walking in the rain. At the corner of 13th and 5th, there is a thrift store. Wow. I went in and looked at their goods for a long long time.

I suppose it is a positive thing that I can now go into a thrift store and not HAVE to buy something, come what may. Hell, spending $2.50 on a piece of pizza seemed extravagant. I looked for a long time and allowed myself to buy two used cds, Kirsty McColl and Dolly Parton for another $2.50. And I did give that a lot of thought before I decided to part with the money. Then I walked another block to the shoe repair at 14th and 5th, to pick up the shoes I had polished so that I could sell them on eBay. Then I walked home.

One of my "B" friends is financially challenged also. We had a walk last week, maybe I already reported this. We discussed trying to budget when money is so tight that buying sandwich baggies is food for consideration. B says that she thinks/has read/?? that you need to keep the money flowing. So I did today, although I felt nearly profligate.

Hope I can sleep. (But seriously, folks, not TOO down.)

WEEKEND END

Sunday, January 22

Oh today did not look good.  The first few hours I worked hard to ward off despair. A not-so-good night's sleep and waking up early did not help. I duly arose, drank some coffee, did my moderating job, wallowed in panic, tried to go back to sleep, and finally figured I might as well try to accomplish something if I couldn't sleep.

Monday, January 23
I just couldn't do yesterday justice by the time I sat down to write. Me old pal, MW, called from California at a much earlier hour than I would have expected from him. (Then again, when your mood challenged people call at odd hours, it is not generally a good thing.) We had a meaningful discussion that, surprising to me, shed some light/relief on one of my larger angst sources. And he's in a unique position to help out with this particular issue, so I was grateful for the serendipity.

KaHug and I had scheduled a work session. She's writing a (cool) book, and needs a second voice out in the wilderness. As is usually the case, we moved along into a more philosophical discussion of the world, our lives, and what the hell to do with them. This, too, cheered me.

After a nearly horizontal morning, I found myself buyoued into verticality and productivity. Bread was made. Clothes were ironed. Beds were made. Yoga was practiced. Top Hat was watched.


Emmy cannot stay away from me when I do yoga. She continually crawled under my face, stopping to make sure that her tail was as much in my nose as could be.

JR thinks this may be a sign of the coming apocalypse: I watched the entire 49'er-Giants football game. And. Enjoyed. It.

John and Melinda had invited me for an early dinner. John excused himself to watch the game. Mel and I drifted in. Three hours later we were all yelling and screaming. John and Melinda were slightly amazed that 1) I knew anything about football whatsoever and 2) that I would becoming a screaming fan. Growing up in Boystown, one gets exposed to sports. And such is my way, I have to know about it and what is going on. I cannot imagine that I will give up reading or my other activities to become a sports couch potatoe, but it was fun for a change.

So, today still raining but warmer. I did not get much outdoor exercise these last two days, so I think I will make a point of a walk today.

Cooder was already in bed.

SALMAGUNDI SATURDAY

The two most important days of your life are the day you are born ... and the day you find out why.
— Mark Twain

Evidently Mark Twain said this, but 15 minutes of snorkeling around the internet did not yield me a proper citation. Yes, I remain skeptical. I will continue to look but if I don't write right now, I will just fall into bed.

That Twain quote seemed of a piece with the Garcia Marquez from yesterday somehow, although I haven't pieced them together yet.

I just read that Joe Paterno died. What the ....? He was involved in criminal activity and that was on beyond terrible, but still, I feel badly that he left this world at such a crappy moment. On the other hand, he probably wanted out of the nightmare his life had become.

And speaking of WTF ... the Republicans in South Carolina voted for Gingrich? Are they smoking, one and all? And I am not thinking about tobacco here. Is South Carolina the land of philandering asshats and they are showing their solidarity for Newt's broad-mindedness/double standard? I don't get it.

And then there's Etta James, who, of course, rocked the house and then some. You'd think every one all along listened to her all the time and that she was everyone's favorite, right up there with Miss Aretha. And yet, I cannot remember a person with whom I discuss and listen to music saying a word about her. Fortunately, I have a lot of her music. John, Melinda, and I had a little Etta wake last night.

So, Saturday night bread rising. Cats are patiently waiting for me to go to bed. Emmylou is made for snow, but when I put her on the fire escape, she didn't seem to like it very much.

No puns on my name please. I hate being called Sal and Salmagundi won't make it any better.

A MORE ENJOYABLE DAY

Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them; life obliges them to give birth to themselves over and over.
 -- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude



Wow. Is that what's going on with me? I was never that keen to be a mother, and here I am stuck with the big-assed (in more than one way) baby that is meself.


Oh. Oh. Oh. Not a lot to reliably report. Slogging slogging slogging through. Napping here and there.


Snow expected in four hours. The curtain rod over the bed fell down . I decided to leave that window exposed so that I could wake up and see the snow falling in my face, kind of. You know, how often do we have snow falling on our faces as we lie in bed? Not so many unless we have a sunroof over the bed. 


It was not clearly productive, but it was a more enjoyable day.