One of my love's oldest friends, D, has been in the hospital since April 17th. And although I haven't known D long or all that well yet, he is my friend too because he is dear to my S. Maybe it was a cold that developed into pneumonia because the AML was progressing so quickly? As soon as he was admitted to the hospital he was in ICU faster than you could say, "huh? D?" Shortly after his admittance into ICU his organs were compromised: AML was discovered. The doctors wanted to start on the chemo with his immune system so shot to hell...Understandably they had to. And understandably D's liver and kidneys were not successfully filtering out blood impurities like mutant blood cells because those WBC still had his DNA. Damn those rogue white blood cells.
But outside cells and human physiology--it really all is incomprehensible.
If you look back, it really was a week where all seemed wrong with the world: NJ was officially being governed without a governor; the spring rains brought serious flooding to an area that had just recovered from Floyd (1999); the Virginia Tech shootings resulted in absurd, in the Camusian sense, murders. And I could continue on like we thought the rain would... Yes, well, some of us already knew that the world is wrong, has been wrong for a while now.
But then, like the homecoming of the prodigal child, the vernal equinox just waltzed in and stunned us with its splendor. The great tree of treaty lore seemed to transform overnight: buds, flowers, and leaves in quick succession, leaving a lawn of fierce pollen yellow confetti-blossoms like the morning after a parade. And soon the humus earth could breathe again.
This is the season of marked perennial rejuvenation, not life support and a tangle of tubes. Sometimes, more than others, we feel like we're hanging on by a thread--financially, emotionally, or the symptoms of the week. Sure, we do dramatize our doldrums into ailments--but if we're not hanging on with the aid of morphine, tubes and machines, we're doing quite well, aren't we? Grateful, should we be, but not at the expense of those dear to us. We the survivors of this life do seek respite from the all-too-frequent reminders of Death's sly, eely act.
We are only survivors
until...
the vine snaps,
the marble rolls into a floorboard,
and until...
the watering hole is poisoned,
the night swallows the shadows..
30 April 2007
26 April 2007
but my life is neither sitcom nor drama...
Friends. We're all in our 30s, some have embarked on their 40s. Many are married--or, like me, "almost" or "practically" married--, some have been married, some are in "serious relationships, and then there are those still "looking" for their One.
So, we, my generation, represent the gamut of statuses in the realm of the "r" word. That word, relationship, seems to blur the boundaries of private and public knowledge because we're a complex, complicated lot. In all likelihood, we've been around the block a few times, we are proud of our cultivated friendships, and we've learned the hard way to not to settle for less than our perceived worth.
We, as is it for each generation, find ourselves betwixt and between our parents' generation. A generation that when tying the knot espoused to the idea of privacy--you do not have to talk about your salary, sex life, politics, and religion: it's personal. Then there's the generation after us raised on reality shows and Bill Clinton's "oral sex is not sex"; they seem to openly talk about who does what well as if it were Derek Jeter's field performance. A shrug and a "whatever, dude, it's just sex." We are betwixt the rigid vertebrae of the sacred-privacy and the gumby-esque "nothing is sacred." And perhaps it is good to be somewhere in between..to find a balance between a privacy that teeters on repression and the younger generation's performed (even risky!) self-confidence that comes with flippancy.
If we have friends we can talk to, count on, and confide in, we're feeding our soul; from a materialist perspective, we're saving money. That's more money in my pocket and less in the "trained licensed" psychologist's pocket. (And if you don't already know how I feel about shrinks and the discipline known as the "science" of human behavior---this is a dead giveaway.)
But back to this notion of age, we're in our 30s and 40s, and so as 'adults' not all of us have attained an understanding that being an adult means things change. We, active agents of our lives, make those changes; we do have some free will, folks.
In our 20s my generation was ingesting 90210, Felicity, and Friends as if they were the Symposium of the 1990s (working full-time jobs we would gather and plan our viewings of 90210. Ma cousine, do you remember those days?). So we learned about 3 basic categories of "relationships"-- same sex friendships, 'dating' (though none of us really 'dated'...), and opposite sex friendships. Instead of dealing with someone's potentially hurt feelings, you had your friends screen calls. You didn't care about Joey's or Rachel's lack of integrity--it was a bond, an understanding that friends help friends...Or, maybe your circle of friends took turns dating its members, as as Brandon and Brenda did. All too familiar.
See, here is where my generation gets befuddled and hangs on to the 20s, the way station to adulthood. Maybe Carrie Bradshaw and her entourage of "successful" friends have found the 21st century's Limbo. (And I'd be the first to say--I blossomed in my 20s, especially once I left the TVland of my Eastern origins for the mountainous interior...) Many of us opted to stay and linger there (as if the 20s were a beach resort or a cozy B&B), not noticing that holding on to an idea of our younger selves is a lot like too many alcohol soaked nights. While I might have bloomed in cycles, I must confes that I too spent a bit of time in a burning building (sometimes fanning the flames...), digging and trying to find decent ground for anchoring and stretching my roots. Eventually, I got out of the soot, splinters, rubble and ash. And so I think that coming of age means recognizing that change is necessary--first, when we have found the One, we acknowledge that we are not just responsible for ourselves. From there, we must decide how we want to be responsible to the Other who is our One. And while the list is a voluntary and infinite one, it comes down to two basic things: (1) making certain that we treat the One well and love him/her unconditionally and (2) making sure our actions abet those feelings of love. The little proliferate mundane joys of helping each other out... Doing laundry, making meals on a hot plate, paying bills... Sometimes helping means refusing to hold her by the legs so she can lean out the attic window to clean the gutters.
So, we, my generation, represent the gamut of statuses in the realm of the "r" word. That word, relationship, seems to blur the boundaries of private and public knowledge because we're a complex, complicated lot. In all likelihood, we've been around the block a few times, we are proud of our cultivated friendships, and we've learned the hard way to not to settle for less than our perceived worth.
We, as is it for each generation, find ourselves betwixt and between our parents' generation. A generation that when tying the knot espoused to the idea of privacy--you do not have to talk about your salary, sex life, politics, and religion: it's personal. Then there's the generation after us raised on reality shows and Bill Clinton's "oral sex is not sex"; they seem to openly talk about who does what well as if it were Derek Jeter's field performance. A shrug and a "whatever, dude, it's just sex." We are betwixt the rigid vertebrae of the sacred-privacy and the gumby-esque "nothing is sacred." And perhaps it is good to be somewhere in between..to find a balance between a privacy that teeters on repression and the younger generation's performed (even risky!) self-confidence that comes with flippancy.
If we have friends we can talk to, count on, and confide in, we're feeding our soul; from a materialist perspective, we're saving money. That's more money in my pocket and less in the "trained licensed" psychologist's pocket. (And if you don't already know how I feel about shrinks and the discipline known as the "science" of human behavior---this is a dead giveaway.)
But back to this notion of age, we're in our 30s and 40s, and so as 'adults' not all of us have attained an understanding that being an adult means things change. We, active agents of our lives, make those changes; we do have some free will, folks.
In our 20s my generation was ingesting 90210, Felicity, and Friends as if they were the Symposium of the 1990s (working full-time jobs we would gather and plan our viewings of 90210. Ma cousine, do you remember those days?). So we learned about 3 basic categories of "relationships"-- same sex friendships, 'dating' (though none of us really 'dated'...), and opposite sex friendships. Instead of dealing with someone's potentially hurt feelings, you had your friends screen calls. You didn't care about Joey's or Rachel's lack of integrity--it was a bond, an understanding that friends help friends...Or, maybe your circle of friends took turns dating its members, as as Brandon and Brenda did. All too familiar.
See, here is where my generation gets befuddled and hangs on to the 20s, the way station to adulthood. Maybe Carrie Bradshaw and her entourage of "successful" friends have found the 21st century's Limbo. (And I'd be the first to say--I blossomed in my 20s, especially once I left the TVland of my Eastern origins for the mountainous interior...) Many of us opted to stay and linger there (as if the 20s were a beach resort or a cozy B&B), not noticing that holding on to an idea of our younger selves is a lot like too many alcohol soaked nights. While I might have bloomed in cycles, I must confes that I too spent a bit of time in a burning building (sometimes fanning the flames...), digging and trying to find decent ground for anchoring and stretching my roots. Eventually, I got out of the soot, splinters, rubble and ash. And so I think that coming of age means recognizing that change is necessary--first, when we have found the One, we acknowledge that we are not just responsible for ourselves. From there, we must decide how we want to be responsible to the Other who is our One. And while the list is a voluntary and infinite one, it comes down to two basic things: (1) making certain that we treat the One well and love him/her unconditionally and (2) making sure our actions abet those feelings of love. The little proliferate mundane joys of helping each other out... Doing laundry, making meals on a hot plate, paying bills... Sometimes helping means refusing to hold her by the legs so she can lean out the attic window to clean the gutters.
While Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha keep searching for the bigger, better deal, they miss out on those little things.
He keeps her out of a plaster cast.... Now that's some thing.
11 April 2007
Me and my dang proclamations!
It seems as though I am the queen of proclamations; of course, I allow myself to change my mind or stance on former proclamations. Proclamations, like argot, are not fixed or static, but dynamic.. Some past proclamatory utterances are: "I despise daytime t.v.", "I do not believe in pyjamas or sweats,"or "I never get sick!" And believe me you, my sexton has heard me utter a litany of such sassy declarations--some in all seriousness and others in a tizzy of giggles.
And, perhaps I've jinx myself, if we believe in such things as jinxes. (If high jinks in Buffyverse exists, and jinx is the base for high jinx, then I'll give some credence to the power of the Jinx...). For just the other day on the drive back from a fun family visit I made the third statement (see above's "I never..."), the giddy irony of it--see, I have retained a sense of humor amid a torrent of what I would consider "migraines for the weak", lethargy, and sore glandular throatiness--is that I feel like wearing sweats and, although disinterested, find myself watching daytime t.v.
Perhaps I am just psychically connecting to the daytime t.v. watching population... I am ready to desist connecting!
And, perhaps I've jinx myself, if we believe in such things as jinxes. (If high jinks in Buffyverse exists, and jinx is the base for high jinx, then I'll give some credence to the power of the Jinx...). For just the other day on the drive back from a fun family visit I made the third statement (see above's "I never..."), the giddy irony of it--see, I have retained a sense of humor amid a torrent of what I would consider "migraines for the weak", lethargy, and sore glandular throatiness--is that I feel like wearing sweats and, although disinterested, find myself watching daytime t.v.
Perhaps I am just psychically connecting to the daytime t.v. watching population... I am ready to desist connecting!
05 April 2007
an ode to vapor
The clouds:a text
s t r e t c h e d
across
a scroll of
blue vellum...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)