 Friday, August 26, 2005
Lesser men than me would quake in the waning days of a vacation but I fear not. Although admittedly I’m saying this Guinness-aided. Still, I look back and have a deep appreciation for the days I’ve been gifted with and feel a deep sense of relaxation (again, perhaps Guinness-aided). It’s nice to take a moment and cherish the moments that made it special. The most recent was seeing Bernadette hit every drive off the tee like she was a professional, which, of course she was. And by the tenth hole I could watch her tee off and not be nervous. Drives would come off her driver as if they were pre-ordained. And I’m always amazed if only because that means her clubhead has to be exactly straight (i.e. neither tilted north or south one iota) every time. I have trouble making sure the clubhead is straight before I hit the ball let alone midway through a swing. I found it hi-laire at the difference between her and the other gals, for politically incorrect reasons. If I was playing “spot the heterosexual” it wouldn’t be a close call. When the Columbus Dispatch mentioned some other woman as “best dressed” I was sure they hadn’t seen Bernadette. Part of what was cool about it was the sense of adventure, the getting up so early in the morning and breaking the routine of life. Something as small as that really makes a difference. And there was the adrenalin of being at my first pro tournament, of watching what they do, how much the pros talk, how country-quiet it is, how they announce who's tee'ing off and their hometown, how a group of two or three follow them around writing down the scores and toting a sign of where they are in relation to par. I didn’t get to go to Miami or Glynnwood or read at Darby but the Reds and LPGA are significant enough to ameliorate some of the pain. Still, I’m thinking a few more days next year might be the ticket. And it was good to see Mom & Dad: long bike ride with Mom. I also gainsayed some beautiful books too at the Half-price bookstore they have down there. Came away pregnant with books and the treasure of Grandma’s scrapbook, which I carefully scanned Tuesday morning. There was something special in the air that Tuesday morn, the dust motes lit up in the morning sun, the ancient text and images from a bygone era satisfyingly transplanted to the “permanent” venue of digital storage. Then in the afternoon, sitting outside in the ecstasy of sun and plant, exuberant and giddy before the expanse of time before me, I bled some of that joy into the journal. (3) comments • • • • • Friday, August 19, 2005
Aquinas says that gluttony is the closest sin to lust but from a practical viewpoint it seems anger is a kissing cousin. And while there is a righteous anger, the less righteous type seems similar to lust in its demand for its own way or the highway. Both are bred or fed in restlessness, both are anti-reflective, anti-meditative...both stir up the blood. A confessor once said that lust is exacerbated by stress, which seems a convenient enough excuse given modern life. I noted it, but didn't buy it.(0) comments • • • • • Friday, August 12, 2005
I don’t much like the cut of August’s gib. Perhaps I’m prejudiced or paranoid, but sometimes I swear there’s something in the air that intimates the Fall of summer. If so that would be a tragedy and I can only hope summer’s demise is greatly exaggerated. I can’t get everything done I’d like to do but I’m out there trying to do it as if checking them off. I would have much more souiciance if I had confidence I could face winter serenely rather than getting everything out of summer. Going to a Red’s game is small consolation in deep February. Which would auger for more spiritual, less sensual.I do rest amazed in how things have changed over the past decade. I used to want to hang in forgetfulness but now I feel a constant underlying anxiety that I’m not doing much for Him. Amazing that I could waste time with such proficiency then! Partially it was because I was less religious and partially it was because there was so much time that it was inconceivable to even imagine it a perishable resource. (4) comments • • • • • Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Went to the Clippers game today, an exercise in futility. It’s amazing how banal baseball can be in the wrong circumstances. Perhaps I wasn't in the mood. But the sound in the ballpark was deafening – every school group in Central Ohio was there and they have lungs and they make good use them. People were coming and going with a frequency that defies decription. It felt like a social event with a baseball game serving as the computer wallpaper. Does anyone really watch a game anymore? I think when you charge so little (as is the case in minor league baseball) perhaps no one cares enough to actually watch the game. With the Reds everyone is infinitely quieter and more attententive (although I recognize it could be a class or age difference). The game is qualitatively different with the Reds - it's almost meditative. At Clipper's Stadium it's as meditative as a school dance.(0) comments • • • • • Monday, August 01, 2005
The one thing I learned in adulthood is that you cannot know what you don't know. So I do not fault Bush for going to war over WMDs, because he operated on the fact that there were WMDs. There was no way for him to know there weren’t any when every intelligence agency in the world thought Saddam was loaded down with them. Similarly, there was no way to know that my mother was not representative of all mothers. There was no way for me to know that her beautiful – dare I say sacred? - habit of putting everything away and in its place was not replicated across all women over all time. Marriage necessarily blindsides one. You can feel no guilt at not anticipating what could not be anticipated. Growing up, I thought that kitchen counters preferred an absence of items to such an extent that they emptied themselves of items. I thought that clutter disappeared of its own accord. It did seem a sort of magic: leave a cereal bowl on the counter and within an hour it would disappear. Kreskin could do no better. But of course it was my mother doing it. That she complained about us leaving stuff about – like paper clippings and rubber bands (I was a paper boy) – seemed like white noise in the background. Static on 45rpm records. Rubber bands? Was she kidding? What is a rubber band here or there among friends? Of course there never was a rubber band here or there among friends because my mom picked it up before it hit the ground. So order in house & garage was taken for granted. Order, like breathing, is only appreciated when it's withheld. (5) comments • • • • • |
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Desperately Seeking Retirement      |
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