Warming... PRETENDERS

Well, the weather here is winter weather today, but California winter, which I LOVE... After highs of 18 F several days last week, and waking at 6 am to a wind chill factor of 6 F... Today's 55 degree high had me HIGH... (Sorry Tutta!) I love snow, but for me, these respites in the weather, severe or not, are lovely punctuation to my days... Driving with the windows down, in a cotton shirt and tank top, my faded Levi's and short boots take on a different connotation... I won't say it's warm, but comfortable, refreshing, enlivening... Blasting The Pretenders, I am taken back, to a different decade, a different coast... My cynical East Coast Cave Dwelling ways have been replaced by my alter ego: California Girl... I'm body and soul walking back from the Oaks, with my oh so individual haircut; shoulder length with bangs, with bright yellow cellophane die job on the side where it is shaved... earphones blasting... could have been The Pretenders... my little lace up boots, brand new, clicking on the sidewalk, my oversized men's blazer getting warm, Wayfarers on, SPECIAL BEAT SERVICE t-shirt, turquoise overdied pencil jeans that day... oh no, I did NOT look like Debbie Gibson, but that is what it sounds like, from way back here, I guess. No head bands for me-- I'm too tough, too chic, too unique... boy, what was I thinking? it's farther than I thought...

Today, it's an SUV, and one handed air guitar while I drive... but that's ok. Because my feet don't hurt, my heart doesn't hurt... very much... and the lyrics all have meaning for me now, though I wish they didn't

MY BABY

I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME
THAT'S ALL I WANT FROM YOU
I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME
ONE DAY


I KNOW I'M A PEASANT
DRESSED AS A PRINCESS
BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE
TO TAKE MY CLOTHES AWAY


IF I COULD SHOW YOU
SOME HAPPINESS
THEN I WOULD FEEL
LIKE A REAL PRINCESS
THAT TO ME WOULD BE SUCCESS
MY BABY


I SEEN YOU DANCIN'
A NATURAL BEAUTY
YOU MAKE THIS DIVE
SEEM SUBLIME

YOU REALLY GET TO THE HEART OF THE MUSIC
YOU'RE THE POETRY OF TIME


IF THERE'S A METHOD
TO WRITING A SONG
HOW COME I'M GETTING IT WRONG
YOU WRITE THE BEAUTIFUL SONGS
BABY


C'MON, C'MON, C'MON BABY
TAKE MY HAND
C'MON, C'MON, C'MON SHOW ME
TO THE LOVE LAND


CAN THIS REALLY HAPPEN
IN THIS DAY AND AGE
SUDDENLY

TO JUST TURN THE PAGE
LIKE WALKING ON STAGE
MY BABY

by The Pretenders

READY,SET, OBAMA!

FEW WORDS CAN DESCRIBE THIS MOMENT... I AM WHOLLY AND UTTERLY MOVED-- CANNOT SEE ANY WAY OUR NATION IS NOT AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME MORE GALVANIZED THAN EVER BEFORE TO MEET AND CO-CREATE OUR HOPEFUL FUTURE.

"YES WE CAN!"

Grateful to Great Britain for the BLAIR-IZZARD effect...

Just as we are about to usher in our new President, I feel I must give a shout out to Tony Blair. Without his steadfast, self sacrificing allegiance to our country and to our destructive baboon's behind of a president, our foreign relations would be not only in the toilet; they would be beyond retrieval, long since processed at septic plant. This sepsis would be possibly irreversible, even in light of all the hope resting on our President Elect. So thank you, Tony. You stood by us when few else would, even at sacrifice of your own career (and many lives... but we won't get into that here). I am and have been truly grateful to you. (And so should be my Fellow Americans)




So while I'm giving shouts out to Brits, why leave out Eddie Izzard? He so gently reminds us here in America, by virtue of his softspoken question "You do know, there are other countries???" that we are an insular, self centered, narcissistic nation. All while cheering us with his intelligent, lighthearted comedy, which so often nimbly prances about with a broad reaching history lesson. (World History, thankyouverymuch!) And besides, he makes it alright for me to like guys in makeup again... man I miss the 80's! But wait! That's not all-- Thank you, Mr. Izzard, for your abominable French. I TOTALLY GROOVE ON IT, and love you all the more for spouting it. After all, it's the only occasion where my abominable French is in complete accord; I understand every word.

This American thanks you two gentlemen for meeting us Americans more than half way... Hopefully, this attitude can effect a leg up and inspire Americans to do their part in the future that is unfolding before us.

Cheers to you both!

You've Got Mail; from Me

"The time at our disposal each day is elastic; the passions we feel dilate it, those that inspire us shrink it, and habit fills it."
Marcel Proust



When I found I would be the only adult in our home for four days last week, I thought: "I'll write and write and write!" But actually, instead, I read and read and read. And caught a cold. (Isn't it always the way?) I found myself reading some moving poetry by Amanda, "I'm Here" which can be read here: http://paperstarlings.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-here.html and I found myself grieving. The number of decades that pass do not dull or nullify the memories or poignant sense of loss that may appear at any time. Their subscription never expires. So, since I have not (I tell myself) watched the film, You've Got Mail for several years now (disputable) and there would be no-one to argue this or add this view to the tally, I indulged myself. I don't know this, but I would not be surprised to learn that I am one of very few who cries without fail when they watch this movie. Nearly an example of reflexivity, I am the film and the film is me. (Was this always the case or did it become so?) A mirror within a mirror. The main character states, "So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?" And, "Confession: I have read Pride and Prejudice about 200 times. I get lost in the language; words like thither... mischance... I'm always in agony over whether Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are really going to get together! Read it, I know you'll love it!" I get lost in the rhythm journey emotion of this film. I have watched it untold times! I have played it in the background as if a record album to keep me company while I do the dreaded dishes. The language and pacing are musical to me. The light and setting a warm and evocative rendering of quotidian life. I can go to it in Filofax fashion and call up whichever identification suits.

This time, it was to grieve my Mother. When Kathleen Kelly confesses, after acknowledging defeat in the losing of her store, her Mother's store, "Soon we'll just be a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know, because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is, I'm heartbroken. I feel as if part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right. " She sees before her, a vision, ghostly and luminescent, of herself and her Mother from another time, happy, unsuspecting, secure. This has always brought me to tears, cut right to the quick of me. The funny thing is, the trigger's effect has scarcely changed, and those who know me best can not comprehend in the least why this should be so. I never questioned it, merely accepted it. But now, in looking at the way I perceive memory, and experience nostalgia on the whole, I can see that my perceptions and experiences are likely to be different than those others with whom I share my life, whether or not I understand or comprehend or apprehend them myself.

Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.
Marcel Proust

anamnesis

an⋅am⋅ne⋅sis The recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence.

2. Platonism. Recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in a previous existence, esp. by means of reasoning.

3. Psychology. A recalling to memory; recollection.

4. Immunology. A prompt immune response to a previously encountered antigen, characterized by more rapid onset and greater effectiveness of antibody and T cell reaction than during the first encounter, as after a booster shot in a previously immunized person.

5. Medicine. The complete medical history recalled and recounted by a patient.

6. (often initial capital letter) A prayer in a Eucharistic service, recalling the Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of Christ. Origin: 1650-60 anámnēsis remembrance, equiv. to ana(mi)mn (skein) to remember (ana ANA- + mimn skein to call to mind) + -sis -SIS

Coffee Philosophy, or "Consider the French Press... and then try Melitta"

(Hopefully, you can appreciate this analogy, whether or not you enjoy Coffee. Certainly, I would hate to put forth a banalogy.)

Consider, I ask you, the French Press. An extremely effective, conservative of motion method to brew strong, full flavored coffee. One needs merely join the coffee with the hot water within the vessel and let nature take it's course before pressing the coffee to simultaneously extract and filter. Then one need only to pour out to take advantage of this event.

I do not own a French Press, however, though I do enjoy strong full flavored coffee. (And enjoy the end result of the FP Method, enormously. Why don't I own one...?)

I have decided, that I do not identify with my electric coffee maker. Firstly, "I drink alone". It is not efficient for that use. The space it occupies is coveted by me and my other kitchen accoutrements. It makes strange sounds which are very similar to one who is slowly drowning in their own pleura-- no believe me, it's true. That has been me and in my fevered state, just before being moved to ICU, I demanded "Who's making coffee??!" not knowing it was my own rattle I was hearing. It sits there, at the ready, ready to burn the coffee-- adding flavor but not one enjoyed by me. I know there are coffee pots "for one" (too much trouble for one cup!) and new carafes which insulate the coffee (sure, great for group coffee experience, perhaps).

Lately, I have been enjoying my vintage yellow ceramic Melitta drip cone. It has been an exercise in intent, intensity, and introspection. I does require mastery. One can do the obvious--fill the cone, as one would with an FP, and then fill again to get the desired amount. But that is not the method. The method for rich taste, strength that equals effort, requires that the water subside to just under boil. Then, the wetting, or whetting of the ground coffee-- just a few spoonfuls should make their way to the grounds--wait. Allow the coffee to get your meaning. Then pour a little more, flexing muscle as you lift the heavy kettle again. Yes, the Kettle is a Commitment. Next, when that is mostly subsided, pour about halfway full. You don't want to the coffee in it's new steamy state to get the wrong idea (you are not a hot water whore, nor one devoid of restraint, neither one who lacks appreciation of finesse and all that that implies.) Then when (did I mention you need a jumbo cup, or two cups to fully realize the maximum extent of this exercise?) that pour is mostly in submission--yielding to you the majority of what you think it will, lift the Kettle once more; tidy up the grounds left behind and rinse them back down, readying them for your last hot splash.

How do you get your coffee? Is it instant? Do you use a cumbersome machine? A French Press, retro Percolator? Or do you let someone else make it for you? Is it a group event, where volume dictates method? I have no judgement of any of these methods; I only wish to question. How do you get your world view? How do you share it? How do you gain friendships? What is the state of your Spirit?

The late Andy Kaufman once stated that he kept himself grounded by periodically taking work as a dishwasher; dishwashing has often been aligned with spiritual cleansing.


I don't like doing dishes, so for now, I'll make my own Coffee.