H came home, happy, smelling of the sun, read my post, and played me the most perfect song.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
A Perfect Homesick
H came home, happy, smelling of the sun, read my post, and played me the most perfect song.
Mundane Matters
Memorial Day weekend (how stupid a phrase is that?) is half way over. Only one more day to be the only people not doing anything. I slept very late this morning and a grumpy H just brought the kids to the pool. I am still finishing my morning coffee, and trying to gear myself up to eat breakfast (vanilla yogurt with Fiber One). There is a hornet trying to break through the window back to the outside. He must have flown in while the girls played on the patio earlier this morning.
Looking back over photos is a surreal experience. I recognize my face but it is an awkward reunion. I am not longer that person. It is a bit like experiencing a little death. You look, and you know that this young girl with the shaved head no longer exists anywhere. She is gone forever. With her, I felt a flush of shame and embarrassment of what used to be. I did not wish her back to life. But the pictures of Mexico filled me with an intense longing. There was Umberto so little even at over a year. He was our only child, pampered and loved and adored. There was Mexico so beautiful and old. There were the coffee shops, the lovely parks, the friends we made. I wanted to go back to that life. I want to go back to Mexico.
And how true that you can never go back to the past. Even if we could move back to Mexico right now, we do not want to raise the children in the D. F. Nor would it be the same with three instead of one. We would not likely be able to recapture those relaxing moment in cafes with our three little monsters. But I looked over those pictures, and realized how much I love Mexico, and how much I feel as if it is my real home. I am homesick for a place that is really not mine to call home.
I started cleaning yesterday. More like mucking out really. I do this about four times a year, and still have mounds of things to toss or give away. I suspect it is not much that we keep getting more things but that it's hard for us to let go of things so we have to do it slowly. Yesterday I put away about five loads of laundry that have been sitting on our bedroom floor. I did new laundry, and started the first of many loads of dishes in the dishwasher. I also took all my photos of albums and threw out the albums (we're switching to photo boxes). Of course I had to look at all the photos.
And how true that you can never go back to the past. Even if we could move back to Mexico right now, we do not want to raise the children in the D. F. Nor would it be the same with three instead of one. We would not likely be able to recapture those relaxing moment in cafes with our three little monsters. But I looked over those pictures, and realized how much I love Mexico, and how much I feel as if it is my real home. I am homesick for a place that is really not mine to call home.
And who knows what else lays in store for me as I start the odious project of cleaning out our apartment. What other longings lay in wait for me?
Friday, May 25, 2007
Let's Get to Know Each Other...
From my friend Jessica, a bit of fun:
Please copy, paste and fill this out in comments for getting-to-know-you good times! And then take it to your blog!
1. Your Middle Name:
2. Age:
3. Single or Taken:
4. Favorite Movie:
5. Favorite Song or Album:
6. Favorite Band/Artist:
7. Dirty or Clean:
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:
9. Do we know each other outside of the cyber-world?
10. What's your philosophy on life?
11. Is the bottle half-full or half-empty?
12. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?
13. What is your favorite memory of us?
14. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
15. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
16. You can have three wishes (for yourself, so forget all the 'world peace etc' malarky) - what are they?
17. Can we get together and make a cake?
18. Which country is your spiritual home?
19. What is your big weakness?
20. Do you think I'm a good person?
21. What was your best/favorite subject at school?
22. Describe your accent:
23. If you could change anything about me, would you?
24. What do you wear to sleep?
25. Trousers or skirts?
26. Cigarettes or alcohol?
27. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
28. Will you repost this so i can fill it out for you?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Dog Piss, Or a Meditation on Territory
"Can this becoming, this emergence, be called Art? That would make the territory a result of art. The artist: the first person to set out a boundary stone, or to make a mark. Property, collective or individual, is derived from that even when it is in the service of war and oppression. Property is fundamentally artistic because art is fundamentally poster, placard. As Lorenz says. coral fish are posters. The expressive is primary in relation to the possessive; expressive qualities, or matters of expression, are necessarily appropriative and constitute a having more profound than being. Not in the sense that these qualities belong to a subject, but in the sense that they delineate a territory that will belong to a subject, but in the sense that they delineate a territory that will belong to the subject that carries or produces them."(Deleuze and Guattari, a thousand plateaus: capitalism and schizophrenia, 316).
For Deleuze this marking, this territorialization as art, finds ultimate expression in birds. Their songs, their nests, their movements, their turnings of leaves on the ground. But as I sat, this morning, drinking my coffee on the patio, I watched dogs. There are a phenomenal amount of dogs in the apartment complex in which I live. Every morning and every evening (when I drink red wine as opposed to coffee), dogs, dogs, and more dogs prance around the green pissing on everything. I never stopped to think about their markings as art. What a concept. How can piss be art? Well, you could stick a crucifix in a vial of it...but the act of pissing? The act of dog pissing? Art? It is easy to see in the songs of birds, their movements, their nests, an act of art. Dog piss is not so easy.
For Deleuze this marking, this territorialization as art, finds ultimate expression in birds. Their songs, their nests, their movements, their turnings of leaves on the ground. But as I sat, this morning, drinking my coffee on the patio, I watched dogs. There are a phenomenal amount of dogs in the apartment complex in which I live. Every morning and every evening (when I drink red wine as opposed to coffee), dogs, dogs, and more dogs prance around the green pissing on everything. I never stopped to think about their markings as art. What a concept. How can piss be art? Well, you could stick a crucifix in a vial of it...but the act of pissing? The act of dog pissing? Art? It is easy to see in the songs of birds, their movements, their nests, an act of art. Dog piss is not so easy.
And yet I think "If we can see art in dog piss, we can see art in property." Property that ultimate value in Marx encounters in Deleuze something of a higher value. Art is primary not property. And how can this be for a Marxist like Deleuze? He does this by transforming art as first, beyond human, and second, as expression. Property is thus not what belongs to humans but rather it is what belongs to actions of various sorts. As an act, as a becoming, property becomes expression as opposed to that which gives expression. And really, if we can see the art in a dog pissing to mark his place, then art becomes something much different than the paintings at the museum. Just as property ceases to be a belonging. It is not the signature that makes a subject. A signature never denotes ownership. A signature merely holds a place. This is what Deleuze claims for art And a dog pissing is all about the constant becoming of territory.
When you live in a small place filled with dogs, you can see how territory is always about marking and remarking. There is no ownership; no alpha dog to assert his authority. The dogs do not mix enough to sort out this hierarchy (although such a show down might be interesting). Instead, the dogs continually piss all over other dogs' marks. They mark their territory only to have to remark later in the day. There is a virtual grid on the green in front of my patio. A grid of dog piss that makes that green belong to no one dog but to all the dogs. It is a grid also overlaid with the scent of cats, the markings they make of their fur against the small trees. The mockingbirds constantly patrol, alert to invaders, ready to defend their piece of property. And human children, my own included, run about this piece of land, terrorizing and territorializaingwith their laughs, toys and dances. It is the ultimate communal property, and it is created through multiple acts of expression....emergences of art.
One last quote from Paul Park's A Princess of Roumania. In this novel, one of the main characters has become a dog. The following is a bit of narrative written from her dog mind."As she left the clearing and moved away through the thin woods, she felt she was pushing through a net, each cord of which was the circle of urine marks that each dog had drawn around the fire. Her instinct was to stop often, restrained by the net, but she pushed through. On the far side she filled her lungs with cleaner air, which was nevertheless scented with a myriad of small traces of animals and men. They seemed to draw glowing lines in front of her on the snow"(242).
A Bit of Shamless Bragging
I passed my comps with an accumulative grade of high pass. Now on to rock my thesis.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Seeds
Umberto actually dictated a journal to me! This is an exciting development as before, he really just played along with me. This time he was excited, and actually composed something interesting and lovely.
Translation: May14, 2007I had fun. Camille found a snake skin and it was cool. Daddy found a dead baby snake. We saw three turtles and we saw their faces poking out of the water.
He's become more interested in language in the last few weeks. And I'm trying to jump on that. In addition to getting him reading, I'm hoping to start both of us on learning Spanish.
In addition to word seeds, we also planted some plant seeds. Umberto choose the biggest seeds he could find: Monmouth Sunflowers and pumpkins. They sprouted in their Jiffy pots within a day, and quickly grew roots systems to the other Jiffy pots. We are now awaiting my friend's return from the beach so that we replant them in her garden. Next we have basil and cilantro which should be a bit more manageable. Umberto is now totally into plants. He fusses over the seedlings like they're babies. He also has a great knowledge of plants, and can rattle off lots of arcane facts. I see a greenhouse visit in our near future.
Wine.
"We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That's fine with us. Every morning
we glow and in the evening we glow again.
That's fine with us. Every morning
we glow and in the evening we glow again.
They say there's no future for us. They're right.
Which is fine with us."
Rumi "Who Says Words With My Mouth?"
My friend Kristin's comment reminded that I needed to pull out my Rumi. And when I did, look what I found. With a glass of red wine in hand, I smiled as I read this poem. How wonderful that we, at least, have cups even if we don't have a barrel, only a really big bottle. But what made me smile the most were the last two lines. Sometimes both Horacio and I worry that we're not doing what we should be doing. We should own a house, have nicer cars, staple careers, etc. And I know that many people look at our lives and do think that we are failures, or at least see us as a bit odd maybe even irresponsible. So when I read that line, it makes me pause a moment to look over our life. I read snuggled against Horacio, with Camille on the couch besides him, Piper snoozing on the carpet, Umberto in his room watching "Garfield." We were sipping red wine, reading bits of poetry to each other. It was one of those beautiful, quiet nights that just make me feel at peace. And I thought "We are fine. We are happy." On nights like these, it is fine that we have no future. The present is too beautiful to wish away.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
For Jessica
This post is for my friend Jessica but anyone who wants may read it.
I promised my throwing things story and it should make you feel much better about the mug. When I am pregnant, I am an unpleasant woman ( a mild understatement). Horacio and I got into a fight. I can't remember what about. Something totally ridiculous I'm sure. End result was that I started to sob, yelled, slammed the door shut, and when Horacio kept arguing with me, I hurled a lamp at the door. Amazingly the lamp didn't break but the bulb did. I cleaned it up, sobbing, while Umberto sat on the other side of the door crying as well. Later that month, he wrote a story in preschool. Luckily his teacher translated it wrong: "A lamp broke, and I cried." The story came illustrated. I was mortified when the teacher said "I'm not sure what he's talking about." I did not enlighten her.
And if that wasn't bad enough, we had a hole in the wall at our last apartment where I threw the cordless phone at the wall. I could go on but I'll cease to embarrass myself further.
Okay so ten things that make me happy:
1. The smell of Piper right out of the tub.
2. Camille's huge, crazy smile.
3. Umberto running around like a mad man with his light saber.
4. Horacio...most of the time.
5. Bic fine point pens preferably in black.
6. Rainy days with a good book.
7. the pool.
8. Outside cafes.
9. Strawberries.
10. My Cuisinart.
I promised my throwing things story and it should make you feel much better about the mug. When I am pregnant, I am an unpleasant woman ( a mild understatement). Horacio and I got into a fight. I can't remember what about. Something totally ridiculous I'm sure. End result was that I started to sob, yelled, slammed the door shut, and when Horacio kept arguing with me, I hurled a lamp at the door. Amazingly the lamp didn't break but the bulb did. I cleaned it up, sobbing, while Umberto sat on the other side of the door crying as well. Later that month, he wrote a story in preschool. Luckily his teacher translated it wrong: "A lamp broke, and I cried." The story came illustrated. I was mortified when the teacher said "I'm not sure what he's talking about." I did not enlighten her.
And if that wasn't bad enough, we had a hole in the wall at our last apartment where I threw the cordless phone at the wall. I could go on but I'll cease to embarrass myself further.
Okay so ten things that make me happy:
1. The smell of Piper right out of the tub.
2. Camille's huge, crazy smile.
3. Umberto running around like a mad man with his light saber.
4. Horacio...most of the time.
5. Bic fine point pens preferably in black.
6. Rainy days with a good book.
7. the pool.
8. Outside cafes.
9. Strawberries.
10. My Cuisinart.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Camille is Four
Camille is four. No longer a baby, she became a child so quickly. Of all the children, she is the most like me. She's quirky, independent, and a bit bad tempered. She's also amazingly creative, and smart. She loves dinosaurs. She loves the human body. Mostly she loves her daddy but she'll grace the rest of us with a bit of love now and then.
Camille the dinosaur with the help of Piper's shoes.
Camille's Stats:
Favorite Toy(s): Her hundreds of plastic dinosaurs
Favorite Music: None...it's all too loud
Favorite Movie: Land Before Time (1-12).
Favorite Quote: "Be careful of my human body."
A Roomful of Children
"In bad weather, home was a bedlam. Children dashed in and out of the rain, to the puddles under the dismal yew-trees across the wet flagstones of the kitchen, whilst the cleaning-woman grumbled and scolded; children were swarming on the sofa, children were kicking the piano in the parlour, to make it sound like a bee-hive, children were rolling on the hearthrug, legs in air, pulling a book in two between them, children, fiendish, ubiquitous, were stealing upstairs to find out where our Ursula was, whispering at bedroom doors, hanging on the latch, calling mysteriously 'Ursula!' 'Ursula!' to the girl who had locked herself into read And it was hopeless. The locked door excited their sense of mystery, she had to open to dispel the lure. Then children hung on to her with round-eyed, excited questions"(The Rainbow, D. H. Lawrence, 247).And so Lawrence describes my house! My house is always bedlam though, rain or no rain. The children do not have one room which is theirs. They mark their territory with toys. The tub toy storage thing is in the living room. My room boasts various plastic dinosaurs and Little People farm animals as well as numerous board books. The dining room holds not just the dining room table but all of Umberto's home school material (textbooks, craft supplies, crayons, etc). Sometimes I feel like poor Ursula--hiding out in the bathroom. Yes the bathroom. For some reason I can close the door on the bathroom without hysterical sobbing (which is what happens when I go into my bedroom). Yes, they knock and stick little fingers but at least they don't sound like they're dying.
Having two children was rough. I mean, I felt a bit overwhelmed at first. But it worked out after a few weeks. Granted, Camille was just a dream of a baby. Really sweet and mellow. Umberto was a big boy. I used to go the pool alone with them all the time! Things were in control We could take naps together. Things could be quiet. Then we just had to go with three. My dentist when I was pregnant told me "Man, three will kill you." And he was right. I was calling my mom in tears within a week. And now my house is just crazed. Loud, messy, and chaotic. I clean, and they literally follow around me sprinkling toys like seeds. Yes, three definitely sent us over the edge. Once they outnumber the adults, things go down fast. Of course we wouldn't return any of them but we would like a night out once in awhile....
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Ginger Is Free
I am free! I took my last comp test Friday morning. All papers are handed it, grades received, and now the long blissful summer ahead of me. Okay so not really. I have a ton of reading to do for my thesis as I must start writing in the fall. But I have at least a couple of weeks in which to read what I choose. Plus I realized that even during the semester I have to make sure I'm reading something fiction just to keep me grounded. There is definitely something more concrete about fiction. Theory often works on such abstraction that it is easy to forget the world of flesh. So new commitment to myself: read at least one fiction book a month during the school year.
Why I get like that I don't know. I really love theory, and it's not as if good fiction doesn't involve huge amounts of brain power. But I really just feel so deprived if I can't read fiction. Okay so some of it in all honesty is that most theory is just deathly dull to read. I mean, it's interesting to think about but the actually reading can often be tedious. Fiction does seem to coat these same ideas in beauty...much easier to swallow. Of course this does not apply to all fiction...Tom Jones ,for example ,was NOT a pleasure to read.
In other news beyond books, I got drunk Friday night with the "Mommies." I got drunk on FIVE beers. Is that just sad or what? And I was also hung over for the whole day. Gross. I volunteered to be our driver on the next night out. But it was fun to go out all dressed up. I looked like a plus size model but hey I was dressed up. We even got checked out a bit, and our waiter at the Thomas Street Tavern flirted with us (likely for a tip but we all appreciated it).
Currently reading: On Beauty by Zaddie Smith, a trilogy by Paul Park, and hopefully soon Ian Rankin's newest book and Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Any recommendations are welcomed and encouraged!
Why I get like that I don't know. I really love theory, and it's not as if good fiction doesn't involve huge amounts of brain power. But I really just feel so deprived if I can't read fiction. Okay so some of it in all honesty is that most theory is just deathly dull to read. I mean, it's interesting to think about but the actually reading can often be tedious. Fiction does seem to coat these same ideas in beauty...much easier to swallow. Of course this does not apply to all fiction...Tom Jones ,for example ,was NOT a pleasure to read.
In other news beyond books, I got drunk Friday night with the "Mommies." I got drunk on FIVE beers. Is that just sad or what? And I was also hung over for the whole day. Gross. I volunteered to be our driver on the next night out. But it was fun to go out all dressed up. I looked like a plus size model but hey I was dressed up. We even got checked out a bit, and our waiter at the Thomas Street Tavern flirted with us (likely for a tip but we all appreciated it).
Currently reading: On Beauty by Zaddie Smith, a trilogy by Paul Park, and hopefully soon Ian Rankin's newest book and Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Any recommendations are welcomed and encouraged!
Summer School
In yet another attempt to pull ourselves together, I declared that we were having summer school. Umberto, I am pleased to say, did not run away screaming in terror. We both agreed that learning to read was a priority this time around. He's read most of his Brand New Reader books but I'd like to see him able to decode and read new easy readers not just the one he's familiar with. He's actually been playing on starfall.com (the girls love it too, and practice their letter sounds right along with him) so he's taking some action. A good sign I think as this is becoming more of something he wants as well.
Since he told us that he wants to be a scientist (I can see his Tio Ivan nodding in solemn approval), we are focusing quite heavily on science this summer. Officially, I'm creating a unit on plants. We have pumpkin and sunflower seeds we're going to start in Jiffy pots, and then move to my friend's garden. Umberto will keep a science journal to record the growth stages. I also hope to do some investigation in the woods identifying plants, etc. Horacio is going to handle insects (another request). Unofficially we have a bunch of books on the human body. This new interest can be classified as a family interest. Camille will stand in the position shown in the anatomy books, and say "Look at my human body!" And Piper now walks about telling everyone where her brain is. Very silly stuff. I am considering taking at least Umberto to see Body Worlds, the Gunther Von Hagens exhibit with real human bodies. I find it totally disturbing yet strangely compelling. Umberto is a bit freaked but said that as long as they didn't move, he'd go. I do think it would be an awesome chance to see this exhibit. It certainly won't be shown anywhere else in the South.
In addition to all the science, we'll be starting on Mexican and U. S. history. I'm not sure of the how and what but I'll write more as we develop the curriculum. Basically we need to get a schedule going so that we don't' let things fall apart when school restarts for Horacio and I.
Current Interests: The Clever Cat, Bobba Fett, Dinosaurs, puppies, The Human Body, swimming.
Since he told us that he wants to be a scientist (I can see his Tio Ivan nodding in solemn approval), we are focusing quite heavily on science this summer. Officially, I'm creating a unit on plants. We have pumpkin and sunflower seeds we're going to start in Jiffy pots, and then move to my friend's garden. Umberto will keep a science journal to record the growth stages. I also hope to do some investigation in the woods identifying plants, etc. Horacio is going to handle insects (another request). Unofficially we have a bunch of books on the human body. This new interest can be classified as a family interest. Camille will stand in the position shown in the anatomy books, and say "Look at my human body!" And Piper now walks about telling everyone where her brain is. Very silly stuff. I am considering taking at least Umberto to see Body Worlds, the Gunther Von Hagens exhibit with real human bodies. I find it totally disturbing yet strangely compelling. Umberto is a bit freaked but said that as long as they didn't move, he'd go. I do think it would be an awesome chance to see this exhibit. It certainly won't be shown anywhere else in the South.
In addition to all the science, we'll be starting on Mexican and U. S. history. I'm not sure of the how and what but I'll write more as we develop the curriculum. Basically we need to get a schedule going so that we don't' let things fall apart when school restarts for Horacio and I.
Current Interests: The Clever Cat, Bobba Fett, Dinosaurs, puppies, The Human Body, swimming.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Happy Birthday Piper
Happy birthday to you Piper Blue. Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book.
Well yes my baby is now two. She looks three but she's only two:) What a year it has been. She is so sweet, loving, and cuddly but also stubborn and demanding. A true Taurus, she really is like Horacio. It is so amazing to watch them grow into these personalities. You have this little mewing thing that you get to watch become a person. How neat is that? Pretty freakin' neat!
Quickly her "stats":
Favorite quote: "'Mille hit me!
Favorite food: broccoli and hot dogs
Favorite toy: her little dog figurine and what ever Camille is playing with
Favorite book: "Big Fat Hen"
Favorite kind of music: hardcore (she takes after her mama)
Memory
"What was memory after all, but the recording of a number of possibilities which had never been fulfilled?" D. H. Lawrence, The Rainbow, 91.
Ah...when you need real answers turn to literature. How beautiful is this quote? Sometimes, I forget why I studied literature initially, and then I read something like this. Of course it's a bittersweet moment....a loss so to speak. Literature has become a balm for me. I look forward at the end of the spring semester to reading literature throughout the summer. I feel safe wrapped in those kind of words. Of course it is an odd safety. Literature with its rich words, and jeweled stories does not keep one safe from hurt, loss, but it opens those doors in such a gorgeous way.
So I'm reading The Rainbow, and right after I wrote my post about gaps, I find this quote. How fateful? I love how all of Lawrence's novel are so present. There is an immediacy to the events and to the characters. Those who live in the embrace of the past are dead to life. In order to be alive, really alive, one must be constantly in the now. And this idea that memories are but the regrets of the past. Why live in such a dead place? Lawrence asks this is each novel. Passion, life, and love destroy us but they destroy us in ways that make us more alive.
Ahh...Lawrence....
Ah...when you need real answers turn to literature. How beautiful is this quote? Sometimes, I forget why I studied literature initially, and then I read something like this. Of course it's a bittersweet moment....a loss so to speak. Literature has become a balm for me. I look forward at the end of the spring semester to reading literature throughout the summer. I feel safe wrapped in those kind of words. Of course it is an odd safety. Literature with its rich words, and jeweled stories does not keep one safe from hurt, loss, but it opens those doors in such a gorgeous way.
So I'm reading The Rainbow, and right after I wrote my post about gaps, I find this quote. How fateful? I love how all of Lawrence's novel are so present. There is an immediacy to the events and to the characters. Those who live in the embrace of the past are dead to life. In order to be alive, really alive, one must be constantly in the now. And this idea that memories are but the regrets of the past. Why live in such a dead place? Lawrence asks this is each novel. Passion, life, and love destroy us but they destroy us in ways that make us more alive.
Ahh...Lawrence....
Monday, April 30, 2007
Umberto the Poet
My mom took Umberto to the ocean on Friday. He told my mom upon seeing the ocean for the first time since he was a baby, "She is big and she is angry." A poet? Perhaps.
Poet or football hoodlum? Place your votes today.
Post Gaps
I was looking at journal I kept in Farmington, and there is I swear a year gap between some of the posts. One minute I'm fantasizing about some guy I meet over the Internet (remember D. C. anyone? In my defense, I was not looking to date over the Internet, and he ended up being totally hot, and we meet in NYC) and the next I'm knocked up by some sexy Mexican. But in some ways life does feel like that....gappy you know?
Whenever I try to make this post about the things we do (actually?), I end up feel this odd detachment which I don't like. I think it arises due to these huge gaps of time between when things happen and when I get around to actually writing about them. Things happen, and then you look back but you look back from a different place each day that passes. What seemed so interesting, annoying, heart breaking, two months ago can seem rather mundane. Plus the events pass from immediacy into a more structured memory. I believe that we culturally condition certain memories to fit into an accepted narrative.
Take childbirth....during the moment, it's really unpleasant. I'm sorry about the pain is so intense and awful that I doubt many actually feel empowered in the moment. Since none of us going through childbirth are likely to be blogging as we're pushing out little Jr. I think it's safe to assume that child birth narratives come after the fact. Looking back, the experience was empowering, transcendent, etc. But was it really all those things in the moment or was it those things because it's supposed to be those things? I remember just thinking "Hell someone kill me now cause I can't take much more" during my labor with Piper. I was not fully aware of the dim lights, Glen Gould playing in the background, Horacio supporting me. All I could think about was getting her out of me...fast.
This musing all came as I tried to write about Nashville. I presented a paper there over a month ago, and it seems like ages have passed. I left both disillusioned and excited, and now I just feel the disillusionment (more because of something happened then because of the conference). I can't even write about it. It's okay though cause what I tried to write was much more boring than this post.
Whenever I try to make this post about the things we do (actually?), I end up feel this odd detachment which I don't like. I think it arises due to these huge gaps of time between when things happen and when I get around to actually writing about them. Things happen, and then you look back but you look back from a different place each day that passes. What seemed so interesting, annoying, heart breaking, two months ago can seem rather mundane. Plus the events pass from immediacy into a more structured memory. I believe that we culturally condition certain memories to fit into an accepted narrative.
Take childbirth....during the moment, it's really unpleasant. I'm sorry about the pain is so intense and awful that I doubt many actually feel empowered in the moment. Since none of us going through childbirth are likely to be blogging as we're pushing out little Jr. I think it's safe to assume that child birth narratives come after the fact. Looking back, the experience was empowering, transcendent, etc. But was it really all those things in the moment or was it those things because it's supposed to be those things? I remember just thinking "Hell someone kill me now cause I can't take much more" during my labor with Piper. I was not fully aware of the dim lights, Glen Gould playing in the background, Horacio supporting me. All I could think about was getting her out of me...fast.
This musing all came as I tried to write about Nashville. I presented a paper there over a month ago, and it seems like ages have passed. I left both disillusioned and excited, and now I just feel the disillusionment (more because of something happened then because of the conference). I can't even write about it. It's okay though cause what I tried to write was much more boring than this post.
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