I have a confession to make. I'm a hairy person. This dreadful situation was particularly upsetting for me as a junior high school girl. Because I was (and still am) white as a sheet, hair really stood out on me, especially my natural chocolate brown color back then. Paper white legs plus inch-long blackish hairs equalled SCARY BOY REPELLANT.
Posts tagged ‘personal’
MTM has been a little under the weather the past couple of days. Nothing serious. And, he's a good patient. Almost chipper. Never makes ridiculous, needy requests. Doesn't moan and act pathetic, wallowing in his favorite chair like his world has ended. He actually smiles when I walk into the room.
What's weird about his behavior is this: I don't understand why he isn't taking the opportunity to slam me with a big, honking dose of payback.
“Quick, take some photos while it’s still daylight.”
That is one of the challenges of Helsinki in November. Not that the ‘daylight’ is particularly bright, especially when the sun never actually makes an appearance. But still, with something as intriguing as the Chapel of Silence, it is interesting to get the daytime perspective. And interesting to see how it still has its own inner glow.
Maybe the glow is emanating from the fibers of the natural wood. Or maybe from the silence within.
In any event, it is a building that entices. And one that has managed to bridge the gap between MTM’s sensibility (or lack thereof) and mine. If we decide to renew our vows once again, maybe this place will still be here for us….
It makes writing a blog a real strain.
So Andra wants to ask,
That you take on the task,
Of using her pain to entertain.
While she tries to fend off her sickness,
A little challenge to your mental quickness.
So today is the time,
To work on a rhyme,
And show off your talent at limerick-ness.
The headache cure that she’s after,
Is a gentle but firm burst of laughter,
So contribute your best stanza,
To this rhyming extravaganza.
And she’ll be back tomorrow and thereafter.
A sunny stroll through Arlington Cemetery put me in a reflective mood, as I looked out over the acres of sacrifice. Bone white headstones bobbed in a sea of green grass, monotonous yet momentous. The riotous color of spring blossoms could not quell the guilty tranquility of walking in a place that I should have visited much earlier in my life, so as to appreciate the honor too many have earned.
I have been to Washington, DC often, but never subscribed to this pilgrimage. Andra, by my side, was my insistent guide. This is her favorite feature in our nation’s capital, she has reminded me many times. I’ll admit, if not for her I might never have seen this place.
To reciprocate, I forced her to go with me to see Song 1, the Doug Aitken nighttime projections at the Hirshhorn. She would not have gone on her own, she’ll admit it. Forty minutes of visual virtuosity, infinite loneliness and passion, as each solo rendition belted out for an absent or imagined soul mate. Yet there we sat together, mesmerized as the haunting refrains echoed off the architecture of The Mall, complicit in our union.
Could it be that Narcissus, staring into a still, deep pool, fell in love not with his own reflection, but longed for the promise shackled within the depths, the Other Narcissus of his better angels?
Each morning, at that mundane but fateful moment when we first catch our reflection, do we see who we are? Or do we see our aspiration? After all, we use the mirror to improve ourselves; to comb our hair, shave or apply make-up, to cover a blemish or remove a bit of spinach from the teeth.
As I sat and let the soulfulness of Song 1 sink in, I wondered at how we all pine for the unreachable, always expecting that some how we will manage to touch it. I reflected on how much better a person I am for having found Andra. She is my inspiration, my mirror, the key for opening up my Other (literally, if you ask the Swedes). It is my luck that I get to croon for her. On this, the last day of her Birthday Month, I’ll do my best to belt it out:
A guest companion post to yesterday’s, and an homage to The Accidental Cootchie Mama and all the joy she creates in my life. Happy Birthday Month 2012 one last time! -MTM