where it's at

 

Minhwa (Korean Folk Painting)

Dear Hours and Days,

It has been a long time, 5 years, I think anyway, for my medicine to work.  Ah, maybe it has been many more years than even that?  The mind is very hard to change.  I don't mean the part of your mind that chooses which ice cream to get- I mean the part that seems to be hewn of bone, immoveable, unplastic.  Yes, science tells us the brain is all kinds of mutable, but, I am speaking of the learned things, the mind that is your conscience.  The mind that tells you when it thinks you are good and when it thinks you are bad and the mind that spends two hours analyzing if you asked her about the funeral gently enough or if you should have said nothing.  That mind, the authority part of your mind.  Ah, it's so rambling and vague, isn't it?  

What I mean, I think, is that I set about looking for a different foundation, a different sort of tool for coping-  you might call it acceptance, you might call it anything you like, actually.  But it felt like an open wound, irritated constantly, throbbing at night, and unresponsive to salves or balms.  It isn't, no it isn't gone, it is less.  Noticeably less.  Why?  It's hard to say, but I think it is because of wonder.  I have spent a good amount of time working to wonder.  To encourage wonder.  I don't mean answers, I mean questions.

Questions like these:

Why do I grind my teeth when they say that?  Where does my idea of 'right' come from?  What do I think my duty is?  Who told me it was my duty?  Who told me to be quiet?  Who told me to be nice?  Who told me to smooth things flat?  Why do I jump in there to try to make it less awkward?

A leopard can, I think, change its spots, a little anyway.

Skate Day 2700

 

These skates!

Dear Y'all,

Time to mark the days again.  To celebrate, I think I might get myself a subscription to Roller Rag.  What, though, will you do to mark this day?  You know what I think you should do, but, if you don't want to skate, I still love you anyways!

golden years

 

not forgotten

 

Dear Blog,

I haven't forgotten you- I had nothing to nice to say, though, so I didn't say it.  In the silence, between my last letter and now, I hope you felt loved & wanted.

Today, I have missed the moment to 'style' my hair by forcing it into certain shapes with pinchy little clips, and so it is running wild, curling all crazy this way and that.  I am not going to wet it again and start over, though; no, I am going to take a tip from Melani Sanders and say: we do not care about our hair sticking out.  

I want to offer you another thing that we haven't spoken of in a while, A Word a Day.  It's always such a treat- today it is a tart treat. While this, from Christina Tosi's Bake Club, is a sweet treat and a third fabulous thing that is absolutely free for you to enjoy or ignore, depending on how you feel.

a film and a book

 

Dear Viewer,

I hope you have already read The Lover; I hadn't, and I always thought I would, it's just that a lot of years have passed since I first came across it- like, 35 or 40 years!  It's embarrassing, but I know you won't judge me, and I won't judge you, either; but I hope you do read it, I hope you read it in the next 30 days, let alone years, but whenever you get to it, you will want more from Marguerite Duras.  And so.  Let me offer you something that doesn't need you to turn the pages, but will give you some Marguerite Duras:  Hiroshima Mon Amour; your film assignment for this month!

PS  Now; not now, later, when you have read The Lover, or watched the film, you might want to read this, too.

a fall tune

 

The Dove, Pablo Picasso, 1949.

Dear Radio Dodo Listener,

What's new, you ask?  Lots of stuff, I guess.  It never seems quite worth the telling, all the new stuff.  I feel often tired from playing my same role in the pantomime, and it makes me feel like writing to you is just more of the same.  But I do think of you, and I want to send you some little token, something good.  Let it be Peace Piece, you song for today.

pool, bakery