Friday, June 14, 2024

skate day: 2200








Dear Old Companions: Effort, Progress, Betterment, Frustration, and Okay-ness,

I am trying to re-arrange my mind's stupid hierarchies.  You know the ones I mean, the best, better, goal-oriented, value-praising, A for effort-izing that we do to ourselves, when, there must be, must be a way of less absurdity, of less striving and hunting, seeking and straining.  I want the effortlessness of the behavior of gravity on water, of rain, or dust motes that float in light.  No, I don't mean in my skating (although, yes, of course!), I mean in my thinking about the past and future of my skating.  Yeah, I want the now, and I bet you do too, but there it comes again: why is this only as far as you have come?  I don't mean the raw number of days; those are immutable facts and they are fine, very fine:  2200 days of skating.  The Trouble lies in other metrics; the Progress.  How I wish I'd never met Progress!  Blah; I hate him!   

Still, from these broken bits of feelings and memories, let me try to make something we can use:  my message today, from the land of daily skating, is that we cannot let our goal be to 'get better,' because sometimes we don't improve, we don't progress, we might, even, Never Actually Get There.  "There" in this case being a three-turn that finishes in skating on the skating foot, with the other remaining suspended above the floor.  Even for a second!!!   This is sounding like Frustration, and there has been some, certainly, but I am aiming for a place where even that is okay.  I think pretending might lead to embodiment, so let us spend the final paragraph pretending towards a non-goal, an okay-ness.

Next time we talk about roller skating, another 100 days may have passed, and I may have tried the Forward Outside Three Turn another 1,000 times, and I may not have tried it even once, but, we will meet here and I will suggest that skating is it's own reward, although, that reward is not conventional, not transferable, and not Valuable.  The reward is the non-reward, the entirely voluntary nature of rolling with wheels on your feet for no reason, heading no-where.  It's a feeling you maybe forgot, but you probably had it when you were a kid:  a feeling that you are building your own thing, here, this experience of life, and it was all yours.  I won't use that abused and manipulating four letter word that starts with f, but you know what I mean.



PS  Here is a fine tune for today, and what a glorious cavalcade of roller skaters!






Monday, June 10, 2024

a even paler white room

 




The Tree, 1964, Agnes Martin.  If it feels like you aren't getting it, try this interpretation.





Dear Radio Dodo Head,

We got a car, a new car, about 2 years ago, and it came with a lot of Modern Stuff, including a satellite radio subscription (which ran out, and then we had to buy it, because addiction is like that), and, wonder of wonders, it has a channel on it playing elevator music 24/7!  I think I am actually not supposed to tell you this, this is the 'guilty pleasure' you read about and think:  What the hell?  You are making a confession of chocolate ding dongs?  Seriously?  Anyway, the ding dong doesn't taste like I remember it, but the muzak still sounds like muzak, and I love listening to it. 

It was born for me to love, and for you to love too; like the pointless cat cafe 'game' you have on your cell phone; muzak is built to couple with your dopamine receptors.  When you occasionally surface from the euphoria induced by the engineered perfection of this sonic morphine drip, you notice that the song, the music's re-arrangement reveals details & structures you did not see before.  It is like an aerial view of your very familiar neighborhood.  You know this song, you know it like crazy, comme ta poche, and here it is, made new, made alien, made deeper.  You suddenly hear the echoes of the music of the ages in say, Desperado; you hear the 1950's in a song, the 1600's, even the liturgical chant of the middle ages.  You achieve a oneness with the song that would not occur with just another listening to the usual version.  It's like seeing with x-ray eyes, or being shown the insides of the pocket watch;  ah, so that's what makes it tick!

Hearing this song instrumentalized (a song I love for its surreal and mysterious narrative:* Who is this miller?  What is his tale?) it was unveiled as a stately processional suitable for a graduation, wedding, or funeral!  How could I have missed that?   Check it out, it is your song for the day!




* And for its bustle-in-the-hedgerow-y Britishness!  Take another, White Room for example, it makes a fine pairing.  More is more, comme d'habitude.







Friday, June 7, 2024

something sweet

 







Dear Y'all,

Can you believe the beauty of these?  Do you know that they are not beach glass, but hard candy!  If the trompe-l'œil of it doesn't send you into paroxysms of joy, then, know this: they are different flavors, and what flavors!  I don't recognize them with surety, which is another delightful aspect of this wonderful gift from a colleague.  There is one kind of herbal one, varied citrus flavors, cinnamon, and one that is root beer-esque, which I believe to be horehound, which is a great word just to say!  I love this small jar of kindness very much, and especially as it was so unexpected and thoughtful!









Tuesday, June 4, 2024

bonus bag!

 








Dear Had Enough,

I know, I know, but this one is so great!  All the bags and baskets here are great!





Monday, June 3, 2024

unneeded, last

 










Dear Patients,

This is it, our last unneeded bag!  I need to go now, and clean out my purse!





Sunday, June 2, 2024

unneeded, no. 7

 







Dear Purse Strings,

Wouldn't you love, just love, to open up this bag and take out an apple?  More beautiful wood things at Salakauppa.





Saturday, June 1, 2024

unneeded, or?

 







Dear Shoulder Strapped,

This acorn bag is my favorite of this week o'bags!  See it, maybe even buy it, here.