"You can't teach an old dog new tricks--because it's illegal." --Michael Scott
I know I've already posted this quotation on my blog, but given today's subject I thought you'd forgive me a repeat. Plus, when is Michael Scott a bad idea?
What is age anyway but the day you get sent to earth, and yet it rules so many things: who gets to tell whom what is right and wrong, who gets to sit on public buses and who ought to stand...it's just a succession of numbers with maturity levels attached. At 8 you're accountable, at 18 you can vote, at 24-- you can work at scout camp.
We categorize ourselves in many ways (the old and young or the smart and dumb or the man and woman) so that we are each a string of adjectives, depending on which side of the binary we fall. We love distinguishing ourselves and establishing social rank however we can. If we didn't have numbers we'd come up with another way to name age, I'm sure.
Birthdays get me thinking this way. And funerals. And spending afternoons with my sister's children who are so small against the earth, with hearts bigger than mouths to express it. ! I have to go of a sudden. Finish the rest on your own.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Not you! I don't even know you people!
Does anyone read this any more? You who do, you faithful, I salute you. It's another one of those disparate thought days, so prepare to do do some jumping.
There are many things I am sure I could find (camelback, nail polish remover, headband, bike stand, checkbook, etc. etc. etc.) if I was willing to look hard, and by hard I mean at all. As a friend once told me, "I am not a digger." Show yourself or be forgotten. This means I can never store things deep--just one layer--which means I will need a ridiculous amount of storage space. That will be quite costly.
I forgot how distracting home is, where the bathroom is right next to the kitchen is right next to the laundry all in one nice building. I put some toast in today and decided to shave my legs, just for the convenience of it. My toast burned, which reminds me, my straightener is plugged in upstairs.... At camp, going to the bathroom takes foresight and planning. I most likely need to take my water bottle because I will want to go straight to the dining hall after and it would be silly to backtrack to my tent.
About what I am doing: taking "boy scouts" on mountain bike rides. Video games have destroyed the young generation. Working up a sweat on the Wi does not count as exercise. It's all very sad.
Pictured below is the number one threat to my summer paycheck, which at the Hoback Market costs a hefty $4.50. This is what I use to chase down the mounds of processed food I consume each day(hotdogschickennuggetstetonmcmuffinssteakpotatopearlschipscookiescookiescookieschipscinnamontoastersyumyumyumbelievable).
.
Do you know how lovely Jackson is in the summertime? A choice moment: coming up over the ridge on the Munger Mountain trail into a field of balsam root right at sunset with the Tetons at my back.
Outside is the new in, people.
There are many things I am sure I could find (camelback, nail polish remover, headband, bike stand, checkbook, etc. etc. etc.) if I was willing to look hard, and by hard I mean at all. As a friend once told me, "I am not a digger." Show yourself or be forgotten. This means I can never store things deep--just one layer--which means I will need a ridiculous amount of storage space. That will be quite costly.
I forgot how distracting home is, where the bathroom is right next to the kitchen is right next to the laundry all in one nice building. I put some toast in today and decided to shave my legs, just for the convenience of it. My toast burned, which reminds me, my straightener is plugged in upstairs.... At camp, going to the bathroom takes foresight and planning. I most likely need to take my water bottle because I will want to go straight to the dining hall after and it would be silly to backtrack to my tent.
About what I am doing: taking "boy scouts" on mountain bike rides. Video games have destroyed the young generation. Working up a sweat on the Wi does not count as exercise. It's all very sad.
Pictured below is the number one threat to my summer paycheck, which at the Hoback Market costs a hefty $4.50. This is what I use to chase down the mounds of processed food I consume each day(hotdogschickennuggetstetonmcmuffinssteakpotatopearlschipscookiescookiescookieschipscinnamontoastersyumyumyumbelievable).
.
Do you know how lovely Jackson is in the summertime? A choice moment: coming up over the ridge on the Munger Mountain trail into a field of balsam root right at sunset with the Tetons at my back.
Outside is the new in, people.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Going Going Gone
I'm leaving tomorrow for an extended trip (and by trip I mean job) and I don't know if I'll be able to blof the summer away. I might be on hiatus for some time, so don't hate on me if not much happens here.
I don't have much to say, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel. Fun fact: I think one of my extraction sites (remember those pesky wise teeth) is infected. I have known to be slightly hyperchondriac-ish in the past, so don't take this too seriously...yet.
Loves.
I don't have much to say, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel. Fun fact: I think one of my extraction sites (remember those pesky wise teeth) is infected. I have known to be slightly hyperchondriac-ish in the past, so don't take this too seriously...yet.
Loves.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Past, Present, and Future
Kathy's Song
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To _______ where my heart lies.
My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.
And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.
-Paul Simon
*****************************************************
It's raining today. Which means I'm listening to Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and the rest of the 60s. Which means I'm feeling...well, the way I feel when I see myself in puddles and hear my history in someone else's song. This probably means confusion to most of you so I'll translate: I'm feeling happy, in a subtle way.
I once thought my life ambition (and my way to fame) was to write an epic poem about time. Then I remembered I was not a poet and moved on to my next life's ambition, which involved dropping everything to study relativity. Then I rememberd I'm not so big on science...and long story short, I'm working at a boy scout camp for the summer. We all must find our place.
But back to the epic on time--I don't know if it's because of changes in the weather, but I've had moments where I experience a temporal eclipse; past, present, and future making one circle around me in a brilliance of clarity. One such moment: watching mom play the guitar, 'Kathy's Song' maybe, on the back porch of the Weber. The present was the past was the future, in the dust suspended on light, in the tired and worn wood walls, in the unpredictablity of our flesh versus the permanence of the music...and I saw my mom as the child she was and me as the child I am and my own children laughing too...
You see now why abandoning the epic was prudence.
In the past, I was in New York City. In the future, I will be in Jackson Hole. And today, it's raining.
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To _______ where my heart lies.
My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.
And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.
-Paul Simon
*****************************************************
It's raining today. Which means I'm listening to Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and the rest of the 60s. Which means I'm feeling...well, the way I feel when I see myself in puddles and hear my history in someone else's song. This probably means confusion to most of you so I'll translate: I'm feeling happy, in a subtle way.
I once thought my life ambition (and my way to fame) was to write an epic poem about time. Then I remembered I was not a poet and moved on to my next life's ambition, which involved dropping everything to study relativity. Then I rememberd I'm not so big on science...and long story short, I'm working at a boy scout camp for the summer. We all must find our place.
But back to the epic on time--I don't know if it's because of changes in the weather, but I've had moments where I experience a temporal eclipse; past, present, and future making one circle around me in a brilliance of clarity. One such moment: watching mom play the guitar, 'Kathy's Song' maybe, on the back porch of the Weber. The present was the past was the future, in the dust suspended on light, in the tired and worn wood walls, in the unpredictablity of our flesh versus the permanence of the music...and I saw my mom as the child she was and me as the child I am and my own children laughing too...
You see now why abandoning the epic was prudence.
In the past, I was in New York City. In the future, I will be in Jackson Hole. And today, it's raining.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I'm sorry Mr. Friedman...
But everyone knows the world is round!
So remember how I loved old John from HP who helped me take apart my computer? Before I could talk to John, I had to give all my data (love that word, I pronounce it differently every time) to some other guy who never told me his name. I had my suspicions at the time that this HP rep was looking out his window at an Indian scene, but my suspicions were most definately confirmed when I received an email headed, "Katreen, enjoy the benefits of HP." Funny.
On another note, but slightly related, if someone offered me a time machine, I would only take it IF I could erase my memory at each destination. The way I see it (the way things go, you might get bit by the old Fido), I can get an okay sense of history from history books once you get over the whole subjectivity problem. One thing I will never get from a history book is how I would have handled situations or what side I would have taken. Example: would I have been outraged by Copernicus' claim that the sun, not the earth, was the center of the world? Would I have marched for womems rights or shook my head at the hippies over my mending? Would I have been a progressive or a conservative fraidy-cat? I think I have both tendencies in me.
There have been some seriously brave people in the history of this world. Props to them, those who know injustice and are unwilling to stand with their mouths shut as it continues. People like William Willberforce, hero of Amazing Grace (top notch film), the man who dedicated his life to the abolition of slavery in England. I'm not trying to get preachy here, but this seems a fitting place to end on Memorial Day. My Memorial Day resolution is to be more resolved, more committed to the truths I value and more committed to preserving them for those to come.
So remember how I loved old John from HP who helped me take apart my computer? Before I could talk to John, I had to give all my data (love that word, I pronounce it differently every time) to some other guy who never told me his name. I had my suspicions at the time that this HP rep was looking out his window at an Indian scene, but my suspicions were most definately confirmed when I received an email headed, "Katreen, enjoy the benefits of HP." Funny.
On another note, but slightly related, if someone offered me a time machine, I would only take it IF I could erase my memory at each destination. The way I see it (the way things go, you might get bit by the old Fido), I can get an okay sense of history from history books once you get over the whole subjectivity problem. One thing I will never get from a history book is how I would have handled situations or what side I would have taken. Example: would I have been outraged by Copernicus' claim that the sun, not the earth, was the center of the world? Would I have marched for womems rights or shook my head at the hippies over my mending? Would I have been a progressive or a conservative fraidy-cat? I think I have both tendencies in me.
There have been some seriously brave people in the history of this world. Props to them, those who know injustice and are unwilling to stand with their mouths shut as it continues. People like William Willberforce, hero of Amazing Grace (top notch film), the man who dedicated his life to the abolition of slavery in England. I'm not trying to get preachy here, but this seems a fitting place to end on Memorial Day. My Memorial Day resolution is to be more resolved, more committed to the truths I value and more committed to preserving them for those to come.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Blogland of Milk and Honey
There are days when coming up with something to blog about is as difficult as pulling teeth. Four of them, large ones, very painful, face-distortingly difficult. (I love when cliches finally have personal anecdotes to back up their truthiness.)
There are days when blog topics drip off my fingers. Today is one of those days. So here goes.
Disclaimer: lots of things to post about does not equal interesting post. Probably the opposite, in fact.
1. The hostile takeover of The Shrubbery (my abode) by hostile ants.
We've always had ants, and when I was a child by age, I thought we were the only ones who had ants and it was very embarrassing. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a BIG problem with FECUNDITY. The size of the problem should match the size of the subject of the problem, n'est-ce pas? And fecundity is big. Lest you think I'm a snob, I did not discover this word on my own--I got it from Annie Dillard, who has a whole chapter on it in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
Fecundity:
1. the quality of being fecund; capacity, esp. in female animals, of producing young in great numbers.
2. fruitfulness or fertility, as of the earth.
3. the capacity of abundant production
In other words, fecundity means there are more of them than there are of us. Way more. Remember the movies ANTZ and A Bug's Life? Sweet little children's tales whose poignancy was masked by animation.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I took my first action against the ants and gathered many on a napkin which I burned in the sink. (Don't tell Marv.) I didn't know what else to do with it! Today, I opened the dishwasher to unload/load etc and found a swarm of ants on the inside. yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck. I drowned them all with an easy push of a button. Brutal? Yes. But as my dad would say, it's their own dumb fault. Let that be a lesson to ants: never convene inside a dishwasher.
2. The Mason Jennings concert and the Categorical Imperative
At this point in the post, I'm getting tired of writing (an attention span that doesn't bode well for a wannabe writer) so a picture is apropos. Plus, the consensus of my group at the concert was that Mason is one attractive man. I'm wary of musicians though--I've fallen in love with a geriatric concert pianist in one short prelude. The music starts, the genius emerges, and I lose my mind.
I digress. The question is: when do you act politely, and when do you fight, dropping elbows, for the best seat in the house?
3. The social importance of having a T.V. show to follow.
I must stop here. Perhaps I will come back to this. So much for milk and honey.
There are days when blog topics drip off my fingers. Today is one of those days. So here goes.
Disclaimer: lots of things to post about does not equal interesting post. Probably the opposite, in fact.
1. The hostile takeover of The Shrubbery (my abode) by hostile ants.
We've always had ants, and when I was a child by age, I thought we were the only ones who had ants and it was very embarrassing. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a BIG problem with FECUNDITY. The size of the problem should match the size of the subject of the problem, n'est-ce pas? And fecundity is big. Lest you think I'm a snob, I did not discover this word on my own--I got it from Annie Dillard, who has a whole chapter on it in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
Fecundity:
1. the quality of being fecund; capacity, esp. in female animals, of producing young in great numbers.
2. fruitfulness or fertility, as of the earth.
3. the capacity of abundant production
In other words, fecundity means there are more of them than there are of us. Way more. Remember the movies ANTZ and A Bug's Life? Sweet little children's tales whose poignancy was masked by animation.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I took my first action against the ants and gathered many on a napkin which I burned in the sink. (Don't tell Marv.) I didn't know what else to do with it! Today, I opened the dishwasher to unload/load etc and found a swarm of ants on the inside. yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck. I drowned them all with an easy push of a button. Brutal? Yes. But as my dad would say, it's their own dumb fault. Let that be a lesson to ants: never convene inside a dishwasher.
2. The Mason Jennings concert and the Categorical Imperative
At this point in the post, I'm getting tired of writing (an attention span that doesn't bode well for a wannabe writer) so a picture is apropos. Plus, the consensus of my group at the concert was that Mason is one attractive man. I'm wary of musicians though--I've fallen in love with a geriatric concert pianist in one short prelude. The music starts, the genius emerges, and I lose my mind.
I digress. The question is: when do you act politely, and when do you fight, dropping elbows, for the best seat in the house?
3. The social importance of having a T.V. show to follow.
I must stop here. Perhaps I will come back to this. So much for milk and honey.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
groceries, food storage, daisy dukes, and the end of the world
Grocery shopping always puts me in the best of moods. It's like clothes shopping with less guilt, and you don't have to wait as long to use your purchases. I like to come home and immediately sample some of everything I bought, and sometimes I start this phase in the checkout line or on the walk to the car (especially if I have purchased chips or a fresh baguette.) Today being food storage shopping day, I have broken tradition and will only sample the dried mango, the pita chips, the strawberries, and the HSM2. Save the beans, rice, and soy milk for another, darker day.
Today, my celeb look alike is Daisy Dukes. I have put my curly hair into ridiculous pig-tails and I will not try to justify it. Without intending, I also wore my tattered jeans with a big hole in the knee which "asealed the deal" as Strong Bad would say. At times like these, I realize how wise it is not to own certain articles of clothing (short cut-off jean shorts or mini skirt) because you never know in a moment of weakness what you might leave the house wearing.
Do you ever have that thought as you are getting dressed, the one where you wonder if "perhaps today I will be kidnapped or stranded on an island or interviewed on TV or spotted by model scouts etc etc and THIS is what I'm wearing?" I don't think I would like to be dressed like Daisy Dukes in any of those circumstances, and certainly not when the world ends (which, not to be flippant, if marked by availability of rice in the supermarkets seems sooner rather than later).
My preparations for the future have me looking in my closet and in our kitchen cupboards, which are burdened with expired food. Below is a picture of SOME of the food I'm throwing out because it was best by three years ago. We've got to make room for the new.
I threw the diaper in to give size perspective. That is a diaper for a three-year-old hunk of boy! Those are very large bags of rices and beans...doesn't mean I'll share.
Today, my celeb look alike is Daisy Dukes. I have put my curly hair into ridiculous pig-tails and I will not try to justify it. Without intending, I also wore my tattered jeans with a big hole in the knee which "asealed the deal" as Strong Bad would say. At times like these, I realize how wise it is not to own certain articles of clothing (short cut-off jean shorts or mini skirt) because you never know in a moment of weakness what you might leave the house wearing.
Do you ever have that thought as you are getting dressed, the one where you wonder if "perhaps today I will be kidnapped or stranded on an island or interviewed on TV or spotted by model scouts etc etc and THIS is what I'm wearing?" I don't think I would like to be dressed like Daisy Dukes in any of those circumstances, and certainly not when the world ends (which, not to be flippant, if marked by availability of rice in the supermarkets seems sooner rather than later).
My preparations for the future have me looking in my closet and in our kitchen cupboards, which are burdened with expired food. Below is a picture of SOME of the food I'm throwing out because it was best by three years ago. We've got to make room for the new.
I threw the diaper in to give size perspective. That is a diaper for a three-year-old hunk of boy! Those are very large bags of rices and beans...doesn't mean I'll share.
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