Mixed metaphors or koans or what have you

I am a confused person, if you were in my head you would know this to be true. Most of the time nothing makes sense, so it's no wonder that I get everything mixed up - even the most oft repeated koan in Buddhism in my hands become melded into one, a bastard love child of sorts.

If two hands were clapping in the forest and no one was there to hear them, would they make a sound?

Yes, that actually came out of my mouth. If you know the two koan that I've combined, good for you. If not, well, I guess I've captured the basic idea although with little grace and much less mystical flavor.

Polyamories, mouse potatoes, and other such nonsense

What nonsense do I speak of? This nonsense to be precise and my only excuse for knowing this is that I love dictionaries, even those on-line. I love letters and I love books, do dictionaries really come as any surprise? I must confess that I've never heard of the sandwich generation and that though I think mouse potato is witty it is a little cliche in its witty-ness. On the other hand, I just can't wait to use polyamorous in conversation . . . because I am nothing if not the epitome of polyamory, for indeed I am in love with the world and everyone and everything in it. *wicked grin*

The space between living and dying

That's the space where we build our lives. It's so run-of-the-mill, so everyday, that we tend to forget about it and yet it is what our lives boil down to when we are gone. It's not just the physical space that we occupy and call home but also the space that we occupy in people's memories. The latter weighs more heavily in my mind since without that we could disappear so easily. Physical objects and places can be removed or destroyed and all traces of a persons presence can be erased, a memory is much harder to erase - even if we want to.

We went to get furniture from a coworker of Anna's. All we had heard was that they were cleaning out an apartment and everything needed to go. When we got there we learned that the tenant of the apartment had died in an accident and their belongings were being given away to Goodwill, so there we were in this person's apartment. Most things had been moved to the living room and put into boxes for us to rummage through but there was still the semblance of a life there.

It was bleak and haunting to look through the boxes and walk through the rooms. I had no knowledge of this person's life, I didn't have any memories or associations, all I knew was the space in which they lived. There were bits and pieces that could be put together to figure out what their life must have been like, sporting equipment, cleaning products, kitchen utensils, glassware, shirts. It made me immensely sad to imagine this person's life and then realize that I'm standing in the middle of what was their life. Is that what it all boils down to, a room full of stuff that some strangers rummage through? I know it's not always like that but it just made me think how fragile the balance of our lives is, how small that space between living and dying can be.

Doctors are doctors, right?

Random bits of conversation . . .
We're at Scarecrow looking at movies (I had a hankering to see Saving Grace) when I saw The Life and Death of Peter Sellers. I make some comment about it to Anna who says something followed by, "But I don't really know who Peter Sellers is."
Me: (gasp) "You don't know who Peter Sellers is?! But he was in The Pink Panther."
Anna: "I've never seen The Pink Panther."
I'm racking my brain for another movie Anna would have seen with Peter Sellers when I remember Brian's Stanley Kubrick collection when we lived on Ingleside, "Well, you saw Dr Strangelove. He was in that."
Anna: "But I don't remember him."
Then I give a convoluted extremely abbreviated synopsis of Dr Strangelove. At which point I think the conversation is over and we're walking away, but Anna says, "When I was little I had a teddy bear that played the theme song to Dr Strangelove."
Me: "What?! Why . . ."
Anna: "Oh no, it was the theme to Dr Zhivago."
Now I'm just in stitches of laughter, as is Anna, "What kind of person would think to have a teddy bear with the theme song to Dr Strangelove? What kind of implications would that have?"
Really, laughing so hard I could barely walk and thought I was going to fall down the stairs.

Music is bliss

So, I finally got a CD player for my room yesterday. I've been without a stereo of any sort for a month now, I don't know how I've survived. This is my take on music - it's completely liberating. Music makes me feel free, as though I can soar into the sky. With music I can be anywhere, do anything, be anyone. It can make you feel every range of emotion without ever letting you down.

Bumpersticker?

I have long been ambivalent about bumperstickers . . . do they really make a statement or are they just distracting eyesores? It's a toss-up. Sometimes they make me laugh, other times I want to key their cars - not that I would ever actually do that but oh the temptation. Today I saw the best or possibly the worst bumpersticker. It was two pieces of paper taped together and spartanly taped to the bumper of a car, and it said "Scooter Libby is dumb." It was ridiculous and really funny, not just for the content of the message but the idea that a piece of paper taped to a bumper could be a bumpersticker . . . maybe you just had to be there.

Names are a funny thing

Yesterday, Anna and I were talking about names, mostly about the off-beat names that celebrities choose for their kids. I brought up some notable examples like John Morrow's daughter Tu Morrow, Jason Lee's son Pilot Inspektor, and Shannyn Sossamon's son Audio Science. Anna wanted to know why the average citizens like ourselves weren't following suit and declared that she would like to be renamed Optimus Prime, which would make her whole name Optimus Prime Pier----. At which point I pointed out that her initials would be the same as the ever notorious OPP . . . yeah you know me. Besides, I don't know that I could handle a roommate named after a Transformers character, even if she did introduce me to Kids in the Hall. It would almost be like living with a robot, which I would find frightening (except for these robots that I totally adore) but Anna of course would probably enjoy.

Happy Birthday Irfan!

Happy Birthday Irfan!
I hope you're enjoying your special day and that Kalamazoo, and Michigan in general, are treating you well. While you're there drink a pint of Bell's for me.
Do you remember the day at the beach when I took this picture? It was deserted at the channel, there was a cold breeze, and we were following the seagull tracks in the sand. It was such a lovely afternoon.

Lazy Saturdays

I'm at Green Lake, just about to set out on a walk around the lake. It seemed like a brilliant plan before we got here and it's still a great idea but there are so many people here! I forgot how crazy it can get on weekends, especially in the summer on a perfect day like today. You can smell people's barbecues and its so tempting. Almost too tempting for Anna, she's been wanting a grill ever since we've gotten to Seattle.

Even though its really quite a perfect day here I miss Michigan right now. I miss my yard and the hammock. On a day like today in Michigan I would be laying in the hammock reading a book, maybe eating a nectarine, and contemplating going for a swim in Lake Michigan. The desire to be everywhere at once is problematic since I know that it is a desire that will never be fulfilled. But I'll manage . . . it's pretty hard not to enjoy a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Going postal

I love getting mail, and I'm talking about real mail, on paper, in an envelope. I like e-mail too but there's something indescribable about getting a handwritten letter. The weight of the envelope in your hand, the smooth surface of paper, and the curving lines of familiar handwriting, it's enough to make my heart skip a beat. And I love writing letters as much as I love receiving them. I'm afraid letter writing is becoming somewhat of a lost art though. I may not be the best of writers but I try and people seem to enjoy getting my letters. But I think too often letters are given up for e-mail correspondence. Letter writing doesn't necessarily have the convenience and informality of e-mail but it has to be engaging in a way that isn't required of e-mail or conversation. In a letter the only things you have to capture someone's attention are your wit and your handwriting. And yes, I did just place a hefty level of importance on handwriting. I think penmanship says a lot about a person and that translates into their writing. And I say this not because I have good penmanship but because I know that my handwriting reflects who I am, it's a little extension of me as a person. So, when someone gets a letter from me I'd like to think it's a little piece of me that they can hold in their hands and read as though they were having a conversation with me. Isn't there something comforting about that? To feel so close to someone through a couple sheets of paper even though we could be on opposite sides of the earth? I think so.

Must post

So, I'm freezing cold (why are libraries always over air conditioned?) and need to pee like a racehorse (I know over-sharing) but I must post. I'm suffering from posting deprivation, much as I am suffering from NPR and tea kettle deprivation. All completely unrelated to one another but I'm feeling a void in my life as a result of their absence.

I had a post all composed in my head but now I'm too preoccupied with other things to remember what it was . . . poop! And I don't care what people say repeatedly saying poop does make me feel better. And it reminded me of what I wanted to post, the Ho Ho Seafood Restaurant. I can't help it, it makes me giggle. When we were wandering around the International District we kept walking past it and I'd giggle everytime. I just kept on thinking of absurd things like a guy in a Santa suit standing under their awning or me standing next to their sign with a huge clear bag of Hostess products including Ho-Hos. I may be laughing alone but I can't help myself . . . its funny.

The Cave . . .

. . . is what we've named our apartment and these are our latest ideas for side businesses that we can run out of it:

1. An underground rock air band venue. The air band part is key. Anna said that as long as she can be Mick Jagger I can be anyone else I want . . . tempting offer.
2. A wine bar featuring rock music only. It's got to be an original since I've never heard of anything like it.
3. And finally, a brunch spot for two - which means there can only ever be two diners at any time. Oh intimate spaces . . .

Any suggestions? Let me know . . .

A green world

I'm looking out the window and two thirds of what I see is green and I like it. As much as I love living in the city I don't think I could survive the concrete jungle without the respite of greenery provided by trees and plants in parks. It's one of the reasons why I enjoy Seattle so much, all the perks of the city but with lots of greenery everywhere.

Well, the green quotient in my life is just about to up. We're painting the living room and the 'nook' green today. The color of choice is Zen Mist. Who comes up with these paint names? Not that it's an inappropriate name for the color but really I want that job. What do you think it's like? Do you sit in a room surrounded by large paint chip samples and discuss what the color inspires, how it makes you feel, what it reminds you of? I think all the names I would come up with would be related to food . . . everything in my life comes back to food and eating. My alternatives to Zen Mist would be Pistachio Cream or Mint Au Lait. They sound so yummy although perhaps not as descriptive of the color.

Privacy and the lack there of

As much as people grumble about wire tapping and the invasion of privacy, I think most people are completely unguarded of their personal privacy most of the time. Honestly, have you heard the stuff that most people talk about when they're on their cell phones in public places? Or amongst friends in public places? I mean I'm not trying to eavesdrop but many times I can't help overhearing the conversations around me because they're held in such loud voices.

Cases in point . . .
1. Last week on the bus a woman was having a conversation on her cell phone with someone she clearly hadn't talked to in a while. She was discussing the details of how she had met a great guy, he had treated her to a spa day, they had gone on several wonderful dates, and she was hoping he would propose to her. Next, she went on to discuss how her brother had just had open heart surgery the day before. It was the result of a heart condition he was born with but the progression of the illness was much quicker than anticipated. Now, I'm giving you the general story but I could have given you the details from the name of the spa she went to and the boyfriend's sister's name, to her brother's name which hospital he had his surgery at and where her grandmother lived.
2. Even today at the returns counter at Home Depot I overheard one of the cashiers telling a coworker how her sister went to visit a friend in India for 6 weeks and came back engaged to someone she had known only 2 weeks, apparently he's a real estate developer and worth millions.

Really . . . the things you overhear. And if you overhear all the details and put two and two together you practically have a roadmap to someone's life. People are giving up their privacy daily, on the bus, on the sidewalk, at restaurants. And I'm sure I do the same thing too, but my point is this: think about what you're saying and where before you start complaining about the invasion of privacy.

Just between you and me

I have yet to tell anyone I know (except Anna since she's already made an appearance here) that I've actually started a blog. Not telling anyone makes it feel like it's my little secret and somehow I find a childish pleasure in that. On the other hand it probably means that no one is reading it. After all, why would a total stranger want a little window into my daily life? Probably for the same reasons that I like reading blogs of people that I've never met - pure curiosity.

So, Anna and anyone else surfing by, this is just between you and me, our little secret . . . at least for now.

The necessities of life . . .

Last week Anna informed me that everyone needs a nemesis, it is simply a necessity in life. I was unaware of this fact, maybe that's why my life has been a little out of stride of late. Of course having just moved we really didn't have any person who could necessarily be our nemesi (is that a real word?) and so we had to settle for an inanimate object - our washer/dryer unit. It sits in the middle of our tiny kitchen and blocks one of our tiny windows. It isn't terribly attractive and it can't be disguised or moved. Certainly it's convenient to have a washer/dryer and I don't want to complain but couldn't it have gone into a closet? Why the middle of the kitchen? I've already had several unfortunate run-ins with it. My tendency to lean against the unit when I'm standing by it inevitable leads to me accidentally leaning into the dryer start button which buzzes loudly when a dryer cycle isn't in progress. So, in essence the washer/dryer is buzzing at me. I'm sure I'll overcome my animosity towards it when it's usefulness and convenience override it's tackiness but for now, washer/dryer you are the bane of my existence!

It's the little things in life

Indeed it is the little things that are surprisingly the most memorable. Yesterday, Anna and I were walking along the Burke-Gilman trail down to Gas Works Park and what should pass us by but a mini-motorcycle gang. And I don't mean that in the sense that the gang of motorcyclers were miniscule in number, rather that the motorcycles they were riding were of smaller stature. It was actually quite a significant gang, 30 maybe 40 riders. They probably wouldn't appreciate me calling them mini-motorcycles either I'm sure there's a much more appropriate term but I don't know what it is. Anyway, they were zipping by en masse and a notable few even had capes on - bright red! The whole scene just made my day, how could I help but smile?

Feeling blue and homesick

One of the side effects of moving is feeling homesick. I don't really know where I feel homesick for anymore, which is slightly problematic. The confusion comes from not being able to pinpoint where home is. Home is everywhere and nowhere. Is it Japan or is it Michigan or somewhere in between? Sometimes I feel homesick for France too, and I didn't even live there for very long. Today I'm going to remedy my homesickness with a trip to Uwajimaya, the Japanese grocery store in the International District. I can wallow in the nostalgia of Japanese food. To be honest it will probably make me feel even more homesick but for a little while I can forget where I am and maybe that is all I need.

Beginnings . . .

Every new beginning deserves a new challenge, so here I go. Let's see if I can keep this up.

So, I've moved again for the umpteenth time in as many years. But this time I'm coming back to someplace I've lived before. It's like meeting an old friend for the first time in years and rediscovering all the reasons you liked them so much to begin with and then wondering why you haven't kept in better touch. Everyday I remember something new that I loved about this city. I am rediscovering old haunts and mourning the loss of others. There is a little adventure around every corner and as much as I detest the process of packing and saying goodbyes, it is the little adventures that make moving tolerable, even enjoyable. After all, I am a child of wanderlust and will always be happy to roam.