What I Did

I stood outside the back door, pondering all the times in the day I'd raised my voice at the kids. It was a lot, once I got thinking about it. Now that naps were over, I was in the middle of resigning myself to the hours and hours of wakeful children ahead of me before bedtime.

Then Bea came over all sugar and spice. That's what we call it when she's sweet. I felt bad for being an old meanie, but at the same time, what with the sun coming through the mimosa and the wasps chilled to silence, I felt a burst of motherly affection.

I swooped her up. And up, up over my head. I threw all her 40 some pounds right into the air. And I caught her in my pouch, my arms a sling and her legs wrapped around what's left of my middle. And at that moment, something went all wrong in my back. It happened so quick, there wasn't a sound.

The ice-cream truck came and I went on, as mothers always seem to do. But now it's just a touch harder.

Hours in the Day

There aren't enough of them, hours in the day, not when more than 4/5ths are taken up with housewifery and scholastic endeavors. So the night will be mine as well. I usually stay up until mid-night, but I think I can stretch it to one.

I'm tapping into some previously wasted wine time: Driving. Instead of just flipping from station to station, I'm listening to Moby Dick. (I was inspired by this NPR Segment. Listen to it.) It is super entertaining thus far and provides quite a diversion.

Things have been moving in a more or less oceanic direction in my mind. Not that I'm plotting to r-u-n-n-o-f-t or anything, but here's the thing: I made a nautical piece of art for school, it inspired me to write a nautical song, which lead me to pursue Moby Dick, and finally I got involved with Isak Dinesen who said, "The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea."

So there it is. The moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas.

The Chase

In the midst of all the responsibility –children and home, school, homework, running people thither and yon, financial stress, deadlines, etc., etc.– I feel the irresistible pull. A pull towards higher thought, deeper conversation, new experiences, alternative perspectives, challenges.

I seek intoxication, but not the crude and ordinary kind. Not from wine or substances, but from a life really lived. You know?

Something Good to Read

Thirteen Observations made by Lemony Snicket while watching Occupy Wall Street from a Discreet Distance 

1. If you work hard, and become successful, it does not necessarily mean you are successful because you worked hard, just as if you are tall with long hair it doesn’t mean you would be a midget if you were bald.

2. “Fortune” is a word for having a lot of money and for having a lot of luck, but that does not mean the word has two definitions.

3. Money is like a child—rarely unaccompanied. When it disappears, look to those who were supposed to be keeping an eye on it while you were at the grocery store. You might also look for someone who has a lot of extra children sitting around, with long, suspicious explanations for how they got there.

4. People who say money doesn’t matter are like people who say cake doesn’t matter—it’s probably because they’ve already had a few slices.

5. There may not be a reason to share your cake. It is, after all, yours. You probably baked it yourself, in an oven of your own construction with ingredients you harvested yourself. It may be possible to keep your entire cake while explaining to any nearby hungry people just how reasonable you are.

6. Nobody wants to fall into a safety net, because it means the structure in which they’ve been living is in a state of collapse and they have no choice but to tumble downwards. However, it beats the alternative.

7. Someone feeling wronged is like someone feeling thirsty. Don’t tell them they aren’t. Sit with them and have a drink.

8. Don’t ask yourself if something is fair. Ask someone else—a stranger in the street, for example.

9. People gathering in the streets feeling wronged tend to be loud, as it is difficult to make oneself heard on the other side of an impressive edifice.

10. It is not always the job of people shouting outside impressive buildings to solve problems. It is often the job of the people inside, who have paper, pens, desks, and an impressive view.

11. Historically, a story about people inside impressive buildings ignoring or even taunting people standing outside shouting at them turns out to be a story with an unhappy ending.

12. If you have a large crowd shouting outside your building, there might not be room for a safety net if you’re the one tumbling down when it collapses.

13. 99 percent is a very large percentage. For instance, easily 99 percent of people want a roof over their heads, food on their tables, and the occasional slice of cake for dessert. Surely an arrangement can be made with that niggling 1 percent who disagree.

(We Are) Party People

It's been a long time since James and I have thrown down. But we are having a party tomorrow night. (Kara, are you reading this?)

To get in the spirit, I started looking back at pictures of some of our previous parties. And I'll show them to you if you promise not to judge the low quality. The photographer was drunk. Obviously.

Be Honest

What is your favorite book and why?

It's no secret that my favorite book is The Count of Monte Cristo. It is hella long, yo, but worth the three months it could take for your first go 'round. My second reading took a little over a week. No, I didn't have a life. Edmond Dantes was my life.

Why do I like it so much? It is a damn good story. Long and complex, but with a really great rhythm to it. You follow a plot for a while and it leads you off into left field. But don't fret; it'll tie in. Yes, it ever-much surely will. In some gut-wrenching or perhaps brain-exploding way. (I love when books make my brain explode!) There are stories within stories within stories, woven brilliantly. Characters, well-developed and unique, for whom you root besides the protagonist and circle of leads.

And Dumas made sure there was something for everyone: intrigue, mystery, adventure, romance, thrills and chills, moral quandaries, philosophical dilemmas, backstabbing, arcs, concaves, bandit caves, secret mountain holds, carnivals, dead babies, buffoons. And lots of humor, too.

The whole first section, the set up in the Chateau d'If, is inspiring in itself. It made me want to study, like, Greek and Astronomy and stuff, in case I need to get outta dodge or whatever.

And I love the book because it is long. I liked that tv series, Firefly, but then, like, 14 episodes and one feature length later it was over, done, kaput. I need more than that. I want to keep coming back, day after day, always wanting more. Always getting it.

Yeah, I'm pretty much ready for a re-read of The Count. Seriously.

So tell me yours. I mean it. Maybe you can dissuade me from this path.

Balancing Act

via

Hey, I need to level things out here. All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl. Too much studying! I need a pleasure-read. What are some good books you'd recommend, oh dear readers? "But, Lily," you say, "you don't have time to read!" One can always find time for a worthy book, yo.

I like books like, uh, Count of Monte Cristo. There's only one of those, though, and even all of Dumas' other works combined didn't compare to the wonder and glory of that one book, you know? So what else? In essence, I like books that transport me to another world/time/way of thinking. I like to be completely consumed by a fantasy. The best ones follow me around after I put down the book, lingering behind me like a pieces of gauze in the wind, the little scraps settling in my hair when I slow down.

Classics are best, but I like new stuff too. And I'll read non-fiction if the ideas are fascinating enough.

Leave suggestions in the comment section, why don't ya?*

(Rather than through the contact form, you know who you are!)