I am not lazy.
I am not on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the window.
Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
LOVE this poem. It hits me with such truth and deep, personal applicability today.
We are headed to Southern Pines for the weekend, to see both sets of our parents and, most of all, to meet precious baby Georgia! (Georgia being my parents-in-laws’ new puppy.) I can’t wait. I just hope Pyrrha plays gently and doesn’t try to snack on the wee babe.
I love that you are an illegal migrant worker on a garlic farm in New Zealand. Location aside, it’s very Steinbeck of you. I wish you were here, but more accurately, I wish I was there. The coast looks like a rustic fairytale. Just don’t get picked up by the border patrol or anything.
I’m starting to think now that you may never see us or our place in Charlottesville. This is a depressing thought. You get back from Nepal in July, have a few weeks at home, and then you jet off to university. This leaves very little time for you to traipse around C’ville with me, stocking up at the farmers’ market and terrorizing the general Belmont neighborhood with our conversations conducted entirely in quotes from “Little Women” and “America’s Next Top Model.” I don’t want to dwell on it now, but after you’ve recuperated and readjusted to life in America, Priority Number One is getting you up here.
Things you have missed while you’ve been harvesting in the fields: Taza finally had her baby, but hasn’t named it yet (I’m personally pulling for Moonbeam Anthropologie Davis); “30 Rock” continues to be the light and joy of our lives, excepting only Reuben; Guion’s beard; fairly regular quantities of snow and ice; and my reluctant absorption in “Lost.” I know, I know. I swore I’d never watch it, but do you remember who I’m married to? We’re in the fourth season now and I am pretty much hooked, even though I want it to be over. Guion won’t tell me anything (even though I already KNOW that Locke becomes the Smoke Monster).
I have also been eating kale three or four times a week, so you should be proud of me. You’re right; I’m in love. It is the greatest vegetable in the world and yet it’s the cheapest one at Harris Teeter. Well done, Capitalism/Nature.
Thanks for being my sister. Harvest strong. I love you and I pray for you daily. Come home soon.
Here at last! I’m excited. We might get to catch a film or two at the Virginia Film Festival that’s happening here this week, and we will get to spend lots of quality time with the Pratts and Granddad.
Back and forth about grad school still. Not too jazzed about it after reading this little piece in McSweeney’s: An Open Letter to my Abandoned MA Degree. The opening paragraph says it all:
Dear Abandoned MA English Degree,
We could’ve been big, MA English Degree. God damn huge! Working together, our forces finally combined with BA English Degree to form that ancient tripartite power of analysis, critical thinking, and original content. We could have taken the world by storm. There was no shortage to where we could have gone: non-paying internships at publishing houses, a PhD program, the list… well, the list kind of peters out there, but man, what we could’ve done in either of those, it would’ve really set the world aflame! But alas, here is where we must part ways. Two semesters into our supposed two year relationship I must take my leave from you.
LIZ: We might not be the best people…
JACK: … but we’re not the worst:
LIZ, JACK [in unison]: Grad students are the worst!
So, today is a “no grad school” day. Tomorrow will probably be different. But today, I’m thinking, “Hey. I have a job. A pretty real job. It might not be super-fun or challenging, but I have a job. Which is more than most English MA’s can say.”
Also. OMG. This is the reason that I often wish I had straight hair and red hair. Catherine could totally do this; she’s the queen of chignons. Now that I finally found hair pins (not bobby pins, hair pins), I might try it. I’ve also been considering trying to straighten my hair every now and then. I feel like dry-ish winter is a good time to attempt such a daring and risky endeavor.
After a post you’ve been writing gets erased, it just takes the wind out of your sails; I have no energy or inclination to rewrite all of that. I was going to tell you about our weekend, but it seems the Interwebs have deemed that unworthy. I did get to reunite with Chmabia in Richmond, though, and that was really great. I don’t feel like re-finding some of the links, so these might be low-calorie Snax today.
Tea Party Agitprop. ANGELA TCHOU was on the front page of Slate Magazine! I’m so proud of my baby. (Slate)
Afghan Boys Are Prized, So Girls Live The Part. Really, you should read this article on the trend in Afghanistan of dressing little girls as boys. It’s one of the best things I’ve read all week, and it is both fascinating and heartbreaking. I found this quote from the article particularly searing; it’s from a woman who was raised as a boy throughout adolescence, and then was married off at 16 to a man she did not know.
In a brief period of marital trouble, he once attempted to beat her, but after she hit him back, it never happened again. She wants to look like a woman now, she said, and for her children to have a mother.
Still, not a day goes by when she does not think back to “my best time,” as she called it. Asked if she wished she had been born a man, she silently nods.
(The New York Times)
Sunday’s Coming. Hilarious, because this is such an accurate depiction of the church my family used to go to. A circus! (chatmaggot on YouTube)
Crane Stationery Tour. In a former life, I would definitely have been a stationer. (Oh, So Beautiful Paper)
Etsy Take Five Tuesday. Generally, my only interaction with Etsy is through Regretsy, but this blog has featured some really beautiful artists this week. I’d love to buy some of those illustrations. (Decor8)
Who Says Mothers Can’t Do It All? Photograph of Licia Ronzulli, Italy’s member of the European Parliament, bringing her baby girl to work. I love this. (Take Part)
Bamboo Forest, Japan. So tranquil. I am dying to go back to my homeland. (National Geographic)
We’re setting our 2011 goals for ourselves at work. For some reason, all I can think of is Tracy Jordan, screaming at his attendants: “You need to anticipate me! Where are the French fries I did not ask for??”
Last night, we went to the weekly MFA reading series that’s started up at The Bridge (the hipster arts cooperative a block from our house). It was really fantastic, even though I had to leave before the slam poet read. We listened to a funny, sad, thoroughly postmodern short story by one of the fiction writers, Joe. He was great and the story was great and we hung on his every word. I admired this little community of writers, who have been so welcoming to me even though I am not one of their own. I felt like we were in a Bible study or something, the way everyone leaned on each other and sought vulnerability. A Bible study with gleeful obscenities and 40-ounce PBRs.
We are jetting off for the beach this weekend for the long-awaited nuptials of Rose and Kemp! We’re staying in a house with a bunch of friends and I’m really looking forward to the escape. Let’s hope the hurricanes will hold off for the weekend… Talk with you again soon.
Little Stories 