It was Spring. Five adorable kittens climbed through a hole into the house. Katie Love and Sarah Phillips came over. They, Jen, and I played with them. They chewed our fingers when we pet them. The gray one with the wiry fur creeped me out because his nose was flat, but the rest of his face was curved like a tennis ball. He kept staring at me.
There was a Christian Latin carnival in the park across the street from my house. It was loud and colorful. Some volunteers came to the door to introduce themselves. They had young girls with them who also played with the kittens. One guy gave me a double CD of a Christian Latin Disco Group. I did not want to appear rude, so I accepted it, and lied that I would listen to it every day.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Dream: January 28, 2009
I was visiting Rochester on a warm and sunny weekend. My mother and I went to see her insurance agent, whose office was at the end of a concrete pier on one of the Finger Lakes, possibly Canandaigua. My mom claimed that she did not like her insurance agent because her kindness was insincere, and her compliments were forced.
Driving to the edge of the lake, we passed through a quiet, old section of the city with two to three floor Victorian store fronts and apartment buildings lining the streets. With no cars or people around, they looked like abandoned tenements fixed up on the outside, with dark windows showing into an eerie nothingness. The last block was a small, acute triangle on an island among three cross streets. On it was a single red brick-faced building that followed the block's angle to a narrow, sharp point, making much of the already tight space inside useless. I commented that although the design of building was impractical, it was still amusing to see, and that I could not imagine anyone wanting to live there. My mom said it was an optical illusion, that it was a very spacious apartment inside, and that the landlords can and do charge a high rents for the apartments because of their location in the historic section, and of their proximity to the water.
Michael met us at the pier, but waited outside while we went in. The insurance office was housed in an emptied boat storage facility with corrugated galvanized steel siding. The entrance was through the overhead door. Many people were at work inside the building, sitting at desks, meeting with clients, filing documents in large cabinets, the office looked like any busy office, except it was in a storage facility at the end of a pier. My mother's agent saw us enter, and acknowledged us with a snubbing face and a shoulder shrug. I rethought my mother's perception of her.
"I'll be with you in a moment," she sneered on her way to the office supply cabinet. She was in her late forties with dyed blonde shoulder-length hair. Her make-up was age appropriate, but something about her was desperate to be younger. She wore khaki pants and a white polo shirt, as if for her second job, she worked as a part-time activities director for the local yacht club.
My mother, as if by routine, opened a door to a full-sized freezer and pulled out a heavy plastic bag of sliced wheat bread. The bag was so large, contained so much bread, and was accessed so often during the day, that no one bothered to close it properly. Many of the slices were freezer burned. My mom held the bag open for me.
"To feed the ducks," she offered.
I took a slice.
"Take another."
I took two.
A second overhead door opened to another part of the pier where people relaxed and enjoyed the sun. About fifty male mallards swam around the area where the people gathered. My mom handed some extra slices to Michael. We watched some people throw whole slices of bread into the water. Many of the ducks did not seem to care, while others would swim up and bite into them. They could not bite any off. Slowly, the pieces of bread began to dissolve like clouds in the water. Some of the ducks would dive into the water, and come up from below to break off softened pieces. I sat down on the edge of the pier so I could lean against the lower railing, and dangle my legs over the side against the concrete wall. My mother and brother sat on a bench behind me. I broke my slices into small pieces, and tossed them in. A few ducks waited under my feet for bread, but I could not see them because the railing was in the way. Suddenly, I felt pain and pressure on my ankle and calf of my right leg. Two ducks had bitten me, and held on. Their mouths were too small to bite the bread, but they could somehow latch onto my calves. I turned to my mother and brother for help.
"What?" they asked incredulously.
"The ducks! They're biting me, and it hurts. Please help me!"
"Erin, they're just ducks."
I tried to shake them off, but they held on tight. I could not physically stand up, and something told me I wanted these ducks to stay in the water, and to not come up on top of the pier with me. I kicked some more. It occurred to me that I could have slammed my feet against the concrete wall and knocked the ducks off, but I did not want to risk killing them, certainly not in front of all those people.
The pain grew worse. I woke myself up, forcing myself out of the dream. My ankle and calf still hurt, but I knew I was safe in bed. I slowly inched my leg back and forth, stretching until the pain subsided.
Driving to the edge of the lake, we passed through a quiet, old section of the city with two to three floor Victorian store fronts and apartment buildings lining the streets. With no cars or people around, they looked like abandoned tenements fixed up on the outside, with dark windows showing into an eerie nothingness. The last block was a small, acute triangle on an island among three cross streets. On it was a single red brick-faced building that followed the block's angle to a narrow, sharp point, making much of the already tight space inside useless. I commented that although the design of building was impractical, it was still amusing to see, and that I could not imagine anyone wanting to live there. My mom said it was an optical illusion, that it was a very spacious apartment inside, and that the landlords can and do charge a high rents for the apartments because of their location in the historic section, and of their proximity to the water.
Michael met us at the pier, but waited outside while we went in. The insurance office was housed in an emptied boat storage facility with corrugated galvanized steel siding. The entrance was through the overhead door. Many people were at work inside the building, sitting at desks, meeting with clients, filing documents in large cabinets, the office looked like any busy office, except it was in a storage facility at the end of a pier. My mother's agent saw us enter, and acknowledged us with a snubbing face and a shoulder shrug. I rethought my mother's perception of her.
"I'll be with you in a moment," she sneered on her way to the office supply cabinet. She was in her late forties with dyed blonde shoulder-length hair. Her make-up was age appropriate, but something about her was desperate to be younger. She wore khaki pants and a white polo shirt, as if for her second job, she worked as a part-time activities director for the local yacht club.
My mother, as if by routine, opened a door to a full-sized freezer and pulled out a heavy plastic bag of sliced wheat bread. The bag was so large, contained so much bread, and was accessed so often during the day, that no one bothered to close it properly. Many of the slices were freezer burned. My mom held the bag open for me.
"To feed the ducks," she offered.
I took a slice.
"Take another."
I took two.
A second overhead door opened to another part of the pier where people relaxed and enjoyed the sun. About fifty male mallards swam around the area where the people gathered. My mom handed some extra slices to Michael. We watched some people throw whole slices of bread into the water. Many of the ducks did not seem to care, while others would swim up and bite into them. They could not bite any off. Slowly, the pieces of bread began to dissolve like clouds in the water. Some of the ducks would dive into the water, and come up from below to break off softened pieces. I sat down on the edge of the pier so I could lean against the lower railing, and dangle my legs over the side against the concrete wall. My mother and brother sat on a bench behind me. I broke my slices into small pieces, and tossed them in. A few ducks waited under my feet for bread, but I could not see them because the railing was in the way. Suddenly, I felt pain and pressure on my ankle and calf of my right leg. Two ducks had bitten me, and held on. Their mouths were too small to bite the bread, but they could somehow latch onto my calves. I turned to my mother and brother for help.
"What?" they asked incredulously.
"The ducks! They're biting me, and it hurts. Please help me!"
"Erin, they're just ducks."
I tried to shake them off, but they held on tight. I could not physically stand up, and something told me I wanted these ducks to stay in the water, and to not come up on top of the pier with me. I kicked some more. It occurred to me that I could have slammed my feet against the concrete wall and knocked the ducks off, but I did not want to risk killing them, certainly not in front of all those people.
The pain grew worse. I woke myself up, forcing myself out of the dream. My ankle and calf still hurt, but I knew I was safe in bed. I slowly inched my leg back and forth, stretching until the pain subsided.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Quote of the Year
-APersonhood, by its very definition, is so precious and infused with ineffable glory and beauty that it is the one irreducible reality.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Have an enjoyable indiscriminate day of festivities this winter, if that's your thing...
...to the rest, MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Some Children See Him
By Alfred Burt
Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white
With tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
The Lord of heav'n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
With dark and heavy hair.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
This Saviour whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue.
Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray.
Some children see Him dark as they,
And, ah! they love Him so!
The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus' face
like theirs but bright with heav'nly grace
And filled with holy light!
O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
'tis love that's born tonight!
Some Children See Him
By Alfred Burt
Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white
With tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
The Lord of heav'n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
With dark and heavy hair.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
This Saviour whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue.
Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray.
Some children see Him dark as they,
And, ah! they love Him so!
The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus' face
like theirs but bright with heav'nly grace
And filled with holy light!
O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
'tis love that's born tonight!
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Remember when I freaked out when Blogger changed their format? I'm now losing sleep over what Hotmail did. I might switch over to Gmail. Besides, I'm getting tired of "jellyspoon." What the heck does that mean anyway?
Neighbors are fighting again. Maybe they don't like the new Hotmail look either.
Neighbors are fighting again. Maybe they don't like the new Hotmail look either.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Scary
I'm passing on Halloween this year, but I saw this video just now that I find scary, funny, and endearing all at the same time. It's on the same level as if Yoshimitu Banno directed a film where the monster takes on Papa Smurf, and he offered it up as a presidential campaign ad to the lowest bidder.
Guess who it was...
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