HAIL TO THE CHIEF or OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MOURNING…We watched, out of a sense of, what, history? curiosity? this morning’s inauguration coverage on CNN, for lack of a better choice, and I think my 6 year old daughter summed things up more succinctly than I possibly could (and, really, in a broader stroke that covers more than just today’s hoopla):
“There’s a lot of red on t.v.”
That is all.
Kim
RADIO, THE BIBLE, AND AIR HUGS. Yesterday I was driving and listening to the radio, two great tastes that taste great together, at least most times. On this particular day I was wishing for a wider variety in choices of radio stations in my particular neighborhood of paradise in which there are approximately eight NPR stations, fourteen Spanish-speaking music stations, one Christian rock (“Rock”), one easy rock, one station that plays Blues-Played-by-White-Guys, and of course the requisite oldies station. So on this day of errands I chose to visit with Grace, Jimi, Jimmy and the like. “Turn, Turn, Turn,” by the Byrds came on, a song that I happen to like, despite Pete Seeger’s verbatim quoting of Ecclesiastes (3:1). It’s just a beautiful song and it pretty much sums up, in more prettier words, “shit happens.” I was singing along, as we all do to oldies, because they are embedded in our psyches if we are anywhere close to a certain age, when the following line popped out at me for the first time ever…
“a time to refrain from embracing”
It dawned on me that this described me in so many phases of my life, and it would have behooved me to know and implement this phrase instead of some of the others I used over the years.
The toddler years, “Don’t touch me!” Yes, I must admit that I was one of “those” kids who regularly broke my mother’s heart by screaming this nearly every time she tried to cuddle, squeeze, nuzzle or caress me. How much easier it would have been if I could have quoted the Old Testament and said, “Mother it is a time for refraining from embracing for me. I’m sure God will help you understand.” (I am now “blessed” with a refrainer myself. I hug her when she’s asleep.)
The teen years, “Leave me alone!” Actually, anything resembling “Mom, I’m refraining from embracing, okay!?” would still have been interpreted as sass-mouthing, with or without door-slamming, eye-rolling or pouting, so I’m not sure if the teen years could benefit from the intervention of Ecclesiastes, Erma Bombeck or any other book of wisdom.
My twenties, “Don’t go there.” Well, not only did I get a reputation for being an Ice Queen and aloof, but seemed to pass judgment on some of my more…melty friends, and got quite annoyed at some bad judgment calls on their part. Now, in my defense I was really trying to wait for the right melter. How righteous I would have sounded if I had been refraining from embracing!
The mothering years, “Stop hanging on me!” I think we can all agree that “Mommy is refraining from embracing this morning,” sounds much more calm and non-damaging. Not only does it alleviate guilt from the hanger, but it’s just confusing enough to make them let go and wander off to find the Little Ponies or Spiderman destructo sets or something they can understand without the confounding involvement of three syllable words. (Like when they find the tampons and ask “What are these?” and you simply say “Tampons for monthly female menstruation cycles.”) (Or “Paper cigars with a leash” works, too.)
Wifely duties, “I’m so tired.” Um…overdone, under-believed, and in my opinion, while usually true, sort of lends to the image of wife-as-Benny-Hill-character. Now imagine a zen-like moment where, with eyes half focused in a spiritually tuned-in way, you say, “I’m refraining from embracing for now…for me…for us…” Now smile a beatific smile (slightly coy, as if the end result will be a big sexy payoff). Much better.
Kim
(refraining from laundry)
HAPPY NEW YEAR! From possibly the laziest blogger around.
There are two types of people in this world; those who divide people into two types of people in this world and those who refrain from such divisive nonsense. Not only do I wholeheartedly engage in labeling friends and strangers as one type or another, but I also take joy in sub-categorizing my fellow humans into various groups of little consequence, such as “those who salt prior to tasting” and “those who salt only after a nibble.” Among these either/or’s are Resolution Makers and Non-Resolution Makers. I am an enthusiastic resolution maker. Do I keep them? Hell no! That’s not the point. The point is to zero in on a perceived personal fault and get pro-active all over it, in the hip most pop culture lingo available. Accomplishing end results would be almost anticlimactic, and, I think, a little show-offy. I mean really, who’s going to like you any better if you lose twenty pounds, quit smoking, cursing and spending so much money, get a better job, treat people nicer and find your inner “you” anyway?
MADAME LUKE’S NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS 2005
1. Watch more movies. Not good movies – any movies. Not just art house movies, or only Wes Anderson movies or movies that involve Tim Burton or Tim Robbins or sub-titles or Walter Matthau, but any movies. Even movies with gratuitous violence or car chases or tough-talk, and maybe a love interest and if I try really hard I might even be able to force myself to see a blockbuster again.
Has anyone else noticed that Nicholas Cage and Bruce Willis seem to have traded careers?
2. Go outside. Maybe right now. Maybe instead of doing this, right now, I could be outside doing something like walking or looking at a rock or talking to a neighbor or a stranger or nobody at all. I could be spending as little as ten minutes or as long as hours on end being out of doors, since I happen to live in an especially beautiful place, enjoying things like air, trees, flowers, sand, waves and the kind of fresh thoughts that only come with being outside.
3. Play guitar. I have numerous guitars littering my house, some hanging on walls, some in cases, all formerly employed on a semi-full time basis in my not-so-distant past as an Alternative Country Rock Star Diva (yes, that is a real job description, somewhat akin to Cowboy Poet). Now they all sit dormant, collecting dust, reminding me of just another thing that I used to do. That is just plain stupid. Maybe I could play guitar outside or during a particularly bad movie (see above).
4. See more plays. Don’t be threatened by the good ones, don’t be pissed off by the bad ones. Just go see them. Think about them and then be inspired to write. Or not. Just go.
5. Finish stuff. Pick three or four pet projects for the year and go with them. Love them, embrace them and give them your all. Make notes on other things and save them for another year. If I continue to start and not finish projects, I fear that upon my death (and the assumption of some small success), my unfinished work will be doled out to half-wit hacks to ghost-write posthumously. I know, I’m nuts. What can I say.
6. Paint the damn house. I have lived in my house for 2 years and 5 months and the interior has not been re-painted. Not one room, not one window frame. This would not be a problem if we hadn’t made improvements that included leaving gaping drywall patches here and there. And there are still push pins in remote corners of other rooms from the former owners. Time. To. Paint.
7. Pay someone else to paint the damn house.
8. Be fabulous. (I have included this on every list since 1993 or so in hopes that it would slip through the veto process one of these years and stick.)
The best of everything to all in 2005. 2004 was one soul-sucking fucker here, so…yee ha.
Kim
