Contemplations

"Each organic or inorganic object on the earth makes, in the process of its growth, a delicate facsimile register of itself on the living sensitive ether that lies immediately around it and bathes and interprets its every action." - Balfour Stewart & P.G. Tait from The Unseen Universe, 1875.

It's strange how you can read something and at once it can seem like a newfound treasure, an immutable truth and something as familiar as an old comforting sweater. In a world of uncertainty and intolerable cruelty the idea of leaving a delicate imprint on the ether is somehow comforting. Every being, however small and insignificant is part of an ecosystem that promulgates the earth. Every life, however brief or prolonged began out of nothing, came into being and left a mark. A womb held every zygote, carried it until its violent escape into the world. Whatever happens after that may be horrifying, violent or amazingly gentle, but something was created out of nothing and that has to alter the universe in some way.

Bucket List

Last night I was reminiscing about a conversation I had with an ancient boyfriend back in college. Though it wasn't a serious relationship he was one of the few who has ever really made me feel like Virginia from that Train song, which I've always loved. I've come back to this conversation many times in the last decade or so; we talked about things we wanted to accomplish, goals we had for our lives. His enthusiasm for all my crazy ideas and neurosis was probably why the relationship lasted as long as it did, but it's also why I look back at it with fondness. I essentially made a bucket list that day, and though most of those ideas are probably impossible at this juncture I figured I'd start another one and see what happens. We've all got to have goals, right?

-See the pyramids of Egypt

-Become a certified yoga instructor

-Finish and publish my novel

-Master at least one dollar bill origami shape besides the infernal bow tie

-Speak French fluently

-Sing in a band

-Skydive or bungee jump or at least ride that flying ball contraption at Six Flags--something to alleviate my fear of heights

-Spend New Year's Eve in a hotel room overlooking Times Square

-Fill a 25 gallon drum with playbills and concert tickets from shows I've attended

-Learn an instrument

-Participate in an archeological dig

-Earn my Ph.D.

-Successfully meditate

-Spend an entire summer at Brushwood

-Open a boutique, deli or even an alpaca farm (whatever it takes) with my best friend

Returning to the Familiar

A good book is like an old friend you keep coming back to. Nothing fundamental has changed, but you learn something new while taking comfort in the familiar.

My top 5 books to return to, in no particular order:

-"Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship with Recipes" by Amanda Hesser, food writer for the New York Times. Upon my first reading of this book I tried a grilled cheese sandwich recipe that calls for a foaming pan of melted butter, thin-sliced white bread, a sprinkling of parmesan cheese and a dash of grains of paradise pepper (an excellent midnight snack or an entire meal when combined with homemade tomato basil soup). Subsequent readings have prompted batches of lemon bars that make Alec's eyes light up, a simple cream sauce for chicken (one of the only recipes containing mayonnaise that doesn't make me gag) and a love affair with risotto that will last a lifetime.

-"Slummy Mummy" by Fiona Neill appears a piece of chick-lit fluff, but captures the bittersweet experience of motherhood with clarity and a dash of chagrin. The main character's risque near-affair confronts housewife boredom and desire for change, but ultimately celebrates the consistency of a good marriage. I connect with nearly every sentence and still laugh out loud even after several readings.

-"Animal Dreams" by Barbara Kingsolver, one of my favorite contemporary authors. I discovered this book in AP high school English, and became entranced with the always poignant and often droll Kingsolver. Most of her books take place in Arizona, and her descriptions of the craggy desert landscape prompted an eventful spring break road trip during my first year of college. I took a tour of the University of Arizona campus in Tucson, to which I had just been accepted as a transfer student and fully intended to move there the next semester. Tuition ultimately proved too expensive, but every time I read "Animal Dreams" I'm reminded of the chances I took that year. When it feels like I'm backed into a corner I read this book and realize there's always another option.

-"Summer Sisters" by Judy Blume. Maybe it's a throwback to the days when I used to obsessively re-read "Deenie" and "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" or just that I sometimes enjoy complete and utter drivel, but this book is just addictive. The writing is nothing special, but if you've ever had girl-frenemies give it a try.

-Any and all Agatha Christie. I've got a good 40 or so of her mysteries that I rotate on about a yearly basis. When I don't want to deal with real life I simply grab one off the shelf, take a bath and immerse myself in a good murder. I rarely guess who the murderer is, even if I've read it before (I have a tendency to forget details about movies and books I haven't seen or read in a while) and since they're all set in WWII-era England there's little connection with modern life. Any Christie will do, though I'm partial to M. Poirot.

Brushwood Anticipation

I am filled with anticipation of the upcoming Brushwood festival season. For anyone who doesn't know, Brushwood is a self-proclaimed "sanctuary for the open mind," a campground that caters to those of us of the Pagan persuasion. The two week-long summer festivals include workshops, rituals, yoga, crafts and vendor booths run by some of the most caring individuals I have ever had the pleasure of congregating with in one space.

What is really amazing about Brushwood is the atmosphere created by the energy of so many open-minded, spiritual people. During my first stay last year I had a life-altering experience that has helped me navigate through this rough past year. I've been encouraged to change for the better, and even though it's been a slow road I know I've made progress.

I intend to visit Brushwood every year for the rest of my life; it means that much to me. I can visualize it becoming a guidepost for my life. Each time I go around the bend I'll be able to fully recognize where I've been, where I am and where I ultimately want to be.

Melancholy New Year

I'm sitting here contemplating the impending commencement of 2010 while listening to my Ipod. The random play setting serves as a musical conglomeration of every significant phase of my life. Better Than Ezra and Zox songs conjure images of Alec's Converse sitting on the steps of my Center Street apartment the first summer we met. New Found Glory makes me think of the long drive to Arizona for spring break freshman year of college, and the way the sun set over the mountains in Tucson. Dire Straights and "Shimmer" by Fuel still remind me of Phillip, Sublime will always be synonymous of my first kiss with Ezra, and any 2pac song immediately makes me want to cruise the loop with Leah again.

While attempting to take stock of my life and make resolutions-apparently what this day is all about-I can't help wondering if it's even worth the trouble. Why do we look forward with so much positivity when we know those resolutions will be out the window by Valentine's Day? As if there's any redemption in merely reciting platitudes of change. I'd like to believe I'll reign in my temper with the kids, start eating only organic food, and read more, but I know I'm still going to get pissed when the boys trash their room immediately after I've organized it, order greasy pizza once a week, and read the same Agatha Christie mysteries over and over.

Perhaps if I could regenerate rather than just remember the emotions associated with my playlist I could change the things I'm unhappy with. What would the feeling of burgeoning independence from my Arizona trip inspire if I could feel them again, authentically? If I could, rather than know then what I know now, feel now what I felt then? How life-changing would it prove if emotion could be embedded into mp3 format?

"Philosophical" waxing that inevitably follows a viewing of "This Is It"

So I might be in that half-drunken state that usually follows a movie theater movie, particularly when accompanied by Eric J, but I am feeling some serious MJ love right now. For as long as I can remember, I've been aware of Michael's music. One of my first memories is from when I was about 4 (the age of my oldest son right now-don't get me started on the idea that he might not remember any of his life thus far), wearing my '80's girl outfit and rocking out to Kids Incorporated. Even though "Beat It" was sung by "the kid", it struck a nerve. I still have a grainy VHS that includes, among other things, uncut versions of "Thriller" and "Beat It" with the original commercials. I don't watch it often, much like the Kids Incorporated tape, fearful the tape will snap and I won't be able to repair it. Everyone loves at least one MJ song-my fave is "The Way You Make Me Feel", and I know my husband has that one from Free Willy on his "emo mix" CD. Perhaps tomorrow I'll put on my History DVD and see what my boys think. I wonder where my sequined glove disappeared to...