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neglect, as defined by others than this author ~
lack of attention and due care;
the state of something that has been unused and neglected;
willful lack of care and attention.
while I am not sure that all three definitions match my little blog’s lack of posts, of late, I will admit to feeling guilty for the lack of attention sent its way. And the guilt thing is somethig I do not want to carry about my blog. That was not its original birthing purpose and guilt, in this case, serves no one. so, be gone guilt.
On network television, there is a snippet or a teaser or a trailer or an advertisement (I don’t really know the proper TV Land term) for a show called the Biggest Loser. This short segment shows a mother and her at least adolescent/grown son sitting side-by-side and the mother starts to cry as she says something to the effect of I would give up everything, all of my dreams and aspirations, to see him [son] succeed. The first time I saw this snippet, I was half-listening but recall mentally putting my finger to chin ~ tap, tap ~ and the marinading on this woman’s statement began. Since then, I have seen the trailer multiple times (in between watching educational only TV, mind you) and each time I find myself pausing and swirling the idea around a little more.
This concept of giving up all of one’s own aspirations and dreams in favor of someone else’s success is a tough one to get my arms around. Would I be willing to give up my dreams and goals for my daughter? for my SO? for my grandkiddos? my sister? for anyone?
My internal answer has been No. and then, of course, I build a case to justify my decision, my choice to not selflessly give away my dreams in order that someone else’s could be achieved. Not healthy. Not realistic. Not a good role model. Massively co-dependent. These and additional reasoning thoughts form over time. But at the back of my mind and the periphery of my heart, a curiousity popcorns up and down, a question ~ if one truly loves another, would one not be willing to do whatever it took to ensure the loved one’s goals? Is that what is meant when we speak of unconditional love? does unconditional love exist in the human heart?
Who needs so much reality? If I wanted existential questions flung at me, I’d flip back to PBS and ask myself such important questions as what is the origin of the submarine sandwich?
in between what i know and the
knowing in my heart,
a universe
unknown.
resides.
@junemoon 2008
your packpack. That used to be one of the mottos I lived by when I first arrived here to the land of where I walked almost everywhere I went. My school was two miles from the Attic and believe me there were days, rainy ones and lazy ones, when I would rather have gotten in Harv (my very old compact car, named after actor Harvey Keitel but that’s another story for another post) but the lack of parking and 2 hour strictly enforced parking scenario conspired to keep me trundling along on foot.
As a result, my packpack and I were inseparable buddies and I became a veritable pack mule who hauled books, groceries, and more books on my back. Even if I was just running up to the corner market to purchase my weekly hit of extra Hope in form of a lotto ticket, I strapped on my packpack since one never knew what might need carted home.
Earlier this afternoon I took a stroll up to the corner store to purchase a Sunday newspaper. Less than a block from my destination I came across a cardboard box filled to the brim with one of my most favorita things in the whole wide world – magazines or what I fondly call mags. I have previously blogged about my love of mags and to find ones in excellent condition for the perfect price of Free, well that’s pretty doggone good. The only damper on the smile that filled my face was the realization that I had broken my cardinal rule and had, unplannedly, left the Attic without said packpack.
I fought the urge to scoop up the free mags on my way to purchase the newspaper and told myself that if this wonderful find was meant to be that they would be there on my return trip. They were! probably because I whispered the mantra of please still be there please still be there the rest of the way to the store and back. As I knelt beside the brown box I picked up the top mag which was a 2 year old issue of the Sunset publication, in excellent condition I might add, I performed the mandatory sniff test, smelling for any whiffs of urine from any origin (dog, cat, squirrel) or heavy cig smoke. To my quickly growing delight, the mags passed this test with flying colors, not even a hint of mildew or mustiness. Some of the mags like Bon Appetit and Gourmet were still in their plastic wrap as they are current issues! I had to remind myself to take a deep breath so as not to hyperventilate from the sheer excitement of my Find of the Weekend. I loaded up my arms with as many of the mags as I could carry and while doing so, I wished several times, once out loud, that I had my trusty packpack.
So let this be a lesson to anyone who regularly walks when they run (why do we say run] errands ~ do not leave home without your packpack, even if you do call it a backpack.
Ping’ing
back and forth
between two worlds two cultures.
Bouncing one from another and back again
cuz I cannot get past the hard out-her
shell of the brown or white ~
how can skin be so taut so hard.
So I bounce one from another.
Yes, I bounce back Resilient
I am.
lonely too.
@junemoon 2008
As promised, the following is my evaluation of yesterday’s market edibles ~
- fresh cooked dungeness crab meat = Grade D. Not that fresh, a hint or two of fishy odor assailed my nose as soon as I popped the lid (never a good sign for freshness). The texture was a bit rubbery as if it had been cooked too long. Very disappointing.
- farm fresh organic extra-large brown eggs = Grade D+ or a C-, depending on how generous I am feeling when I recall the fact that three of the yolks of the five eggs I cracked open, broke as soon as they fell into the bowl and that one of them was so bloody that I believe there might have been the beginnings of triplet or quartetlets (is that a word) fertilized chicks. I know, the whole deal was pretty gruesome. I finally ended up with two useable eggs which were totally edible but not as tasty as I imagined they would be or maybe it was that I had lost some of my appetite for eggs by the time I got to the point of eating them. Oh and I must say, that an extra-large egg does not mean the same thing it used to as these eggs looked sort of little.
Okay, so lest the reader leave thinking that I am all sour grapes and too tough a critic, let me end by saying that an adventure and new experience is not negated by a few poor events. Put another way, not every meal is going to be lick your plate good. Or my personal favorite (not), when life gives you lemons (which I love the acidic bite), make lemonade (but remember not to ruin it by adding too much sugar). Although in yesterday’s case, if life gives you really expensive food treats that turn out to be nothing close to a true treat, throw them away and move on. Remember, meals are about the multiple not the singular experience or some such thing. Basically, don’t let an 8 oz container of bad dungeness crab and a cardboard box of bloody brown eggs get you down.
This morning, I once again exercised my free will and opened my Attic door and traipsed out into the spring sunshine. I headed for my neighborhood market that occurs like clockwork on Saturdays. This market and the walk to the market, passing abundant flowering plants, shrubs, and trees are a huge part of what is good and wonderful about City living. Now some Californian natives might argue that Berkeley is not a City and that the City lies across the Bay. I beg to differ. As a country kid who as an adult lived in a Small City, Berkeley most definitely feels like a City even after having lived here for almost five years. The City across the Bay where I commute to and from three days a week is a Big City.
Since I moved here to begin my doctoral program, I have been keeping a pro’s and con’s mental, and sometimes on this blog, list of City and Big City living while most of the time pining away for Country Living (not the magazine but the real life deal). What I have been keeping at bay, right at the edge of my peripheral conscious, is the fact that I have not been a Country Dweller for going on 30 years. This realization is a sad one for this country woman. There is nothing like the solitude of the countryside accompanied by the sounds and nuances of nature, to soothe my spirit and worried mind. So that is why I treasure those moments when I am cognizant enough to tap into the country while living in the City.
The fact that there is always something in bloom and that the color green is represented in non-manmade flora and fauna year round here in this neck of the City, still astounds and delights me. Years and years of living in the Frozen Frigid Northland of Alaska’s winters where I can guarantee you that if you see a flower in January, it’s plastic and/or a visual hallucination, requires me to walk about the Cali City streets with a look of amazement and pleasure from November through May. Take this morning’s walk, I would have filled up at least two pages of college-ruled paper if I had known and written down every name of the flowers, non-dormant green plants, trees and shrubs on my 15 minute walk to the market. I then could have filled up another two pages on the walk back to the Attic. The air was perfumed with the heady scents of spring that helped put a bounce in my step.
I feel happy inside when I see folks hauling off their market splendor in their backpacks (or as my grandkiddos used to call them, their packpacks), reuseable bags, strollers (wth the kid walking alongside), red wagons, bike baskets, and brown bags. As for me, I totally treated myself and splurged on some hopefully tasty tidbits ~ a small container of cooked dungeness crab meat (which I really really hope is fresh and tasty as it is a small 8 oz container for a big price, but hey I deserve a little extravagance, right?), two small light green artichokes, a small head of white cauliflower, and another big splurge on 12 extra large brown organic eggs. Ummmm my tummy is growling ~ I think it’s telling me to hurry up and cook some of that food loot up. Me thinks I will heed the call. I’ll let you know how it turns out.
So earlier this afternoon, I exercised my choice making ability and opened my Attic door, stepped out into the world from my inner sanctuary and headed to the Beauty Parlor. As I have previously shared on these pages, the SO and I have a little tradition of getting our hair cuts together ~ in separate chairs and usually by different beauty helpers, but we typically walk through the Beauty Parlor doors together, shaggy and unkempt looking, and exit together, less shaggy and kempt. But something (namely my dissertation process) got in the way recently (meaning the past 3 months) and the SO finally gave up waiting for me and went to the Beauty Makers by himself.
Well today, I looked in the mirror and said you know junemoon, enough is enough. You see I had been trying to convince myself that I was purposefully letting my hair grow out versus just not being able to get myself to the hair cutter. In my defense, I have been known to have almost every known hairstyle known to womankind in my 50 years of living ~ long, medium, short, perm’ed, bangs, no bangs, spikey, flat, and asymmetrical. For the past four years, I have worn my hair very short. For those who are familiar with the hair shearing tool typically used to give men crew cuts or buzz cuts, the Beauty Operator uses a No. 4 attachment on the top of my head and a No. 3 attachment for the sides and back of my head. That folks, is very short.
Anywho, I digress. This morning’s reflection in the mirror jarred me back to reality and I had to admit that even if it were true that I was purposefully growing my hair longer, that it was an idea whose time had passed. In other words, the new look was not working out. Put another way, WTF was sitting on top of my head that looked like it was waiting for the taxidermist to have its way with?
That’s when I opened my Attic door and set off to the Beauty Parlor not bothering to pass Go and not collecting my 200 bucks (now that I think of it, that was sort of silly ~ I could use the 200 extra bucks). When I exited the Beauty Parlor’s door, I definitely was more kempt. I am happy to report that the scaring-the-bejesus-out-of-myself-potential-when-looking-in-the-mirror quotient has gone down several notches. Oh what a minute or two sitting still in a chair can accomplish.
Like the woman on the 4 of Discs Motherpeace tarot card, my energies are seeking inner sanctuary ~ a place where I can be alone and sheltered. Silence, solitude, and time to reconnoiter, to gather my thoughts, to realign with my universe, to take stock. This silence and time is required to allow this past five year intellectual and spiritual growth spurt to be assimmilated fully into my consciousness.
This pull comes at an opportune time as my current life circumstances provide me the three required external elements to this internal calling ~ solitude silence and time. I am alone here in the Attic. There is absence of noise, conversation, static that is to the extent that a city is ever silent. It is silent enough for my purposes. A few days stretch before me of unscheduled time absent of outside demands.
And, again, like the 4 of Discs woman, I am free to open or shut the Attic door at my will. Free to say no to the outside requests, in order to figure out what I need for myself. I will use this gift of time, solitude, and silence wisely.
Thank you Universe for this opportunity to drop away from the Outside frenzy. Thank you Self for attending to the Spirit’s call.
So today dawns a brand new chance at starting over, beginning anew. After all, it is April 1st is it not? And with the nod to fools or some such persons, I declare today to be a day to proclaim new resolutions reclaim resolutions that may have been in the shadows, on the back burner and for reveling in what has gone before, recent completions accomplishments. All with an eye of moving forward but not too quickly ~ I don’t want to miss today ~ that would be fool-ish.
~ [photograph courtesy of Flickr photographer]
