I've never been there, yet I know this place. It has had incarnations across the Earth, and in all eras. The one I knew was in Portland, Oregon in the early 90's. I was in my early 20's.
I don't remember its name, or even if it had a name. There are things I do remember, but I don't think I can put them in any particular order. (Besides, the order of things, once you can read Heptapod.. hmmm... I find myself thinking about the dialogue that might have happened around the table during the making of Arrival...was there an Agenda Item 2b: Hepta vs. Septa, or was it just a discussion that began organically, where someone had an idea and the other person said, "Yeah, and..." my money's on the latter... all the good jobs in the future belong to the creative class anyway... as I get older, I find I have less and less tolerance for meetings with agendas, real or hidden... whatever, my point is that somehow or other they decided to use Greek instead of Latin...and oh yeah, I forgot it was a book first, so the decision was actually probably the original author's, so never mind).
As I was saying: the order of things, once you can read Heptapod, is less important, and your linear thoughts may well start talking in circles, just like that parenthetical non-sentence above.
The List of Things I Remember in No Particular Order
1. The Mezzanine that came alive at night
2. The beyond-handsome Mexican poet
3. The openness of the kitchen - every pot, pan, dish, glass on makeshift shelving
4. The vintage sofa with warm crocheted afghan
5. The slight chill. Hence: afghan
6. The smell of tobacco and herb
7. The random communal drum kit
8. The long hair and knit sweaters and trench coats
9. The gloves with the fingers cut off, on whose hands I longed to have hold me
10. The sketchy neighborhood (that would become gentrified in ten years)
11. The openness of everything
12. The awkwardness of everything
Awkward because I wanted to belong, fully, completely; there was a heady mix of nostalgia for the past and promise for the future that led to art, and which I understood at a cellular level. But I Didn't. Quite. Belong. Not Totally. I was a first-year teacher, trying to adult for the first time, head still full of revolutionary educational ideas, but also full of an MAT degree, lessons to plan, meetings to attend, and students to be responsible for.
I loved it though. I loved the company and the conversation most of all.
There are so many moments in your hazy young 20's you forget. But you never forget dumpster diving with the artist boy/man crush (and that one time you found and hauled out your favorite teak desk that is now in your 16-year-old's room), then returning to his cluttered/clean apartment in the warehouse, and smoking cigarettes, and having a 26-year-old Mexican poet drop in to read to you from his journal.
I was never quite sure if it was safer to take the stairs or the elevator. They were both adventures.
I don't mean to idealize this life, either. Some of it was filled with drugs, some with despair. But I would venture to say that it wasn't much different than your average home at the time, just less hidden. And it was alive. Of that, there is no doubt. I'm also certain that people will start looking for someone to blame, and that the owner of the building is going to have to "own" his part of the tragedy.
Anyway, that's just a whole lotta words to simply say, no matter what the circumstances:
I mourn the loss of the Ghost Ship, its people, its heritage, and its future.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Monday, February 29, 2016
Strawberry Fields Forever
I am sitting on the bench that overlooks the Strawberry Fields meadow. I say the bench, because there is only one, and I'm fairly certain the city didn't put it there.
It looks pretty bleak now on this 29th day of February. The dry grasses are resting parallel to the ground, and the scrub oaks are gray. But the sky is blue and the breeze is light and new life is waiting patiently below the surface.
The city, however, does not appear to be waiting patiently. Everything is happening way too fast. Final City Council vote may be in April, they say. April?! Why, in April around here we have only yet just begun to see new buds, flowers, and grasses! How can our city council vote to give away something they've most likely never seen up close in midsummer?! This decision will be HISTORIC, will affect the citizens of this city for centuries, and must be carefully and thoroughly dissected. That takes time.
Do you know this land? I do. I know how sound travels in the canyon, and how I can presently hear a lone hammer working on a deck on the other side, and the chimes from Will Rogers above. Imagine the noises of a wedding pavilion/picnic area and horse stable, echoing in the Canyon. The Broadmoor is trying to sell us on the idea of public access on the 180 acres they are not using, but I'm here to tell you: there will be horses on trails throughout that 189 acres, and that 8.5 acres that is only accessible by Broadmoor guests will include the loveliest meadow, the one where people can just meander up the hill and find, accidentally.
Last summer, I did just that. While exploring the area for the first time, I came of the woods into the meadow unexpectedly. Upon seeing the tall grass undulating in the breeze and the mountains surrounding me, I instinctively opened my arms and did a couple of 360's.
In summer, the area of South Cheyenne Canyon around the Starsmore Discovery Center is a cool haven from the heat of the city for many. I understand that Barr Trail and the Incline are also used by many, but they are athletes and outdoor enthusiasts, not families and toddlers. It is still a scant few of our population who are able to or desire to do the incline, yet almost everyone is able to access Strawberry Fields. To have this meadow off limits to everyone who can't pay is immoral.
I am especially angry at how this deal seems to be a "divide and conquer" strategy, pitting the trails people against the open space people. We should all be on the same side. That's why it's called TOSC: Trails and Open Space Coalition, but it seems the almighty "T" is taking precedence.
Two men arrived down in the meadow while I was sitting on the bench. I wondered whether they were city men, business men, or Sierra Club men. Turns out, they were sort of all three, and were still undecided. They were there, hiking the land, even the steep terrain that I've never done, to check it out. They noted its appeal, and observed that not many people seemed to use it. They wanted to see for themselves what the fuss was all about. I applauded them for their curiosity.
That's what I think we all need, a hike in the woods and some curiosity.
This swap proposal is the product of a private corporation's greed, and the public's failure of imagination.
(no wonder the Broadmoor wants this land- just look at that gorgeous view of the hotel from up here)
Finally, an invitation. Mayor and City Council: come walk Strawberry Fields with me. Name the date, I'll meet you in the South Cheyenne Canyon Parking Lot. Bring your layers and hiking boots; it's still winter and the snow/ice patches are slippery. Or perhaps you'd prefer to wait until May, when you can wear a t-shirt and tennis shoes, and I can show you my land, our land - green and growing. You might even be inspired to do your own Julie Andrews impression.
The city, however, does not appear to be waiting patiently. Everything is happening way too fast. Final City Council vote may be in April, they say. April?! Why, in April around here we have only yet just begun to see new buds, flowers, and grasses! How can our city council vote to give away something they've most likely never seen up close in midsummer?! This decision will be HISTORIC, will affect the citizens of this city for centuries, and must be carefully and thoroughly dissected. That takes time.
Do you know this land? I do. I know how sound travels in the canyon, and how I can presently hear a lone hammer working on a deck on the other side, and the chimes from Will Rogers above. Imagine the noises of a wedding pavilion/picnic area and horse stable, echoing in the Canyon. The Broadmoor is trying to sell us on the idea of public access on the 180 acres they are not using, but I'm here to tell you: there will be horses on trails throughout that 189 acres, and that 8.5 acres that is only accessible by Broadmoor guests will include the loveliest meadow, the one where people can just meander up the hill and find, accidentally.
Last summer, I did just that. While exploring the area for the first time, I came of the woods into the meadow unexpectedly. Upon seeing the tall grass undulating in the breeze and the mountains surrounding me, I instinctively opened my arms and did a couple of 360's.
In summer, the area of South Cheyenne Canyon around the Starsmore Discovery Center is a cool haven from the heat of the city for many. I understand that Barr Trail and the Incline are also used by many, but they are athletes and outdoor enthusiasts, not families and toddlers. It is still a scant few of our population who are able to or desire to do the incline, yet almost everyone is able to access Strawberry Fields. To have this meadow off limits to everyone who can't pay is immoral.
I am especially angry at how this deal seems to be a "divide and conquer" strategy, pitting the trails people against the open space people. We should all be on the same side. That's why it's called TOSC: Trails and Open Space Coalition, but it seems the almighty "T" is taking precedence.
Two men arrived down in the meadow while I was sitting on the bench. I wondered whether they were city men, business men, or Sierra Club men. Turns out, they were sort of all three, and were still undecided. They were there, hiking the land, even the steep terrain that I've never done, to check it out. They noted its appeal, and observed that not many people seemed to use it. They wanted to see for themselves what the fuss was all about. I applauded them for their curiosity.
That's what I think we all need, a hike in the woods and some curiosity.
And now, a chill wind has come up, reminding me to put my down vest back on. A hawk soars. The sun has traveled farther to the west, yet still warms the left side of my face, and I have to squint a little to write. My greatest hope is that this proposed land swap will turn out to be a good thing, simply because it has put Strawberry Fields on the public's radar. Curiosity can lead to other possible solutions. Like purchasing parcels the city wants with TOPS money. No master city parks plan should ever include trading away a parcel it already owns, even if that parcel is largely unknown. Perhaps, since one of the major complaints is that it is not well taken care of, part of a new master plan could be for Parks and Rec. to improve the trail markings and maintenance of Strawberry Fields. That's their job. And ours. There is no reason that the public couldn't raise thousands of dollars to help the city with maintenance.
Finally, an invitation. Mayor and City Council: come walk Strawberry Fields with me. Name the date, I'll meet you in the South Cheyenne Canyon Parking Lot. Bring your layers and hiking boots; it's still winter and the snow/ice patches are slippery. Or perhaps you'd prefer to wait until May, when you can wear a t-shirt and tennis shoes, and I can show you my land, our land - green and growing. You might even be inspired to do your own Julie Andrews impression.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Ten Books
Ten Books. Thanks, Marie Newell Walden. I think.
I have to admit that this scares me. But I'm glad she tagged me, because that means she cares about what I think. I think.
According to the most recent FB sharing-thingy, you're supposed to: "list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard--they don't have to be "right" or "great" works, just ones that have touched you."
I know they don't have to be "right" or "great" works, and that part doesn't bother me so much.(although I do retain a slight envy for some of my friends from seriously-literate homes)
The real problem is that I can't even seem to wrap my head around where to start. It's that "Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard" part that is troubling me. Because summoning those book titles....... I know that if I do this right, it will take me back to a chair or a season or a heartbreak or an epiphany. Good books, the really good ones, are like that.
There really is only one place to start: 6th grade.
1. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeliene L'Engle: the first time I realized that there was somewhere more than this world and somewhen more than this time. See, I can't stop using the word "time! What the hell IS time anyway?! Mind=blown. My absent father's Ethan Allen black leather chair. Spring Break. Age 12.
2. The Grey King, Susan Cooper: Responsible for the fact that I still always spell "grey" the English way. Lessons Learned: Honourable Good Wins. Setting Matters. Fate.
3. Flowers in the Attic, V.C. Andrews: Seriously, if you were in high school in the early 80's, and DON'T include this book, I'll call you a liar. Evil is Real. Horrible things Happen. Is it ok to enjoy this book so much?
And shit, that author has the SAME LAST NAME AS ME!
4. The Chosen, Chaim Potok: Easily one of the first real grown-up literature books I read ON MY OWN. A book I chose (from a selected list of books, however). Haha! You see now the power of choosing! Understanding the idea that within one religion, there are many.
5. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte: Lying on my tiny single bed at the University of Lancaster, age 22. The moors of northern England were my backyard. It was early spring. I was in love with everything. I was the only one I knew who hadn't read it. The language carried me away. I had no idea that a novel could be all this.
6. The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger: This kid's life makes absolutely no sense to me, and yet I understand exactly how he feels. How is that even possible?
7. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte: These characters' lives make absolutely no sense to me, and yet I understand exactly how they feel. Another one of the books I "chose" to read from Ms. Six's list (AP English, Senior Year) Sometimes wish I hadn't read this one on my own, but had had some guidance. It truly is, as Dante proclaimed, a "fiend of a book — an incredible monster." Heeeeaaattthhhhhcliffffff!!!!!!!
8. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien: I didn't read The Hobbit until I was in my early 40's and had two school-age boys. I was blown away. I couldn't figure out how in the world I had come through my childhood without this. I cursed my family. I cursed my teachers.
I could read it a hundred times. I want to read it again. My husband and boys are watching part II of the movie at this very moment. I have no desire ever to see it. Part I was the sorriest excuse for a movie made from a book EVER.
9. Jitterbug Perfume, Tom Robbins: Philosophy can be funny. Everything is connected.
“The rich are the most discriminated-against minority in the world. Openly or covertly, everybody hates the rich because, openly or covertly, everybody envies the rich. Me, I love the rich. Somebody has to love them. Sure, a lot o’ rich people are assholes, but believe me, a lot o’ poor people are assholes, too, and an asshole with money can at least pay for his own drinks.”
My husband does not like Tom Robbins. Sometimes I wonder how I can be married to him!
10. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov: Duh.
These books found their way to me through people, mainly teachers and friends, and sometimes, yes, even family.
Not a single one of them was formally "taught", however.
Please share with me one of your ten in the comments, if you feel the desire. I would love to learn more about the readerly you....
I have to admit that this scares me. But I'm glad she tagged me, because that means she cares about what I think. I think.
According to the most recent FB sharing-thingy, you're supposed to: "list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard--they don't have to be "right" or "great" works, just ones that have touched you."
I know they don't have to be "right" or "great" works, and that part doesn't bother me so much.(although I do retain a slight envy for some of my friends from seriously-literate homes)
The real problem is that I can't even seem to wrap my head around where to start. It's that "Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard" part that is troubling me. Because summoning those book titles....... I know that if I do this right, it will take me back to a chair or a season or a heartbreak or an epiphany. Good books, the really good ones, are like that.
There really is only one place to start: 6th grade.
1. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeliene L'Engle: the first time I realized that there was somewhere more than this world and somewhen more than this time. See, I can't stop using the word "time! What the hell IS time anyway?! Mind=blown. My absent father's Ethan Allen black leather chair. Spring Break. Age 12.
2. The Grey King, Susan Cooper: Responsible for the fact that I still always spell "grey" the English way. Lessons Learned: Honourable Good Wins. Setting Matters. Fate.
3. Flowers in the Attic, V.C. Andrews: Seriously, if you were in high school in the early 80's, and DON'T include this book, I'll call you a liar. Evil is Real. Horrible things Happen. Is it ok to enjoy this book so much?
And shit, that author has the SAME LAST NAME AS ME!
4. The Chosen, Chaim Potok: Easily one of the first real grown-up literature books I read ON MY OWN. A book I chose (from a selected list of books, however). Haha! You see now the power of choosing! Understanding the idea that within one religion, there are many.
5. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte: Lying on my tiny single bed at the University of Lancaster, age 22. The moors of northern England were my backyard. It was early spring. I was in love with everything. I was the only one I knew who hadn't read it. The language carried me away. I had no idea that a novel could be all this.
6. The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger: This kid's life makes absolutely no sense to me, and yet I understand exactly how he feels. How is that even possible?
7. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte: These characters' lives make absolutely no sense to me, and yet I understand exactly how they feel. Another one of the books I "chose" to read from Ms. Six's list (AP English, Senior Year) Sometimes wish I hadn't read this one on my own, but had had some guidance. It truly is, as Dante proclaimed, a "fiend of a book — an incredible monster." Heeeeaaattthhhhhcliffffff!!!!!!!
8. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien: I didn't read The Hobbit until I was in my early 40's and had two school-age boys. I was blown away. I couldn't figure out how in the world I had come through my childhood without this. I cursed my family. I cursed my teachers.
I could read it a hundred times. I want to read it again. My husband and boys are watching part II of the movie at this very moment. I have no desire ever to see it. Part I was the sorriest excuse for a movie made from a book EVER.
9. Jitterbug Perfume, Tom Robbins: Philosophy can be funny. Everything is connected.
“The rich are the most discriminated-against minority in the world. Openly or covertly, everybody hates the rich because, openly or covertly, everybody envies the rich. Me, I love the rich. Somebody has to love them. Sure, a lot o’ rich people are assholes, but believe me, a lot o’ poor people are assholes, too, and an asshole with money can at least pay for his own drinks.”
My husband does not like Tom Robbins. Sometimes I wonder how I can be married to him!
10. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov: Duh.
These books found their way to me through people, mainly teachers and friends, and sometimes, yes, even family.
Not a single one of them was formally "taught", however.
Please share with me one of your ten in the comments, if you feel the desire. I would love to learn more about the readerly you....
Monday, June 28, 2010
letting this one go.....
She was sleight of frame but strong in form. Her sparse long hair, the same drab color as mine when without highlights, hung down her back in a thoughtless ponytail. She asked me if I was "about ready to check out?" I supplied the openness she was looking for when I replied, "Why, yes, I am. Why do you ask?"
She produced a Kroeger gift card with 20.43 scribbled in black ink on the front of it. "I was wondering if you could use this card to pay for your groceries, so I could get cash to put gas in my car." Here I was, with a cart half full of cereal boxes and baby shower non-necessities.... how could I say no to a woman whose only need at the moment was gas in her car?
"Um... sure... how does it work?"
"Here, I'll take you through the line and show you."
"So wouldn't it just be easier if I traded you the card for the cash?" I uttered foolishly as I opened my wallet and searched out the lone twenty buried within a dozen smaller bills.
As I handed it to her and received the gift card in return, I offered her an extra dollar to cover the remaining 43 cents. She declined, and mumbled something about maybe getting a bottle of water with it.
She then led me like a lamb to the self-checkout slaughter, and proceeded to pretend to be interested in bagging my excesses. She must have been viewing me with that particular combination of envy and disgust that has forged and fed most every revolution in history.
I continued to occupy myself with a temperamental self-checkout station ("Please scan your Soopercard now." "Please remove the last item from the bag." "Please place the item on the scanner.") which I had made even more cumbersome by having the audacity to bring two of my own shopping bags, which required an intercessory prayer to the lone clerk (who, I'm sure, deals with the idiocies of inept humans all day, and yet still manages to smile patiently) who did something mysterious to the scales and added two 5-cent credits to the little screen in front of me.
In the middle of all this chaos, my middle-aged con-woman excused herself to the restroom, saying she'd "be right back", but that she "really had to go", and that she would help me check out when she returned.
It was then, of course, that the doubts tiptoed into my dreadfully unmindful mind, as I struggled to look up cucumber codes, keep an eye on my purse, play bagging Tetris with my scanned items, and try to stop thinking about all the time I was wasting when people would be arriving at my house for Elise's baby blessing in less than an hour!
Lo and behold, she showed up again magically at my side to help organize the last of my goods into the two bags I had brought, and begin the check-out process.
Let's just skip the details and asides for now, shall we, as we arrive at the inevitable: the gift card had a balance of zero. She didn't appear to be too mystified, and actually said, "Well, I just kinda found it and figgered it had the money on it that it said." Then she asked the clerk if there was a way to check the balance. He asked for the card, and said he could make a phone call. While he was dialing, and before giving me time to process this new revelation, she asked our clerk where the water was, as she was quite thirsty, and disappeared, 20 dollars richer, down a brightly lit aisle that could have just as easily been a dark alley.
I would wait for another four or five minutes, as the kind clerk made his phone call that confirmed the zero balance. After he returned the card to me, I related my story, embarrassed though I was, to him. He reviewed aloud with me her appearance, so that he would be able to recognize her in the future.
In my mind, of course, I believe she had it all planned out, every single detail of the operation, beginning with the spotting of the ideal victim and ending with $20 in her pocket. And so I have to applaud, really, her resourcefulness. She made in ten minutes what most panhandlers make in several days. Was it dishonest as hell? Yes. Did she intentionally want to hurt me or make me angry? I don't think so. I told the clerk before leaving, "Well, I think I'll just chalk that one up to my naivete, and let it go."
Once again, what Odysseus pronounces in The Odyssey proves to be true: "All-seeing Zeus takes half the good out of a man on the day when he becomes a slave."
She produced a Kroeger gift card with 20.43 scribbled in black ink on the front of it. "I was wondering if you could use this card to pay for your groceries, so I could get cash to put gas in my car." Here I was, with a cart half full of cereal boxes and baby shower non-necessities.... how could I say no to a woman whose only need at the moment was gas in her car?
"Um... sure... how does it work?"
"Here, I'll take you through the line and show you."
"So wouldn't it just be easier if I traded you the card for the cash?" I uttered foolishly as I opened my wallet and searched out the lone twenty buried within a dozen smaller bills.
As I handed it to her and received the gift card in return, I offered her an extra dollar to cover the remaining 43 cents. She declined, and mumbled something about maybe getting a bottle of water with it.
She then led me like a lamb to the self-checkout slaughter, and proceeded to pretend to be interested in bagging my excesses. She must have been viewing me with that particular combination of envy and disgust that has forged and fed most every revolution in history.
I continued to occupy myself with a temperamental self-checkout station ("Please scan your Soopercard now." "Please remove the last item from the bag." "Please place the item on the scanner.") which I had made even more cumbersome by having the audacity to bring two of my own shopping bags, which required an intercessory prayer to the lone clerk (who, I'm sure, deals with the idiocies of inept humans all day, and yet still manages to smile patiently) who did something mysterious to the scales and added two 5-cent credits to the little screen in front of me.
In the middle of all this chaos, my middle-aged con-woman excused herself to the restroom, saying she'd "be right back", but that she "really had to go", and that she would help me check out when she returned.
It was then, of course, that the doubts tiptoed into my dreadfully unmindful mind, as I struggled to look up cucumber codes, keep an eye on my purse, play bagging Tetris with my scanned items, and try to stop thinking about all the time I was wasting when people would be arriving at my house for Elise's baby blessing in less than an hour!
Lo and behold, she showed up again magically at my side to help organize the last of my goods into the two bags I had brought, and begin the check-out process.
Let's just skip the details and asides for now, shall we, as we arrive at the inevitable: the gift card had a balance of zero. She didn't appear to be too mystified, and actually said, "Well, I just kinda found it and figgered it had the money on it that it said." Then she asked the clerk if there was a way to check the balance. He asked for the card, and said he could make a phone call. While he was dialing, and before giving me time to process this new revelation, she asked our clerk where the water was, as she was quite thirsty, and disappeared, 20 dollars richer, down a brightly lit aisle that could have just as easily been a dark alley.
I would wait for another four or five minutes, as the kind clerk made his phone call that confirmed the zero balance. After he returned the card to me, I related my story, embarrassed though I was, to him. He reviewed aloud with me her appearance, so that he would be able to recognize her in the future.
In my mind, of course, I believe she had it all planned out, every single detail of the operation, beginning with the spotting of the ideal victim and ending with $20 in her pocket. And so I have to applaud, really, her resourcefulness. She made in ten minutes what most panhandlers make in several days. Was it dishonest as hell? Yes. Did she intentionally want to hurt me or make me angry? I don't think so. I told the clerk before leaving, "Well, I think I'll just chalk that one up to my naivete, and let it go."
Once again, what Odysseus pronounces in The Odyssey proves to be true: "All-seeing Zeus takes half the good out of a man on the day when he becomes a slave."
Monday, August 4, 2008
RSVP
time
can’t keep marshmallows from sticking
in your hair
or the spruce's new blue from glowing
around the edges
or a summer rain from drizzling
out of the sun
it’s time to say yes
to the come here’s
and the follow me’s
of children
because Tuesday feels like next year
and every day is an eternity
time, at least,
keeps everything
from happening at once
can’t keep marshmallows from sticking
in your hair
or the spruce's new blue from glowing
around the edges
or a summer rain from drizzling
out of the sun
it’s time to say yes
to the come here’s
and the follow me’s
of children
because Tuesday feels like next year
and every day is an eternity
time, at least,
keeps everything
from happening at once
Saturday, July 19, 2008
colorado river trip 2008
Out of the 365 days in the calendar year (this year 366), these are my favorite three. Every July for the past four years now, we have rafted the Colorado River through Ruby and Horsethief Canyons. No cell phones. No computers. No laundry. Nothing to do but float, eat, drink, hike, and play. It's always good to remember that the Milky Way still exists. For those of us who live in a light-polluted city, we often forget that we are just an infinitesimally small planet in the arm of an equally small galaxy.
It's only my third attempt at an imovie creation, so don't judge it too harshly. I just wanted a way to put all the photos in one place.
Re: The Mooning....... on this particular stretch of the Colorado River, there are no roads, but there are train tracks just across the river. Freight trains rumble through at all hours, including about three times a night. Nothing like being awakened from pleasant dreams by what sounds like a tornado. Every once in a while, however, Amtrak comes around the corner. When it does, shouts of "Amtrak! Amtrak!" echo through the canyon, and everyone runs to the water's edge to moon the passengers. Ah.... tradition!
P.S. I don't know why, but when I play it on my blog, I don't get the music. If you don't either, just click in the middle of the movie, and that will take you straight to youtube. If I play it there, then I get the music. If anyone knows why this is happening, please let me know.... thx
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
upon waking
I awoke from one of those naps today, you know the kind, where you don't know where you are, who you are, or what time of day it is. The light is slanty and it could be morning or evening or afternoon. You come of out of a dream about people you love, only to realize, slowly, that they're not there with you. Disoriented, drugged, and heavy, you finally come to after a few minutes, and jump up because you suddenly remember who you are and that you have to pick the kids up from school at 2:30. You look at the clock. It's 2:20. You marvel at the fact that you have just slept for nearly two hours, and stumble out the door to your car.
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