You are silent now who once stood on battlefields ravaged by destruction unimaginable, holding in those desperate places the line of freedom for others you would never know, and who would never know you. And being one of those you never knew, I would give all I have to clasp your hand one single time, look into eyes that witnessed the bloodied carnage that results when freedom refuses to bow to chains of any kind, and simply say 'thank you.'
As I watched the stylist put my hair into an "updo" for the function I am attending this evening, I marveled at the fact that this rather personal activity - the tending of hair - is surprisingly not uncomfortable, even though someone not related by close kinship is essentially spending time in my personal space. Perhaps it's the stylist, who is both professional and comfortable in all matters hair-related.
And perhaps, too, it is secretly very nice to be looked after, however briefly, while one's hair is done.
It is quite difficult to take a picture of one's own hair.
This does not at all do justice to the lovely job of the stylist.
Today marks two years exactly since the Unmooring.
Last year, a resurgence of the initial grief of unmooring accompanied the anniversary. This year, though, things are different. Perhaps having gone this weekend to visit Cherished Friend, and enjoyed the added bonus of Time To Myself in My Own Hotel Room, provided the exact mental respite I needed at this moment. Perhaps time has eased matters. And perhaps, also, I have come to terms more with the change.
Change can be difficult; but change is often necessary. And with time, all paths -- even the rocky and the steep -- even out and become more easily walkable. Such it is.
I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship. - Louisa May Alcott
This is Herself's very first koala, from eons and eons ago. (I think there were perhaps five koalas in all, though I cannot quite recall. There are several in the house here.) She carried her koalas with her frequently. In the family tradition, she even had what was deemed the "tooth koala" instead of the "tooth fairy". There were eventually koalas both big and small. She kept her love of koalas for many years, until she moved on to more teenage-girl-specific creatures like unicorns.
This is the one that started her particular enjoyment of koalas. Its fur is quite flattened and its little claws are worn off nearly completely, but its eyes and nose are still firmly attached. It's a good koala, indeed.
I have poetry books by several different authors -- Pablo Neruda, John O'Donohue, Rumi, Kahlil Gibran -- neatly piled on my bedside table. Now that The Project is finished, I shall enjoy reading for pleasure. Ideally, every night.
Yesterday evening was Pablo Neruda. How eloquently he captures the fire of love. Aspero amor, violeta coronada de espinas, matorral entre tantas pasiones erizado, lanza de los dolores, corola de la cólera, por qué caminos y cómo te dirigiste a mi alma?
O harsh love, violet crowned with thorns, prickly thicket between so many passions, painful spear, corolla of rage, what roads and means brought you to my soul?
While I was working on The Project, I had to allow certain things to lapse - like the tidiness and rigorous cleaning of the house. Now that I am done, I devoted today to Cleaning All The Things. Thus far, I have:
Reorganized the pantry and the cupboard under the stairs
Cleaned the kitchen, including That Corner with all the Miscellany
Tidied all of the downstairs rooms and dusted a bit, too
Reorganized the closet in the Room of Requirement (eek)
Vacuumed and steam-cleaned all of the carpets downstairs
Cleaned the birdcage
Cleaned the hamster habitat
Mopped all the tile
Vacuumed the stairs
Taken care of five (or six?) loads of laundry, folded everything and put it away
Washed various dog beds and dog blankets
Cleaned three bathrooms
Put fresh sheets on Offspring the Second's bed, since he arrives late tonight
I think that might be it. Somehow it doesn't seem like all that much, really, when I write it down. Yet it has taken over ten hours to get this far. All that remains right now, though, is to put fresh sheets in the master bedroom and vacuum upstairs.
Poor house. It needed work. It is better and cleaner now. How long will it stay this way?
I've been slowly plowing through episodes of The X Files as I use my elliptical trainer, and am now in the midst of Season 6. For the first time since I began watching the series, I skipped over an episode. (Actually, I skipped over two episodes, since it was a two-part story line.)
I'd just finished a "transported back in history" episode; I have plenty of trouble with such storylines, since I am always reminded of that Ray Bradbury short story, A Sound of Thunder, where the demise of a butterfly in the past changes the course of events in the future. The next two episodes were "body switching" episodes. And I just couldn't. The idea of two people exchanging bodies and having to pretend to be someone else, knowing what they know and behaving as they would behave, causes a level of squeamishness that I just cannot tolerate. I'm not sure why that is. It just is.
I've moved on to the next episodes, and am pleased that Scully and Mulder (and occasionally Skinner) are back to their usual, correct-time-period-and-body goings-on.
A few thoughts:
Will Scully and Mulder ever become romantically entangled? Part of me genuinely hopes not; they have such a lovely, intellectual, heartfelt companionship, that I can't help but think that romance would alter that somehow. On the other hand, perhaps being romantically involved is a natural progression, since they have been through so much together and understand one another so well. We shall see.
Could the show please weave Skinner into more episodes? He is a marvelous character: complex, carefully walking the line between duty to the bureau and support for Mulder and Scully's more bizarre cases. Conflicted, stern yet obviously caring, and intelligent (and, it must be said, quite attractive) -- more Skinner, please.
I am tired of Krychek.
I am also tired of the theme of "shutting down the X Files". Let's just let Mulder and Scully get back to work, shall we?
Also: I am not sure who is more attractive, Mulder or Scully. How did they manage to populate this show with such good-looking individuals? And their costuming is outstanding. I wish I could carry off Scully's crisply tailored pantsuits.
On the other hand, why are they so frequently wearing trenchcoats? Don't they get hot?
Do they carry flashlights in their pockets? They always seem to have one when they need one.
Could they please TURN ON THE LIGHTS in more episodes? Everything is so dark. Perhaps that explains the omnipresent flashlights, though.
What will happen next, I wonder?
The trio, found here: http://www.xfilesuniverse.com/news/tag/lone-gunmen/
I have shoes for the wedding in which I must participate. They are "rose gold" in color, according to the description on the website at which I purchased them. They are surprisingly comfortable for fancy footwear. I like them very much.
I know that "blush" is not the right color for me at all; it is unflattering to my skin tone, my body type, and my age. (And as a side note, I also chafe mightily at the violent and neon pinks that permeate women's clothing, especially sportswear, these days. What on earth has been done to pink?) Nevertheless, way deep down inside, I do secretly harbor a little-girl love of all things pale pink and ruffly and feminine. To be enamored of pink at this stage in my life seems a bittersweet longing, to be young and dainty and girly. That will never happen. Alas.
Still: I have most satisfactory footwear for this event. And that, for now, is good enough.
It makes me want to go out dancing. (Though I'm not entirely sure I could dance to this particular song, without some practice.) It has been so long; my dancing might be rusty. Perhaps I shall dance in the kitchen instead.
I am nearing the end of The Project. It has been a tremendous endeavor, requiring more than a few late nights of toil, perhaps even with the occasional tear shed; at the same time, it has been both a learning process and a creative work, and has been very enjoyable for those aspects. I am sad about this ending. And I am not sure what I will do with myself afterward -- except perhaps go to bed early for several nights in a row.
I stepped out of my comfort zone and found something that I truly enjoyed doing. I did the very best I could. Hopefully, it was enough.
I hope I will be able to do The Project again sometime in the future. We shall see.
I found these lovely words today. They capture perfectly the conflicting desires of the writer. Sometimes, the words are not satisfied until they are out in the open. Other times, the words must wait while the thoughts grow in silence. It's an eternal push-pull; a driving force for creativity. And for it, we are grateful.
Tomorrow I shall write something beautiful, something so serene that storms will rise suddenly and protest with ferocious screams. I shall write poems for the poets and for the songster a single song That will tell a tale of such beauty the heart of earth shall moan.
But today, today shall be special for all I will do is sit quietly alone and think of you and think of you.
Today's earworm: Leona Lewis, Bleeding Love. I've chosen the US version of the video, because the UK version is far too sad. This version leaves room for hope. Love wounds, and heals. We all bleed love at one time or another. Love is, after all, what makes the world go 'round.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.
NinjaHead resides with a muffin-baking woman known herein as Herself. Herself has a Beloved Husband, with whom she shares three nearly-grown Offspring. When she is not writing Things, Herself nurtures a visceral fondness for small furry creatures. The household menagerie, which has varied in size and composition over the years, presently contains solely a minuscule middle aged chihuahua and a lovely red fish named Ruth Betta Finsburg. Someday, there will be more critters, for she loves them tremendously.