sunday funny sunday (revised)

clouds.

period. serious.





well so anyway.

last year was one of those years you think should maybe not happen altogether in an entire lifetime, never mind a year. ( italics for emphasis, that's what mrs. penna in 6th grade at highland view elementary used to say.) but seriously, and ive seen some things. (too much? italics, i mean?)

i am one of those people who have wild shit happen to them. you know? like those people who just have that crazy shit go on. i dont mean to, you realize, it just finds me. now, i am also someone who finds drama in general tedious and frankly embarrassing, so any overt weirdness is already too much for me. by weirdness, i am not referring to originality, perversity, audaciousness or spunk. no, i'm talking about being a magnet for every little metal filing of crunk'd up idontknowwhat when you'd rather just get on with things.

so anyway, last year was one of those years, and ive been in a kind of coming back from it for awhile. so getting a concussion this summer while attempting to complete a yoga certification (dont ask if you dont know, i am totally about spirit, dude)-- not actually doing the yoga, mind you. no that would have been nearly in the realm of normal in this case. nope, i managed to get a concussion while more or less minding my own business.

i think the problem is, ive been trying to be normal again. its confusing, you see, because im in texas, and texas by any other name is england. and in england, absolutely nothing is quite as important as normal. (ok, even i admit, enough already with the italics.)





(montreal graffiti artist ashbal gabriel vIau, "les productions je t'aime")

but i dont know, when youre in england, and you not english, even if you were born there but moved away as a baby? you cant help staring at the natives like, hm. normal, hunh? hm. yeah, cool.

its just me trying to suddenly develop stripes in the zebra pack all over again when i just have to relax and be a fucking leopard already.

unquote

"we will either find a way, or make one."





that's hannibal. i found it in a book of Lovely Quotes on the waiting room table at a doctors office this week. (not a regular doctor, of course. i dont frequent those. she does subtle work, dig.)

monster's ball

opus

my sister sent us red roses this week and they sit on the kitchen table, opening. there are tall stalks of white somethingorother, the stalk-y kind of flower ive forgotten the name of, but they perfectly offset the color and the quiet exuberance of roses. it's a great pairing.





on christmas day, we made christmas quesadillas for breakfast on yellow corn tortillas: chilis, gruyere and parmesan, scallions and rosemary, cooked in with little scraps of bacon. it's not all that important, but we enjoyed it, and washed it all down with fresh-juice mimosas.





for lunch, or "christmas dinner" i pulled out the tuna and we had seared tuna tartare with just a hint of wasabi and ginger and a mean butter lettuce salad. the bread board and cheeses rounded it out...why am i telling you about our food? food is good. i like food. it's one of the few objective things i can talk about without launching headfirst into some diatribe, im trying to get us there gently! ;) (uhoh, you say?)





more objective news: there are a pile of rome apples in the kitchen still that we havent gotten used up. today they will become a compote or a crumble, depending on who wins. im betting on the compote. would it be terrible to throw some basil in? i know mint would be better, but basil might just knock us into the new so completely that we like it.







in the neighborhood yesterday, i could swear i heard the bleating of lambs. im not crazy, and im not living in farm country so its worth mentioning. serious! urban sheep, man! or something resembling their sound. i will not even discuss the rooster, which i am now certain is my karma to always be in the vicinity of--just cant escape the fuckers. (pardon me if youre a rooster)







this morning my daughter woke up and asked for coffee, which wasnt very hot anymore cause it was late, and said"mom, i hate to burst your bubble, but you're not dying." (we had a funny night and woke up in the middle of it. the moon was still strong and interruptive and had me saying things you say at night, even to the wrong person.) sounds funny now but she may be right.







the thing about cataloging a year, and looking into the next one is, i remember every detail about where i was, how it felt, all the full-frame life events that came to bear on it.





over the holiday, juliet has read flaubert and wharton, just hangin out. i took a shower. and changed the bulbs. and hung a mirror. and took the trash out and got the mail. and swept, of course. i cant seem to read right now. or write.