"It's only words. And words are all I have to take your heart away."
- Barry, Robin, Maurice Gibb
Add This!
All mankind is one volume. When one man dies, one chapter is torn out of the book and translated into a better language. And every chapter must be so translated. God employs several translators. Some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice. But God's hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to another.
- John Donne
Still, as a storyteller, I'm fascinated how a person's sense of consciousness can be... so transformed by nothing more magical than listening to words. Mere words.
I received an email from a work colleague today. Steve is Jewish and a cynic (of whom I think very highly) and this morning he sent me an email:
“Tell me -- how did the birth of God's son and savior to the human race lead to buying flat panel TVs ??”
To which I responded: “I could give you some claptrap about the tradition of bringing gifts á la the Three Wise Men in the New Testament. Stories of St. Nicholas (who was a real Catholic saint) and subsequent traditions of gift giving to children also gave rise to the current trend. And I could say that because we are flawed human beings who delight in satisfying our baser nature, that the focus of the holy celebration has been lost in a bacchanalia of consumerism.
On entend, on entend Les bergers, les bergers Chanter dans les prairies Ces refrains si legers Qui charment leurs amies
I am so lucky. I've been blessed with some really great friends. Some friends are family. Some are friends I've met along the way. You have been introduced to Little Lacie of the Enormous Brain who I met two jobs ago. Today you get to meet Kenny.
Ken was interviewing for a sales position in our office when I met him and offered to get coffee. He boldly ended his order with "Thanks, Dolly!" To this day, he swears he never said that and I might believe him – he's never used the moniker conversationally since - but I know what I heard. Bastard.
Ken could be Frasier and Niles Crane's more verbose middle brother. I quickly found that we could chat about anything – and he knows his stuff. I don't think there is a subject on which he does not have a working knowledge. He's killer when discussing songs, books, movies, television, he's up on current events, has distinct political opinions (which for the most part, we share), his library of jokes is extensive – and his timing is exquisite. It will kill him for me to relate the following:
Ken was doing his sales-y thing on the phone. I will tell you, sitting in a cube next to him hearing the pitch all day could get old. I called Guest Blogger to sort of drown out the most recent story I had heard for the 8th time. He was talking to his latest mark and mentioned that he knew a little bit about wine. "I'm an oenophile as well…" I related this to my cousin.
She replied, "He didn't pronounce it OH-na-file did he?"
"Uhm, yes. Oh, there, he did it again."
"Tell him it's pronounced EE-na-file."
This little correction spurred a flurry of emails and contradictions that to this day, make me smile. I scored. And I scored big.
Ken gives the most amazing neck massages but unfortunately is incapable of NOT mentioning foundation garments while rendering his services to stressed females. Always, at that point, the massage would be over and I'd tell him to get the hell out of my space…until I needed another neck rub. The love of his life is his daughter, born 4 years ago this coming June. He is a devoted family man. Mostly. He cooks, he cleans, he's the poster boy for Metrosexual, and he's as good as any girlfriend when you need to talk.
I can't tell you how great it is to have a really real guy as a friend who'll tell you all the guy secrets and be brutally honest about it.
"Ken! I met this guy and he was really nice, we talked for a long time and he gave me his business card and…"
"Sells insurance?"
"Yeah, he was so sweet, helped me clean the snow off my car..."
"He's trying to sell you insurance, E, don't get too excited." He was right.
Then during another interval; "OK, E? This is how it is. What is the answer that will get me laid?"
"Yeah, but then there was this and he said this…"
"Maybe you didn't hear me. What is the answer that will get me laid?"
"Hahahahaha. Yeah, but then his body language while he said this was…"
"What is the answer that is going to get me laid?"
"You really think…"
"What is the answer that is going to get me laid? It's all we think about, E. It's not that complicated. It just is." He was right. Again.
The best thing about Ken is that I know he loves no matter what. And bless him, he'd do me in a second, just as I am. Not that I'd let him, but it makes a girl feel beautiful. He appreciates the subtle nuances of my character, he tolerates the big honking Catholic that I am and makes fun of my lack of fashion sense; my green corduroy coat being particularly offensive. He has read books at my urging and will sit on the phone with me, both of us stupid from chardonnay and watch "The Quiet Man" while we quote it together.
I never want to see a day That's over forty degrees I'd rather have it thirty, Twenty, ten, five and let it freeeeEEEEEEeeze!
I never want to see a day That's under sixty degrees I'd rather have it eighty, Ninety, one hundred degrees!
This one takes me back to riding the bus to school. It was a favorite and when it was due to come on, the whole bus would sing these two parts, especially the trombone part “Ba duh buh buh baaaaa dah, ba duh buh buh, baaaaa dah!”
I got tagged by Little Lacie of the Enormous Brain today to write seven random things about myself. Not sure where this is going to take me, since I haven’t really thought about it all day.
1) I want to go on a tornado chasing vacation. 2) I once walked ten miles with my cousin, Guest Blogger, to poke holes in a cake. 3) I had 0 cavities up to the age of 18. 4) I remember a dream I had when I was three. I was still in a crib at the time. I was dressed in a white cow-girl outfit and I was about to fight a witch, wearing traditional witch garb. I also had a recurring dream when I was between the ages of 7 – 11 about Indians attacking my Gramma’s house and I was hiding in the bushes and got caught. I would always wake myself up before I was killed. Stereotypical hero fantasies, both. Interesting to try to interpret now. 5) I have a working knowledge of Catholic end-of-days prophecies, as well as with some of the more prominent Catholic apparition sites of the last 200 years. 6) Soy scares me 7) I am pretty good at interpreting dreams. Oh, and Lacie has seen dead people in my house, but staunchly refuses to tell me my future.
Christmas time is here We'll be drawing near Oh, that we could always see Such spirit through the year
I see Schroeder playing the piano, I see Snoopy humming, I see Pig Pen and his little bubble of dirt enclosing him round about. The whole CD of A Charlie Brown Christmas is fantastic.
Today, I work from home. A little. I wanted to see if I could get a jump start on my Christmas...what? There are only the annoying 12 proverbial days of Christmas left? Yeah, you heard me right. I'm getting a jump start. The battery is dead. I've hooked some cables in the form of 2 days off hoping something will ignite some enthusiasm for the season. Spark plugs might be bad though. I'm just not in the mood. The cookies from the Christmas Cookie exchange? I never eat cookies. I never choose to eat cookies. But they are there. And I eat them. They are a source of instant gratification and instant self-loathing.
But that is NOT what today is about! No! I'm happy! I'm determined to decorate and get in the mood!
No, it's not working yet, but it's early. I will go to the gym in an attempt to counteract the affects of the demon pastries. I will then do some housework, and go to the eye doctor and get some other mundane things accomplished before coming back home and unpacking my Christmas decorations. Surely, that will fill me with peace and goodwill toward my fellow man.
Surely.
But then, maybe I just need to say a foul word. A friend and I have recently been discussing the merits of cursing to alleviate stress. Whorebag. It's 9am and I've said it 3 times today already - and that was my 4th. I'm feeling better already.
And you ask me what I want this year And I try to make this kind and clear Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days
By the Goo Goo Dolls. Not a traditional Christmas song, but the words are about the season. When I heard it for the first time last January I was moved to pray for all the people I could see on the sidewalk. It came on again today on the way to work and strangely enough; I heard the song on the same stretch of Route 7 that it played the first time. I was moved to pray again. I looked around wondering why I was being asked to respond again. People were waiting at the bus stop, kids with back packs, Muslim women with their heads covered, and men in business suits. In parking lots, I saw day laborers waiting for work. I looked around some more and every car I saw suddenly represented a person, my eyes raised up to the apartment buildings that dotted the landscape, each window an individual, maybe a family. A family whose drama was being acted out, whose story was being written. And someone needed prayers. Maybe everyone needed prayers. Maybe I’m just a goof. Well, that’s ok, I don’t care. When I’m told to pray, I pray.
Must be the season making me all stupid.
The best kisser ever was Jai. Not his real name, but that’s what everyone called him. He worked on my Dad’s farm back in the 80’s. I run a great risk, I know, of someone reading this who knows precisely who Jai is. Hmmm, I also run the risk of someone reading this who knows precisely who Jai isn’t.
My poor dad, trying to run a business and having to deal with six beautiful daughters roaming around the farm, nothing more on our minds than a few make out sessions. Summers were doubly frustrating no doubt, when not just his daughters, but his nieces came up for the summer, all of us in our mid-teens, feeling attractive and every bit the power of our burgeoning femininity. There’s nothing like long summer days, short shorts, hay that has to be got in, cows that need to be milked and hot sweaty young men to make young nubile girls leap into action.
Ahhh, summer love. Guest Blogger fell head over heels for Jai. I lost my heart to Other Guy. Even upon the mature reflection of nearly 30 years, Other Guy and I had something pretty special, but I was too young and he was ready for something more grown up. It was not our time.
Sorry sorry. I was remembering and smiling. Anyway, we tormented those poor guys that summer. Shaving cream fights, mud fights, water hose in the milking parlor fights. Guest Blogger learned the hard way not to wear white pants when there was a water tank in the vicinity. Guest Blogger got to kiss Jai on more than one occasion and I, Other Guy. Guest Blogger declared Jai the best kisser ever. I eschewed all in favor of Other Guy. All good fun.
But summers must end. Guest Blogger went home. Other Guy and I, referencing the above differences, did not last. But that Christmas, during a long chat in a warm car on a cold night, Jai kissed me. A bone melting, heart soaring, tummy twisting kiss. Woof.
I don’t expect him to ever read this, but just in case. Thirty years and perhaps thousands of kisses later ask either one of us and we’ll both tell you. Best kisser ever.
Christmas Song of the Day: Do You Hear What I Hear
A child, a child, sleeping in the night, he will bring us goodness and light He will bring us goodness and light
Love the song and the sentiment, but mostly, I love Whitney Houston version because it was the first time I realized I have a voice range similar to hers. I just like singing it
I drive a lot.
In 2004, I drove 32,000 miles. In 2005, I drove 38,000 miles. Once I moved to Virginia, I cut down significantly and drove a meager 22,000 miles for the whole of 2006. Go ahead, ask me what my average price per gallon was in 2004. Spreadsheets rule.
Anyway, when you drive, you see some very interesting things. Most interesting that I’ve noted so far this year:
The Nascar-Themed Corn Maze. This just makes me smile. I am not the demographic that they are targeting, I get that. But good for them. I bet they make a ton of money.
Conveniently located in three Pennsylvania townships! There is a move underfoot to stop Santa from employing his usual belly laugh of "Ho! Ho! Ho!" because is offensive to women. Perhaps someone should reconsider the name of this chain. I'm just sayin' is all.
The name amused me. It was not open when my daughter and I drove by it, so we were unable to indulge our dual love of food and aestheticism. We were bitterly disappointed. Wish they had a website.
Hang out until the violin starts. This makes my chest ache. The version by the Philadelphia Philharmonic is exquisite as well, I just couldn't find it on imeem or last.fm. This is by 小提琴 . Yeah, I don't know either, but it's beautiful
There are few things more pleasant, relaxing and rewarding than baking Christmas cookies.The kitchen is warm, the house is filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla.Fingers and bowls are sweet.Christmas songs are playing in the background and memories of Christmas cookies past float about.“Remember when you made those…things with that stuff on top?”The cookie recipients are always well disposed toward the gifter and the treat; these only come out once a year after all. (click on the "read more" link, I set up something new yesterday...trying to make the front page a little more efficient)
No, there are few things more pleasant. It makes the pain that much more acute when you burn the bleeping cookies at 8am that you are supposed to take to the bleeping blacking mother flipping gob dang cookie exchange at 2pm.
Posts
