"Life is not perfect and never will be. You just have to make the very best of it, and you have to open your heart to what the world can show you. And sometimes it's terrifying, and sometimes it's incredibly beautiful. And I'll take both, thanks."
-Graham Nash
Click here to see the whole, wonderful film.
This poem by Pablo Neruda really makes me think of the woman I work with. I hesitate to share it, because I hate that last line, I wish he'd left it out. If he had, it would have changed the whole tenor of the story. You'll see what I mean:
The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks
All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the color of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.
"There is a special place in hell for women who doen't help other women."
This is what we do, humans. We tinker and change and endlessly imagine a more perfect future. And at the same time, we idealize the past. So we're trapped. Progress' constant companion is nostalgia for the way things use to be... The think we forget about progress is that there is no master plan. It lurches forward, in the dark, accidentally, and you're never sure where it's taking you.
Alex Blumberg, This American Life, "Pandora's Box" television episode
A couple of weeks ago, I walked into my classroom on a Monday morning wearing my new eyeglasses, and one of my favorite students cried: "Miss Merrick! You look HOT in glasses!"
His is 13 and has AS. His comment was innocent and honest, and I have carried it with me ever since and think about it every time I put on my glasses.
Here is the view from the kitchen, to the left is the front door and just beyond that is my bedroom. I hung those curtains all by my self! I am awesome!
This is the view from my bedroom, looking across the living room to Rachel's room. That chair is beautiful and one-of-a-kind and was given to me by my aunt.
This is the view from the couch. You can see the kitchen and front door to the right. In the cabinet is the telly and all Bailey's DVDs. I have pretty purple sheers to put up in the glass, but my sewing machine broke. Also, there is supposed to be some artwork to the right of the built-in but one of them fell and smashed. I'll post another photo on flickr when the sheers are finished.
The view from Rachel's room across to my room (the door is closed because it's a mess in there!). That painting is a life-sized self-portrait that Rachel painted.
After a hotly contested debate between Bailey and me about the pros and cons of various shower curtains, we finally just went to Target together and very quickly settled on these relaxing greens and blues which went perfectly with the cool blue walls.
Another detail. SEE THE STRIPES! They are very subtle, but I love them.
This is a photo of my uncle Dave helping my mummy out of the car at her wedding to my daddy 23 years ago tomorrow:
Dave would have loved this party. The consummate host, he’d be making sure that everything runs smoothly and remedying the situation when it doesn’t, he’d make sure that we all have a full glass in our hand—Dave is responsible for the first time I got drunk, by the way—and he’d ensure that each of us feels cared for and special.
That’s what I miss the most: at some point after greeting me with a lively “how’s my darlin’!”, Dave always found a moment to check in with me, no matter what the occasion. He really wanted to know what was happening in my life, and it was really easy to tell him. He made me feel like an equal, like the most important person in the world to him, and he’d offer advice so insightful that after so many of those conversations I can’t remember a single piece of it, I just know that it changed me and my world.
I know he didn’t do this just for me, I’m sure a lot of you know exactly what I’m talking about—and I’m not even jealous.
There is a dichotomy happening here: Looking forward to this weekend I felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. How great it is to be in this beautiful place—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it as beautiful as it is today—with these wonderful people! But I keep expecting to hear Dave’s laugh. This is a time to mourn, but it’s a celebration. There is laughter and there are tears. And that’s okay. With that in mind, I wanted to share with you this quote that I keep returning to. It’s from Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet and theologian:
“We are the mirror as well as the face in it. We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity. We are pain and what cures pain, both. We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.”
