a thousand pardons

the happiest people i know, no doubt, live with a strong will in their heart.  they wake in the morning and BELIEVE, unequivocally that whatever they'll do today comes from a deep and endless pool in their heart, that it would do the world a grave and honest disservice not to soar forth with the thoughts words and actions that come from the silver spring inside that is probably God.

at the same time, the happiest people i know are also incredibly stupid.  what a horrible choice, God or the devil, when the devil seems so easy.

Get behind me, Satan

  

hoarder of thoughts

eh Friday.  resolved as I was to the Grace of Restraint, i hit a moment of the good grass and headed towards the river to bathe in my own thoughts, Solitude came along.  i pattered past a lot - buildings, people, some alone, some together, some with insecurities i could sniff, as thick as their cigarette smoke.  an open garden, made-up faces, shiny heels with red underbellies in line on the sidewalk, soon there'd be places inside for them.  the thought that i needed to get out more smacked me rather solidly in the face, about the same way the sun did as i turned onto Grand St.  i was blinded, i couldn't see, glimmery black shadows, silhouettes of strangers, or maybe myself, came toward me.  the sun had exploded in the sky over Manhattan, a white nuclear blob i couldn't remotely think to think past.

eyes carefully squinted and shielded, i tiptoed to the waters edge and took a seat on a bench under a solid poplar, shedding as it were, dreams, leaves, letters, whispers.  they fell on my chest as i wondered how everyone else was holding up under the weight of this massive blazing sun.  manhattan streamed in front of me, I fell back into the banks of Brooklyn.  

hello, New York, I'm Mel, i live under your skin, and you in me.

traffic crawled in a steady snails march on the williamsburg bridge, the sun screamed in the sky, i sent pictures to people with captions that read, "this sounds weird.....but this is seriously the brightest i've ever seen the sun"

a party barge streamed by, a yacht, the East River ferry, moving so incredibly and startlingly quickly, i could practically hear it panting, i gottttttttta get there, i gotttttaaaa get there, couples came along and took to the rocks.

what is it about a river that magnetizes so?  we can stare at it for hours, listen to it, sit by it like the good friend that we really aren't to others, look over and around it, be still, laugh, love, or honestly weep?    

so many pretty people came along.  lone dog owners patted their pets in habit, stroking their necks like little furry lovers.  i stretched, i curled, my legs up, my head back.  as the sun fell graciously behind Manhattan, a deep rich cold breeze from the ocean alit on my chest, then jumped back to the river again

a man in black joined me on my bench, pointed out Venus directly ahead of us, bright, still.  i wondered how he had chosen the color, just like mine, and thought of how desperately i wanted to shed mine, but how colors are so near scary, that for now i'll stick with tan.  there we sat, me with no makeup, him with bad teeth, Venus on top of everyone, on top of us.

it seems like centuries ago that i couldn't accept that i had spent so much time being so much less happy than i could have been.  i'm sorry to myself for those stolen moments, i say to myself, to the River curling at my feet.

Buddha: a fool in his mischief quickly forgets, and i wonder which happy part of me is foolish now.

peaches on my mind

recently i drove down to Savannah, Georgia, a place I never in one gazillion years thought i might remotely find myself in.  alas, at about 9:30AM one brilliantly fresh Southern morning, i was veritably sailing down a smooth Savannian highway, headed further south, from Charleston.  honestly, all of those words are still ridiculous to me.  Charleston???  Savannah???  all I think is "NEW YORK".  new york.  new york.  new york.  new york.  who. am. I.

to my credit [i checked], i was - thankfully - not morbidly obese, or wearing americanmom jeans.  it was just me, right there, huge cup of gratis Starbuck iced coffee in hand, on a road with no potholes.  in truth, southern drivers are just as docile as their surroundings, so, as you may imagine, my licensed aggressive driving made tremendous time.  these things notwithstanding, some things truly spectacular happened:

as i cruised in the joyous sunshine, trying to keep my happy bubbles mainly to myself, i surfed through the endless supply of static on the radio and finally landed on something of a morning show where the hosts played - in my mind a completely unnecessary - prank on some unsuspecting southern lass along the lines of them being in a horse-drawn carriage and the horse was out of control, leading them directly to the river.  i listened, driving along, passing a peach cider stand and thinking i should stop there on the way back, wondering where the fuck one found horse-drawn carriages these days, aside from Central Park.  well, evidently, in answer to that, quaint little Savannah is full of them.  those beautiful beasts sauntered along, hopefully droning out "and over here on the right, we have an example of British laid bricks", being heard for the 12,000th time as they pulled James and Mary from Wisconsin.  there were many fat people.  so, that was the horses.

i myself likewise trotted around Savannah, had lunch, stood in line for half an hour to get ice cream that i thought would blow me away, but which only seriously proved my significant lactose intolerance (regardless of the beguiling almond honey cream nomenclature), and finding myself bored and generally underwhelmed again, aside from the lush moss dripping off the trees, decided to head back to my car, parked on the muddy, decidedly unromantic Savannah River.  as i marched through the thousandth quaint square i would encounter that day, my drowsy southern thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud crack, the trotting of hooves, and a scream of, "runaway horse, runaway horse!!"

sure enough, charging down the street, i watched a carriage-ful of stricken riders, mouths agape, hair blown back from their faces, the driver lost of her whip, her own face shaken as she called after her stubborn horse.  behind them, running as best as she could up the street, Kay from Delaware, in grey capris and black rubber flip-flops, waving the whip the driver had left behind, screaming, "runaway horse!  runaway horse!  it hit my car!"

imagine that.

on the way back to Charleston, i missed the peach cider stands in an effort to quickly get back, and that was the last i saw of georgia.  i didn't taste a peach, or even peach cider, in Georgia.  only bad ice cream.  

when i got back to NY, my neighbor brought me wine from the new wine shop down the street.  i didn't think i should drink, but the bottle had my initials on it.  this morning, someone spoke up to remind me that Life is "Tenacious".  well, ain't that so.  Here's to You, Life.  

woof

yesterday i caught a dog food commercial that centered around a delightful little pup, a shiny black lab, bounding through waving grass and sensual sun rays to fetch the ball his fetching master had thrown him.  what i'd like to know is where exactly one finds the man of said commercial: strong jaw, matching profile, crinkly smily happy eyes, good hair, right amount of stubble, broad shoulders, good preppy casual clothes, seemingly stable in his 40's but evidently uncoupled...probably because he loves his dog so much.  i know i've touched on this before, but where - WHERE - on WHAT planet do these men live?  not that i find present company unpleasing, but JUST wondering, and i'll tell you where they don't live: they do not live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

today, i listened to a piece on NPR about the changing landscape of Williamsburg blah blah blah.  the host literally promised it would be the last time they discussed it, but as all things related to this place, i'm sure irony will follow.  she mentioned that a year ago, she herself felt too old to live in Williamsburg, but that now, she just feels too poor.  well, seriously - what the fuck, but i am so so very glad to know that i am not the only one.

on the way back to the city yesterday, i stopped to fill my gas tank at a Mobil in Westchester.  on the gas pump itself, there was a compact little television to informationally-satiate the 2.57 minutes i spent spewing 87proof into my borrowed Honda.  i actually found myself enthralled, i HAD to know local weather, i HAD to know what was coming up next, i HAD to i had to i had to.  my tank ranneth over.

peep

the other day, i practically pranced out of my place on the way to work.  great music on your ipod obviously helps, but in general as of late, i've been pretty excited about throwing open the door each day.  

so there i am, truly skipping along, and as i cross the street, something horrific catches my eye: a _flattened_ pigeon.  

now, this particular type of road kill is not entirely uncommon in New York, and having grown up in the country, it's not exactly that you haven't seen these kinds of things before, but indeed, there it was: grey feathers, perfectly splayed in flat pigeon blood and guts 2D, smack dab on the street in front of the little Italian cafe i get deliciously fat French croissants at.    

i tried to quell the peasant superstitions that immediately arose from within my own healthy bowels, but the day did prove to be healthily jarring, nonetheless, and i've tried to stay away from that particular patch of street since, or at least until the movement of the masses, or the street cleaner, i guess, can whisk that poor thing away.

the next day, i set out for a Pilates class at 1:30.  the studio i belong to has three separate locations in the neighborhood, and while they're not exactly distant from each other, you should probably know where you're going if you want to get there.  

as i scooted along, looking forward to how amazing my core will be this summer, i passed yet another passed pigeon - it seemed as if the poor babe, just having had enough, marched right up to the pleasant brick wall of a popular restaurant, tucked his head down and under, crouched on his little feet, hunkered down against the cold, and simply retired.  it was kind of devastating.  come on, pigeons; i like you.  it kills me when i see people kicking pigeons around, their beady little eyes all confused, like come on asshole, this street belongs to me, too, or the worst, a pigeon who's lost a little leg...hopping around, all sad looking, or maybe i imagine that, but i do love them so although honestly, pigeons can be just as annoying as people, which obviously grants them special status of endearment, as well.

i walked into the studio for my 1:30 class and realized that the class started in three minutes, 10 blocks away.

to quote 30 rock: where ARE all the baby pigeons????

  

ribbit. ribbit.

recently i came across a self-help book i started, but never quite got through.  it's called "40 days and 40 nights: taking time out for self-discovery" and the last time i saw it was Day 11 - in January of 2007.  wow, i'm really glad i stayed on top of that one.  what's worse, i was more than mortified to flip through those few pages and find that, in fact, in these almost 7 years...not much has changed.  i still whine about my fears and struggle with trying to figure out what the fuck i'm doing; i mean, really???   now, now.  tsk tsk.  well, it was a weird year, 2007.  things were slightly upended, to say the least, but you do bring into your life that which you have the space for.  

that said, in said, same book, i came across a list of things of Who and What Do I Love:

myself, family, nature, snow, fresh air, sunshine, music, drama, Mozart, opera, a good book, good food, good tv, Belgrade, Bosnia, my friends, my [good] lovers, my passport, $$, my freedom, travel, new places, new faces, NYC, that feeling of passion when you get lost in something really amazing, whatever it may be, SEX, yoga, self-control, people with good energy, frogs, the Universe, relaxing, peace...

that's how i wrote it, frogs and ellipses and all.

really, do things ever change or do they stay the same but just get much better [or worse] depending on what crayon you take out of the pack.

now, now.

the new black, or, how i broke the mati

the most peculiar things happened today.  30 rock ended and i cancelled my 9-year membership to the gym.

the Greeks, that sprightly bunch, have this thing about the evil eye, whereas in, God forbid it's on you, but you also carry one around on every set of keys you have.  i've sometimes thought, more often than not, that the evil eye has been on me these last few years, and while i don't want to mess with the mati, i realized tonight that the only superstition i have is myself, that i'm one lucky fucking charm to have in my own pocket.

it wouldn't be fair to say i got there myself, though i've certainly been the one sucking the most out of that particular oxygen tank.  no, ladies and gentlemen and members of the academy, cue the music:

this one goes out to Harmony, thank you, my little Love; and Trust - you are nothing short of absolutely wonderful.  Maro, my Ball of Eternal Optimism - though it may just be dust arisen from dirty, thirsty children in the sand, may you ever float on the cloud of wonderful karma you've cultivated around you.  Red, you're more than a doctor, you are a veritable physician to my soul.      

i woke this morning from a dream in which i was counseling the dead.

sometimes, it's not what you see, but what you're looking at.