There are days when I forget that she’s not somewhere breathing, lost in foggy thoughts, trying to piece together pictures of a history without definition. More days than it takes to travel once around the sun have since passed, and yet I still am struck in moments of loss. This is memory, the unyielding weapon of tragedy.
I’m watching “It’s A Wonderful Life” and thinking about mom. I remember watching this movie with her (nearly) every year as a kid in Landenberg Pennsylvania. I’m sure it held a charm of nostalgia for her, which I suppose is the lure of all movies. It takes us to the time of who we were and where we were, when we watched it. But for me, I remember sitting on our olive green and gold and orange (the color of the late 1970s) patterned couch, watching a movie I didn’t fully understand, and enjoying it through the eyes of my mom.
No one writes a masterpiece on a plane. At best, you get a few regrettable sentences furnished by altitude and discomfort. I’m writing this on a plane.
Contemplation is a rare commodity that is only afforded to those with the privilege and means to buy emptiness. The exclusive price of buying oneself the precious jewel of time and the ability to drift into long uninterrupted periods of reflection. A simple act. Effortless and hidden, yet costly. The luxury of thought.
I dreamt that I was best friends with Jim Halpert. Not John Krasinski, the actor who played Jim on “The Office”, but the actual character.
For some reason we were lost in a labyrinthine parking garage that was also a hotel and also a stage and movie theater and arcade and bar. We were looking for a box office to pick up tickets to a show for he and Pam. We wandered through stairwells and levels and had to run away from a flooding pool. Somehow I ended up in an audience for a Jimmy Kimmel show (not the Jimmy Kimmel show, some weird live news or political show, which was on FoxNews). I heckled the audience because they hated what he was saying.
Moral of the story: my nightly habit of falling asleep while watching “The Office” yields weird dreams.
Recently started watching (the much hyped) Amazon series “The Boys”, and I can say that it’s much deserved hype. It’s very good. And dark. And violent. And surprising. It’s a worthy follow up to the spirit and tone of “The Watchmen”. I highly recommend if you like not just dark and gritty, but also twisted and disturbing (which I understanding it’s everyone cup of water).
There is no starting or stopping, no beginning or ending, only the push of currents in the ceaseless estuary of presence. Our lives are threads woven into the quilt of eternity, covering the universe, forever expanding with no edge, no direction, no definition, no time, no memory.
The smell scape of hotels fascinates me. I also wonder where they get their scents from because I sort of want it as a cologne. “Odeur De Lobby”. Or “Hotel, For Men”. That idea is free, you’re welcome.
There can be comfort when you’re in the fog of the unknown. There can also be unease. Without definition we either imagine context and invent boundaries or we wait for clarity. The fog will clear and you might find you’re not where you imagined.
All of our experiences are etched into us, burnished and acquired over time. They are like the stories carried in the varied grains and undulating grooves, deep furrows and harsh gashes that are confessed on wood. They are our character and strength, beautifully our own.