the midwest cut me down at the knees

This morning there were grey clouds overhead and rain sprinkles on my windshield but I was out on the prairie so I could see that forever to my left and to my right was bright blue sky. This is a thing about the plains: you can watch weather in panorama, you can see what's been, what is, and what will be.


Blue Sky to the left was one of those blues so bright I think "It's amazing you're real, if somebody painted you I'd think you were fake and I'd look for the cherubs about to bust from your fluffy clouds." But underneath it are some quiet miles of farm fields. Which is almost the opposite of the fake blue sky, I used to think it was boring. But I learned as I grew older that there's a primordial hold land has inside of us if you are willing to .


In the fall it bowls me over. I throw up my hands, I surrender, I've fallen, North Dakota, you've got me. I won't ever leave you (but I will)–I love this quilt of bleached wheat and dark earth. I love your lace lines of trees.


Oh, I will leave you. We both know it. What's happened here? I feel drawn on to a career in media and research fields which keep me moving, never settling. And I like that, I want to see places, to change. Perhaps it is my generation or, at least, definitely certain subcultures of all ages, where we've perceived the blindness that can happen as you settle. Things are your way, they must go your way, why are others doing things differently? You must stop doing things differently.


I feel I should lose myself in another country, force myself to adopt different customs to instill in me the knowledge that other ways are good. As if my doing this will add understanding and some kind of karmic healing to the collective unconscious of the world. 


I also feel I don't belong here. In many ways. I could also disillusion you of any Stars Hollow notions you have faster than you can say David Lynch. These are topics for another time. 


So I'll leave.


But I'll come back.
To visit, at least.
Well, I'll always love you.
I'll always dream about the fall.

P.S. The rockstar/mythological figure debate continues. My mom votes Mick Jagger as Narcissus. 

prone to wander, Lord, I feel it

A sixty mile drive to church by yourself will give you plenty of time to ponder and I had a lot of thinking to do about Boondock Saints this morning. Of course I'm enthralled by modern day (ridiculously violent and tattooed) Catholic saints– Mormons are all about modern day, hence the full name of the church: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (totally different kind of saints, you know, a little less bloody); and hence Mormons everywhere flocked to TV's, radios, and internets last weekend for General Conference to hear modern day prophets. Religious zeal of any age is captivating to me but particularly N.O.W. So I'm into prophets, obviously; and have recently become more interested in the motivation behind Muslim extremism–this is what happens when you listen to a lot of Democracy Now! podcasts as you hand out parking tickets for a living; and then there's those Boondock Saints (not related to Val Kilmer's The Saint).


The other thing that I have a lot of time to ponder is the dash of the Honda Civic Hybrid I get to drive. It tells you lots of things that other cars might not which is what led me to drive 65 mph home today. That wind really kills your miles per gallon I tell ya what. Note: speed limit is 75 and there are a few people driving slower than me. At 65 I really began to appreciate the subtle differences of rust, orange, green, the dried corn and bleached wheat of the fields. A gentle little slope here and there, the texture of the different grasses, the heavy mist. Geese flying around. These are things I see but don't absorb as well at faster speeds. I enjoyed myself but still felt like I was moving backwards compared to everyone else. At this point in my mullings I realized, THIS IS A METAPHORE FOR MY LIFE. I love this time I get to meditate, spend time with my parents, consider religious covenants, sort through my life–but I feel as though I'm taking a heck of a time getting to where I'm going. I've got nothing to show for myself and everyone else seems to be skipping right along...Have you felt that dichotomy? "I'm doing what I need and I love it" going hand in hand with "am I a bumbling bum?"


I guess they have to go together. Else what would motivate the introspection–the soul deepening searching?






Faite attention: symbolism + mobile = symobilism. Great new word, right?   

Linda Ronstadt get your eagles wings here

Is everyone writing about the fall? Are you tired of it? Then go away. Stop reading. For I want to tell you about crackly leaves that fly horizontally. Or that float around like flocks of geese in the sky. It took me years to figure out why fall in Utah looked funny. There's no wind, leaves just fall straight down to a uniform circle under each tree. Doesn't that make you giggle? Oh....just me? Ok.


There's wind here and it makes everything perfect. Having a bad day? Go outside and shout "QUE SERA, SERA!" as you imagine you're dissolving like dust in the wind and blowing away. Having a good day? That's because you've got wind beneath your wings. Feeling dramatic? There's a tempest outside for you to play around in. I'm telling you, you're covered. Covered in wind. And possibly leaves. With a few acorns to bop you on the head.

I lenting climbed over that hill three times

photo by mon père

I feel I'm good at keeping an open mind about all of the seasons. Twas not always this way, I grew up in a very chilly winter-ish place, I dare you to dream about how cold it an get. In this place, it pretty much had all four seasons, but mainly two: Summerish and Extra Long Winter. Summerish is frequently known by the name Construction Season because the Winter is so taxing on every building that it all wears out and must be fixed all the time.
In my growing up years, these Winters were very difficult to face (because they were Winters with a capital "W"). I could tell you stories of that one time I walked out in a blizzard. I stood with my face to the wind, the little flakes of blowing snow stung my cheeks and when I went back inside my hair was frozen straight back. You don't forget things like that. Or how about the number of socks it always seems necessary to wear. Or how about that one winter when the breaks on our family car kept freezing and it was first discovered by me as I was backing out of our driveway. Thank heavens there is not traffic there. How about how some mornings the radio tells you how long it will take until your fingers get frost bit and have to be sawed off. And every car drives around with some sand, candy, blankets, candles and other some suches. Winter Survival Kits. I learned from toddler age that if you get stranded in a car in a blizzard you must crack the windows (we were all smart toddlers, the driving age is very young there).

The point being of all of this: Winter was depressing. It was long and unbearable cold. But I've been living away from home for five years now. Very much separated from these netherworld Winters. I go home every other Christmas, and it was my second Christmas back, this was almost two years ago (I was actually in the middle of my year of existential crisis), and I realized, this WINTER is actually an amazing thing. I grew up with frozen hair and sandbags and wind chills and midwest and fiberous people. We layered to beat until we were lumpy old things and that's actually a fantastic thing. If things get tough you deal with it. Isn't that amazing? In our age of leisure, if things get tough you should get the letter H out and find something easier, n'est-ce pas ? Pas.

Anyway, despite the fact that I came home from that Christmas being more depressed than ever to be back here, I decided that all seasons were delightful. And I can revel in Greek mythologies of Persephone.

But this year, it's killing me. Fall has leapt upon us and this year I'm not relishing the colors and the crispiness. I'm suffocating with the closed-up windows and the darkening of the skies. Monday morning my roommate's and my alarm clocks went off at the same time.
"Roommate E, it can't be 7 a.m. can it? It's soo dark," I whined.

But it was seven.

{sigh}

When things get tough I guess I will l'arch de triomphe and sing songs for Persephone.


Stay tuned for tomorrow when I hope to have a little last day of summer treat.

donc your electric organ

Aujourd'hui it looked as though someone (with better cutting skills than I) cut out the mountains and laid them against a bright blue sky backdrop. Was someone who had great connections (connexions for the UK inclined) filming a fine day? It was perfect, all the shadows were crisp, leaves turning colors were crisp and still, the sun lay out so nicely on the pavement and the air was warm warm warm but not too chaud. Summer was welcoming your fall nicely.

d'où je vien.

do any of you happen to have french audio books? It's my new plan for mastery. I'm lacking in the comprehension business.

el gato con sombrero

It's Fall!
FALL FALL FALL FALL FALL!!!!
Look at this beautiful sight.


Que lindo, I LOVE seasons.
SEASONS SEASONS SEASON SEASONS!!!

I read a Cat in the Hat book in Spanish today. I was fine until we got to all the gatito's and we had to go through the entire alphabet. It was a completely unpasteurized alphabet, a mix of spanish, english, and french. Ah, bé, cé, dé, é, F, G, ash, I, J, k....