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| North Dakota |
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
15 October 2015
21 April 2015
18 April 2015
27 March 2015
10 March 2015
05 February 2015
03 February 2015
29 January 2015
13 January 2015
02 November 2014
JOURNAL: HAPPY BIRTHDAY NORTH DAKOTA FROM OUTER SPACE + A NOTE ABOUT ASPHALT
Today is my dear North Dakota's 125th Anniversary of statehood. In honor, you must listen to our state National Guard singing the state hymn:
Click here to listen to the North Dakota State Hymn
Many thanks are due to Elise for her clever whit and Janna for her sewing my arms in and all the other many, many things my lovely housemates do for me.
DEAR NORTH DAKOTA,
Even dressed as Outer Space for Halloween I felt a tether from the center of my heart to the folds of your dark earth and strange, beautiful streets. The Sheyenne River twists around my ankles, my knees are made of blizzards, mosquitos buzz in my brain, my eyes are full of Canada geese, and on each shoulder are little hairy bison with their melting brown eyes. Thank heavens for thee.
ASPHALT,
Yesterday I went to a yoga class for the first time in forever and after an arm collapsingly glorious session, while lying on my back with my eyes closed I realized it has been just over ten years since my cross country coach died. I thought of his gruff old voice, his patience, and the miles of asphalt I ran at his command. May those miles never leave me.
My heart is full.
Click here to listen to the North Dakota State Hymn
 | |||
| I'd had a meteor shower on the dance floor by this point so you don't get the effect of my asteroid. |
DEAR NORTH DAKOTA,
Even dressed as Outer Space for Halloween I felt a tether from the center of my heart to the folds of your dark earth and strange, beautiful streets. The Sheyenne River twists around my ankles, my knees are made of blizzards, mosquitos buzz in my brain, my eyes are full of Canada geese, and on each shoulder are little hairy bison with their melting brown eyes. Thank heavens for thee.
ASPHALT,
Yesterday I went to a yoga class for the first time in forever and after an arm collapsingly glorious session, while lying on my back with my eyes closed I realized it has been just over ten years since my cross country coach died. I thought of his gruff old voice, his patience, and the miles of asphalt I ran at his command. May those miles never leave me.
My heart is full.
17 October 2014
09 October 2014
31 August 2014
JOURNAL: ABOUT READY TO RENOUNCE NOMADISM...FOR NOW
Who knew I would miss Mediterranean beaches so much? It doesn't get much better than swimming in the sea with your mom while she describes to you family vacations from her childhood. On some of the beaches in France they have not sand, but rather small, smooth stones they call galets (pronounced kind of like gallay). They're strange to walk on, especially barefoot on your way down to the clear, blue sea, but much better as they never build up in the bottom of your swimsuit, nor will you be cleaning them out from between your toes for weeks to come. They're ever so smooth from being worn by the waves and when they sky is light grey and the stones are light grey and the sea is invitingly blue...
I took three stones from the beach in Nice. One for my niece, one for my nephew, and one for me. I love rocks. Someday I want to have a framed collection to hang up with beautiful little tags to label each rock: "Found on Aunt and Uncle's driveway," "A moon rock to some, volcanic to others," "A gift from Nephew."
It's near 2:00 a.m. here and I've had a second wind dumped upon me. I've already written pages in my journal and I'm still brain hopping about on ideas and excitement about being on the cusp of moving into my new home. In about 36 hours I'll see the inside for the first time. In about that time we'll all be moving our stuff in with the aid of many generous folk. We've decided it's fate that I haven't been able to see the inside yet. Of course, I took the word of J and E that we should sign on this place, I trust them quite a bit. But in the week I've been here there have been several instances where I almost got to see the house but something fell through. So we did rock paper scissors to decide on bedrooms and I'll see it on moving day. How fascinating that will be.
Still jobless but have a couple of prospects that look ripe and I've applied to more than a dozen others already. I did eight applications on Friday alone. On that same Friday I also discovered a nearby poetry bookshop, so my life is complete. Once I get more writing done here I'm sure I'll dive back into one of the books I picked up at the shop.
I also have a bicycle, a 1971 Peugot women's road bike with mixte handelbars. I got quite lucky with that, the mixte or hybrid handelbars are my favorite. Life is fairly complete. I just have to figure out a weather safe way to park my bicycle at my new house. Landlord says they're for outside or in the basement.
Next week I'll see a cousin and get a library card. Then I can finally read The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. I've already seen the movie starring Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison a couple of times. I love it dearly. How could I not? It's got a charming ghost. I love those.
Well. You're wonderful, OK? Have a good night.
I took three stones from the beach in Nice. One for my niece, one for my nephew, and one for me. I love rocks. Someday I want to have a framed collection to hang up with beautiful little tags to label each rock: "Found on Aunt and Uncle's driveway," "A moon rock to some, volcanic to others," "A gift from Nephew."
It's near 2:00 a.m. here and I've had a second wind dumped upon me. I've already written pages in my journal and I'm still brain hopping about on ideas and excitement about being on the cusp of moving into my new home. In about 36 hours I'll see the inside for the first time. In about that time we'll all be moving our stuff in with the aid of many generous folk. We've decided it's fate that I haven't been able to see the inside yet. Of course, I took the word of J and E that we should sign on this place, I trust them quite a bit. But in the week I've been here there have been several instances where I almost got to see the house but something fell through. So we did rock paper scissors to decide on bedrooms and I'll see it on moving day. How fascinating that will be.
Still jobless but have a couple of prospects that look ripe and I've applied to more than a dozen others already. I did eight applications on Friday alone. On that same Friday I also discovered a nearby poetry bookshop, so my life is complete. Once I get more writing done here I'm sure I'll dive back into one of the books I picked up at the shop.
I also have a bicycle, a 1971 Peugot women's road bike with mixte handelbars. I got quite lucky with that, the mixte or hybrid handelbars are my favorite. Life is fairly complete. I just have to figure out a weather safe way to park my bicycle at my new house. Landlord says they're for outside or in the basement.
Next week I'll see a cousin and get a library card. Then I can finally read The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. I've already seen the movie starring Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison a couple of times. I love it dearly. How could I not? It's got a charming ghost. I love those.
Well. You're wonderful, OK? Have a good night.
19 August 2014
24 June 2014
JOURNAL: A PILGRIMAGE, A MOON, AND BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAINS
This is my last week living in Paris so I'm getting in all of the last of my 'must do's.' I made a pilgrimage yesterday to see a graffiti memorial outside the former studio of my film idol. Though I've barely dipped a toe in the long list of films Chris Marker has made and worked on, it was watching his film Sans Soleil (1983) in my History of Documentary class that knocked me off my feet and brought me dreaming and gasping to a hopeful place. Here was proof that whatever is going on my my head and heart, the way I see: it has a place in the world. I drank that film desperately. I'm sure there are places where Marker and I diverge on visions and philosophies; I'll never be, never make things like him; but there are moments in his films that light little bursting fires of awe and delight and longing in my soul. Guys, instead of agreeing to the label "cinéma verité"––which is the name of a movement and style in documentary filmmaking which features an observational approach and lets the subjects of the film speak for themselves, the theory of the movement being that this would be a more truthful cinema (hence the name) than earlier documentaries with narrators who told you what was happening therefore controlling the message of the film. He liked "ciné, ma verité" or, in other words, cinema, my truth. Aren't you in love already and fainting in a 19th century swoon? OK, so you may be fainting because of my punctuation but whatever.
My Mom taught us an acre of lullabies and folk songs. When we're all together––Mom, sister, and I––we sing all the folk songs picking out harmonies, the lullabies are pulled out less often. I'd forgotten for a long time about one in particular...Bobby Shafto.
Bobby Shafto's fat and fair,
combing down his yellow hair.
You'll find him most anywhere,
pretty Bobby Shafto.
Bobby Shafto's gone to sea,
silver buckles on his knee.
He'll come back and marry me,
pretty Bobby Shafto.
I always imagined Bobby Shafto was the moon, you'll find him most anywhere. Which is possibly the first dream I ever fell in love with. That sketch doesn't do any justice to my dear Shafto, I need to extend my colored pencil collection or experiment some with water colors.
I was telling someone today they could extrapolate my family from me. Then I was talking about how my nephew, when he was two-ish, would sit amongst us, his family, and looking up at us as we sat around talking, he would circle his eyes with his hands so that he could see the world through frames as well. This was probably around the same time as when he would give us lectures from the giant paperback anthologies he kept carrying around. Sometimes he'd read to us from Washington Irvine, sometimes he'd pull up a cardboard box to act as his podium. Once he got a hold of Shakespeare and we played a game guessing what plays he was telling us about.
It's not as though we're a family of geniuses, hyper-intellectuals, nor do we pressure each other into ambitious pursuits. We're just odd.
My friend asked me if we were frequently giving each other lectures that little Nephew would learn this schtick. This is several years past my high school days when I had the affectation of only liking very large, long books, so can't be that. We possibly give each other some semblance of animated lecture when we've found a great book, YouTube video, or some delicious dish. This last week my Mom was passing along the tip to look up Lisa Stoll playing the alphorn.
23 May 2014
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