100 miles in 23:45!
Uber crazy. And awesome. And happy.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Sights
Steve is running his second 100 mile race...about this time in hour 20 he is most probably just getting past an agonizing period and pushing through it. "Just smile when those insane words come out of your mouth." He laughed. "Yah, THE why in the heck am I doing this!!!!" Laughter. "I will" he said. And I am certain he is.
My plan for the day was to visit Mission San Jose. I have lived in Fremont for 10 years (uhg...giggling) and pass it almost daily. I decided on Wednesday I should finally go then then grab a coffee and read at Freddie's favorite lunch place. Plans are never good. Plans are never followed.
I ended up, very fortunately, going to the Tech Museum to see the Body Worlds exhibit. Steve and I saw a different run of this in Las Vegas and found ourselves quiet...amazed...thinking there is life after death. A different kind of life perhaps--but one of teaching and meaning and awe. The exhibit leaves you--how does one explain--leaves you wanting to venture through your own body in a minuscule capsule on some great adventure (the name escapes me of the sci-fi movie from the 60s that had this premise). The exhibit also leaves one pensive, introspective, silent.
I wonder how many people will carry with them the death of a stranger that taught and showed them so much.
My plan for the day was to visit Mission San Jose. I have lived in Fremont for 10 years (uhg...giggling) and pass it almost daily. I decided on Wednesday I should finally go then then grab a coffee and read at Freddie's favorite lunch place. Plans are never good. Plans are never followed.
I ended up, very fortunately, going to the Tech Museum to see the Body Worlds exhibit. Steve and I saw a different run of this in Las Vegas and found ourselves quiet...amazed...thinking there is life after death. A different kind of life perhaps--but one of teaching and meaning and awe. The exhibit leaves you--how does one explain--leaves you wanting to venture through your own body in a minuscule capsule on some great adventure (the name escapes me of the sci-fi movie from the 60s that had this premise). The exhibit also leaves one pensive, introspective, silent.
I wonder how many people will carry with them the death of a stranger that taught and showed them so much.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Heard about
6 year old in New York receives graffiti citation from NYPD. She was drawing on the sidewalk with chalk.
Overheard in 7-11 (ages of participants ~10-13)...how do they know you are getting a refill? Like we could get arrested if they dont know we
were here before.
Public transportation...I am either incredibly luck (I am) or the bay area has a great transportation system. SJ Caltrain to bus to Metro Ctr...5 minute handshake. Fremont bus to Bart to Hayward to transbay bus to Metro Ctr...5-10 minute handshakes. The freedom of driving in traffic...overrated?
Thank yous...can never be said enough to those most deserving--share your happiness.
Overheard in 7-11 (ages of participants ~10-13)...how do they know you are getting a refill? Like we could get arrested if they dont know we
were here before.
Public transportation...I am either incredibly luck (I am) or the bay area has a great transportation system. SJ Caltrain to bus to Metro Ctr...5 minute handshake. Fremont bus to Bart to Hayward to transbay bus to Metro Ctr...5-10 minute handshakes. The freedom of driving in traffic...overrated?
Thank yous...can never be said enough to those most deserving--share your happiness.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Age of Silence
"The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people's hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.
During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less and expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one’s face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one’s lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly.
Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I’ve always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me.
If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hand awkwardly at the ends of your arms—if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body—it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside, was so much less.”
During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less and expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one’s face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one’s lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly.
Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I’ve always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me.
If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hand awkwardly at the ends of your arms—if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body—it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside, was so much less.”
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Reunions
My three closest friends in the universe (perhaps more accurately--the three people who know me best) with whom I share extraordinarily long absences...good news...we will all meet again in one space and it wont be for a funeral.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Celebrations, reminders, your being...
"The world has grown a little unlovely, dont you think?"
Unloveliness is temporary.
Acute observations.
Perhaps not "the world", perhaps "one's world" is the only relevant reference.
I have experienced only one other thing that has been more physically painful (pain that lingers, pain that requires one to admit how small and weak and human they are...when one's stomach wretches and there is nothing but this screaming static in one's mind). Temporary. Fixable. A lesson of sorts.
A memorable 5th anniversary that will leave us laughing for years to come. The 4:00am unloveliness...temporary. The loveliness of your being--constant.
Unloveliness is temporary.
Acute observations.
Perhaps not "the world", perhaps "one's world" is the only relevant reference.
I have experienced only one other thing that has been more physically painful (pain that lingers, pain that requires one to admit how small and weak and human they are...when one's stomach wretches and there is nothing but this screaming static in one's mind). Temporary. Fixable. A lesson of sorts.
A memorable 5th anniversary that will leave us laughing for years to come. The 4:00am unloveliness...temporary. The loveliness of your being--constant.