Covers

Sometimes I like to listen to and compare different covers of a familiar song. I was just recently doing this with "Rainbow Connection" one of my favorite songs. Here's the original Kermit, from Muppet Movie:

I like this Dixie Chicks version. Soulful, nice twangy banjo and guitar supported by fiddle-y strings, sweet hearty voices.

This Weezer version is good too (with Hayley Williams). Nice, quirky sound, expansive at points, a little edgier, but still maintaining that tender feel of the original; I also like the swampy sounds in the background, nice touch:

Willie Nelson. Ephemeral. Savory, easy, nostalgic feel. You kind of get the sense he has already found that rainbow connection.

This one, I don't even know what to say, but I think I love it:

I already posted about the Sarah McLachlin version another time. Definitely a bit more wistful sounding.

Dreamtime: Refurbished Humans

I had a weird, kind of vivid dream. All I can recall is a series of vignettes.

I was leading an old woman home, to her home. It was nighttime, and the terrain was kind of rugged. We were at the last stretch, only had to climb this final set of stairs, but there was plywood nailed across to prevent our passage.

I tried to lead her around the side of the stairs, but suddenly lightening flashed, illuminating a giant figure directly in our path. Silent. Looming. The lightening glistened off his bald head. Probably eight feet tall at least.

In his workshop, at the top of a high tower, he performed modifications on captured humans and replaced their joints and muscles with little animatronic gears and that sort of thing. So he could control them, as his minions. The refurbished humans also somehow became kind of small. Like they could fit in the palm of your hand. It was a bit horrifying.

I didn’t know how I’d escape, or the old lady either.

The next scene in the dream, this Heroic Man had shown up, subdued the giant, and was performing the same procedure on him.  By 'subdued' I mean 'gave him lots of wine'.  The hero dude was using forceps to install plastic gears into the giant's shoulders.  He just lay there on the floor, giggling at how it tickled a little bit (apparently he was a very silly, cuddly drunk). I remember feeling slightly nauseated over the whole thing, torn over whether this was the right thing to do. Just because a giant man does something to other people doesn’t make it okay to do the same thing to him.

Especially when he was so sweet and easygoing once you got a couple drinks in him...

October Mountain

Family campout weekend. This place was called October Mountain. Fitting, huh?

We went hiking on Saturday.

The noteworthy things which happened or which we saw included a sprained ankle, lots of 'poison ivy', a sick sister, a cell phone falling into the marsh (gone forever), four different people reaching around in the muddy water for the cell phone, fraudulent leech scare... another sister throwing up, some landscapes, another sister working on a grant application on her laptop, and some fungus/leaves/trees.  Beth somehow managed to look SASSY in all the pictures in which she appears. 

I came. I saw. I conquered.

Amber waves of grain.  

 

Fungus 1. 

Fungus 2. 

Pretty.

Sasseh. 

Birches. 

So intense.  So vivid. 

Sickie/sprained ankle pup. 

'Oh. My hair doesn't look that bad'. 

The roots from a fallen tree provided a lot of entertainment for us.

Their new album cover.  

Why hello there father o' mine. 

Time for walkies. 

Marshlands.  Formed by beavers.  We did not see the beavers. 

Beth carried little gimpy pup.  You know you're loved when...

Tinfoil dinners.  YUMMY. 

And milk.

Love Notes

Dear Boston,
Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget about me and my harrowing beauty.  Didn't want you to grow complacent.  Didn't want you to forget pain. 

love,
Snow



Dear Boston,
You should have known I am capricious and fickle.  You should have known I make an exciting lover but a terrible spouse.  And Newt, you should have worn gloves today. 

love,
March



Dear woman next to me on the train with the books of art photographs that were so beautiful,

Why did you flip through the pages so quickly?  I didn't even get a chance to see half of them, let alone CHERISH the aesthetic details.

I understand it is YOUR BOOK, but still...

-Newt



Dear Snow/March,
We are going to bloom anyway.  And we're not going to die.

-Pretty Trees



Dear Newt,
It is my book, so I can do what I want with it.

-Woman next to you on the train with the art photograph books

p.s. Stop snooping over my shoulder.

Roles

Roles. 

The nurturer.  The rescuer.  The teacher, the student.  The victim.  The giver, the receiver, the peacemaker.  The questioner, the helper, the friend, the healer.  The knight.  The maiden.  The prophet, the disciple, the savior.  The leader, follower, member, non-member, believer, employee, stranger, child, parent... 

Human relationships are complex with intricate combinations of all different roles. They shift constantly depending on the situation, the context, the Other with whom we find ourselves.  Face to face.  Some people aspire to certain roles.  Other people seem to embody them, instinctively.  Some have them thrust upon them.  Whether one aspires to it or assumes it through cultural conditioning or unspoken interpersonal expectations, something is somehow lost when a person is reduced to a mere functionality for another, even if it is a purely benevolent functionality.  When we reduce another human being to a particular role or set of roles, or when we allow the same to happen to ourselves, we fail to truly acknowledge the humanity, the divinity, which is the actual substance which simultaneously binds us to one another and elevates our souls. 

If we were to look at ourselves throughout the day or week or across the span of our lives, it would seem we were nothing but a series of different roles. "What are WE, then?" pup asks me. 

I don't know.  It's a mystery.  We cannot know what we are - what anyone else is - any more than we can pin down what God is, what absolute truth is.  We may get a sense of its existence.  We may observe it indirectly or even directly.  But to attempt to bestow form to any of these while in this unformed state ourselves is simply childishness and arrogance. 

Years ago, I wanted to know God.  A wise friend told me "You must know yourself, Katie.  You must love yourself."

That is a self outside of roles, outside of affirmation or involvement.  A self wholly unknowable and therefore unloveable.  And yet somehow we do the impossible every day.  We know the unknowable and love the unloveable every time we acknowledge the mystery that we are, that everything is. 



Ain't that the truth?

Blog Data

Visits to my blog dropped dramatically about a week ago, as you can see below.
This is not due to an actual decrease in readership. Rather, I would more accurately describe it as the elimination of an artificial inflation of site visits.

About a year ago, I noticed a jump in visits after I wrote one particularly problematic post about the afterlife (problematic in terms of collecting accurate data about blog readership - the topic itself is probably at least 60% silly, possibly as high as 85%).

Sitemeter.com seemed to indicate that this increased traffic was coming from google image searches, although there was no apparent way for me to discern the exact search terms. Maybe there was/is, but I couldn't seem to figure it out or forgot about it or was lazy. Anyway though, all I had done was link to the image on another site, so I was surprised the image search was leading people to my blog. I even got a couple comments on the post from unknown people who seemed quite eager to share the depth of their wisdom and the acuity of their insight. A month or so ago, curious to see how much traffic my blog was actually getting, I saved the file to my desktop, uploaded it with a new, simple filename, and waited to see if that changed anything.

It did not.

Last week, still curious, I changed the term "Michelangelo" to "Signore di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni." That did the trick. The average number of daily site visits dropped about eighty percent at this point. That is all.

QUICK

Tell me the best word that comes into your head when you look at the following picture:



I feel like I oughta write a serious post or a poem or something. I haven't done either of those recently. I am really working through some heavy stuff in my non-blog universe. I guess I just don't feel like writing something serious right now.

I wish I were one of those people who liked to ORGANIZE things...

We have a lot of food in our tiny kitchen, but lots of random things as well, like boxes with approximately three Triscuit crackers or a ziploc containing a couple tablespoons of baking powder, nut chopper, loose packets of unpopped microwave popcorn, stuffed animals, a stray sock, Christmas ornaments, bottles of black and green food coloring... you know, just regular stuff like that.

After some contemplation, I came to the conclusion that the space in there wasn't really used very efficiently. I decided I'd go through and purge and rearrange, and then maybe I would want to actually EAT some of that food. So, just now, I removed everything from all of the shelves and all of the cupboards. I relocated the baking pans and supplies to above the cupboards by the sink. Then I looked at all the cans and boxes all over the floor and chair and counters and suddenly felt the urge to go into my bedroom and check Facebook. And write a blog post.

Soon Beth will get home, and food will be everywhere, and I'll be asleep or drooling or reading Mormon feminist blogs or BBC news, maybe doing breaststroke through my dirty and clean laundry or something. I suspect - though I am not certain - that this is why she tells our aunt that I'm "a good sister, but a bad roommate."

Ohhh the agony which smothers my soul when I imagine going back in and tidying everything up!!! Best to just pretend it never happened. Yep. Just pretend it never happened.

Katie, what is going on in the kitchen?

What do you mean?

There's food and crap EVERYWHERE.

What the...? I have no idea! I haven't even been in the kitchen since I've been home.

Katie, your bag is in here. And your shoes.

Uhhh... I have to go to the bathroom. (climbs out the window and down the fire escape)

I don't see any problem with this plan. Because I am so good at lying. And I don't need to eat. Ever....

Nearly every day

I loved Rachel's idea. So here are my items.

• Eat vegetables

• Touch something green and alive with my bare skin

• Play mandolin or add songs to the song book

• Say something kind to somebody

• Spend 45 minutes outside

• Restore order to one thing
  

• Hug someone

• Draw a picture
  

or a doodle

or write one word really beautifully

Also:

• Sleep

• Go to work

• Eat breakfast

• Remember keys, phone, and T pass
  

Make Your Own

My sister and I made up a game, on the train, on the way to a friend's party the other day. Homemade proverbs. There are several formulas you can use.

Both people think of predicate clauses which you link and place after the words "she who" or "he who." (e.g. He who keeps a tidy home... grows accustomed to false promises.)

Both people think of predicate clauses connected by "is to." (e.g. To reach for the heavens is to unwind yesterday's thread.)

Or have one person think of the subject and the other thinks of the predicate, and you simply link them:
(e.g. Every disaster... shines on in the book of eternities.)

Or two subjects, connected by "is like":
(e.g. A simple word is like a pig's eye.)

Some end up so funny, some even sounding sort-of wise. And of course some make no sense at all. There were also brief plans of referring to me as 'The Oracle' for the evening ("why yes, I would like some punch, as would The Oracle," at which point I would recite one of the proverbs we had created), but I just kept forgetting them or laughing when we would try to rehearse.

Beth offered to be The Oracle, but I pointed out that I wouldn't even be able to say The Oracle with a straight face . . .

Totally Looks Like

Thanks to my friend Feng: totallylookslike.com


For example:
Young Albert Einstein Totally Looks Like Shia Labeouf.
Open Coat Totally Looks Like a Piranha.
“Weird Al” Yankovic Totally Looks Like Disney’s Tarzan.


Yay. What a delight.

What can I say? We are hilarious... okay mostly just Beth

Beth: Look how cute you are... with your messy room.

me: nyahhhhhh (falls to the floor and snuggles with the mess)

Beth: (stares down at me with a pained expression on her face) And then my soul cries out for a new world. One in which there is not... this.

Anyway I'm off for a looooooooong run and then to study my little arse off for LEED Accreditation Exam. For which I'm signed up next Friday. For which I have read approximately 13/2,734,000,000ths of the material.

I'll be fine right? It's just like college.

My Own Smell

I cannot help it.

I just love my own smell. I walk into my bedroom after a long day: me, snuggle into my blankets: me, nestle my face into the pillow: me.

Warm air coming in the window and ME ME ME ME MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

It's nice to have at least one thing constant when actual identities seem to be so transient these days.

Smells Like Mole-asses

Sense of smell sometimes blows me away. You know how everyone has their own unique smell? A mixture of the shampoo, deodorant, and whatever other scented products they use, combined with a special fragrance which comes directly from them as a person - makes each of them smell their own special way.

I cannot help feeling so comforted by the smells of those I love and trust.

Some strangers have very nice smells too. Sometimes a person passes by me on the street and I get a surprisingly pleasant whoosh of THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD DUDE or a wave of SKINNY LITTLE ARTIST GIRL. I always feel like some sort of scent voyeur whenever I find myself really enjoying it. It feels like I am experiencing something private, intimate, without knowing anything else about them and without their permission. I try not to inhale too deeply.

What? It is July already??? We celebrate the end of another week, mourn the end of another month, celebrate the end of yet another year. That is life.

BUTTERFLIES GO FREE!!!

Green Magic

Plants I am growing this year:

• Peas
• Tomato
• Basil
• Cilantro/coriander
• Parsley (monster parsley, actually)
• Oregano
• Dill

I just used some of the cilantro for mango salsa last night. Yummers. Do you ever feel like there is this "Force of Real," and you'll occasionally do something - almost on accident - only to find it resonating tremendously, like when you're singing in the shower and you hit that one note that fills the whole room with a ringing, echoing tone? There's some inherent property of the room and then you stumble upon it and it SINGS.

I think the universe has spiritual properties like that, when you stumble upon them, it SINGS. Growing something that you will eat yourself (or even better yet, share with others) seems to be one of those, or perhaps it is the symbolic meaning behind it: some of the time it parallels life in strange and striking ways, painful almost. I just feel connected to the universe with my knees in the dirt and my hands arranging and placing these materials which will soon transform into something else entirely, something better. Not even of my doing, really. But I like to watch. And make small adjustments when needed. I'd possibly feel differently if I were doing it as a full-time thing, but I'm not, so I can sip it like maple syrup.

There was this song we sang in grade school choir that I've remembered all these years. I just love these touchy-feely lyrics:

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
Till the rain comes tumbling down

and this part:

Man is made from dreams and bones
Feel the need to grow my own

and this part:

Grain for grain, sun and rain
Find my way in nature's chain
To my body and my brain
To the music from the land

and this:

Plant your rows straight and long
Temper them with prayer and song
Mother Earth will make you strong
If you give her love and care

Some people don't believe in magic, but gardening is magic of the best kind. Ooops I was going to wash my hair this morning but I wrote a blog post instead... hahaha story of my life.

Things which make me feel like a Good Person

• Paying my taxes
• Donating blood
• Giving up my seat on the train for an elderly person
• Voting
• Wearing my retainers
  

Probably because I don't really do any of them THAT often. I feel extra good if I get a sticker. Yeah I pretty much glow with pride if you give me a sticker that says good job.

They Just Sort of Sneak Up On You

Sometimes you're getting ready for work in the morning and you think "Helloooooooooo sexy! Wooo wooooooo!" and kind of wink at your reflection.

Other times, you look in the mirror, and it's more like "Damn, woman, do something about those eyebrows!"

Another Round, People

Time for another round of "things that make my day in small and magnificent ways"

• Wearing my little sister's tinted lip gloss and looking Super Hott
• The Sound of Silence
  
• Having the conductor check my ticket on the Commuter Rail
• Ponytailed woman who hands out BostonNOW papers
  
• Diamonds strewn across the grass in the morning
• A moth
• Ancient people
• Itty bitty baby people
• The dry whirring of cicadas on a summer's day
• Thinking of him and realizing it doesn't hurt anymore
• Lawn sprinklers
• Popsicles
• The Muppet Movie
• Mustard yellow shorts with a rope belt
• Peruvian man on the subway who asks if I am "accepting applications for marriage"
• Being trusted to hold down the fort on this project while the main guy is out of town for a few days next week
  
• Old friends
• "Grandma bra"

Life in the Northeast of the USA

When my brothers and sisters and I were younger, my parents would take us out to Walden Pond for the annual “scavenger hunt” during February vacation to alleviate cabin fever. This hunt mainly involved the six of us scrambling to find items such as a stick shaped like a letter, a piece of string, something red, and various other objects unusual to the woods (of which there were plenty, thanks to the summer tourists and suburban sunbathers... I think Thoreau must cry little Transcendental tears each summer when they swarm to the sandy shores)

But anyways, I think I may be in need of a scavenger hunt or something. My brain knows spring is coming… if only because it has been winter for many months and the calendar says 2 April. But if that is the case, then why oh why does everything maintain that same washed out grayish brown overtone? There is no snow anymore; there is no crisp blue sky, just beige.

Things that are beige: dead leaves, dirt, bricks, sidewalk, chain link fence, tree bark, even clouds…

I once read a book that was set near Buffalo, NY where the people became so visually deprived during the winter that they would stare at the traffic light as it cycled through: green, amber, red; green, amber, red… Good thing the current assignment for Traffic Control Systems involves the observation and analysis of cycle lengths for seven intersections near campus. Heh heh.

Seriously though, I miss color. I miss contrast.

Things that I miss (in addition to color and contrast): dark thunderstorms, sandals, humidity, dried grass smell, rotting garbage, street vendors, and crickets. Especially crickets.