i like roaring fires, down comforters, wool sweaters, beanies, and hot coffee as much as the next, but there’s something to be said about bitter, sharp-type exhalation, holy shit cold. the way it tends to cut through everything, even the filters of your mind and focus you in on the feeling of being cold.
but it should be said i took this from inside, beanie on, hot coffee in hand.
remember the one we all inhabited 10 years ago? the one rife with paranoia or wonder, depending on your proclivity for mass hysteria or your ability to take Prince’s words to heart.
they slip by so easily, these years. and it’s just as effortless, it seems, our ability to forget, move on, fall back into routine, to be ruled by indifference. the rain that falls from the sky one day, becomes the cloud the next.
the windows in my office are double pained, sometimes they’re frosted over and i can’t see out, sometimes the ice forms in intricate patterns, so beautiful they can only exist a short time. sometimes they’re perfectly clear and i can see the cobwebs. but the view is always the same, a big spidery tree. right now there is snow on the limbs, and a few leaves that didn’t get their eviction notice.
some months from now, rebirth, full regalia. and in a few more, with a shuttering wind, a day’s worth of raking, all to be undone by two beautiful children and their unlimited exuberance. pretty soon another year, and another. and then a decade, or two.
what will we forget, and whom? what new leaves arrive, and their destiny? boat races in the fall rain? pressed between pages? raked, bagged and shipped off? what will our destiny be?
whatever comes to you in these next days, years, generations, please don’t forget to live them as if they matter. no matter that they are too beautiful to last. and always party like it’s 1999.
xob
it’s winter; things, people, dreams, resolutions… they all die. why then do i feel so alive?
is it this pink enemy remix? my children’s maniacal laughter from downstairs as they play with their christmas toys? the freedom solitude brings at 2 in the morning, ensconced in headphones?
whatever it is, i’m not questioning its motives or methods, just praying it hangs around for a good long while.
another call to all the blessings that have fallen at my feat these past years.
i find myself here. 20 years ago, i’d have laughed right in your pretty face had you told me i’d be living in iowa. the fact something like that could have happened 20 years ago, and i’d have the retrospect 20 years later is just as mind boggling. but that’s rambling.
so yes, i’m in des moines now. it’s odd to be so at home in such an unfamiliar place, but after four barely tolerable years in a boston suburb, the first months here have given us things we’d never have, or feel, in mass. it’s a nice enough place, and in a different time, maybe even a fantastic place, but it was never home.
this is home. even thou i’m from the beach in southern california, something about this part of the mid-west just feels right. it’s cold thou, colder than boston ever was. more snow too. but it’s gorgeous. and peaceful. and kind.
I Don’t Give a Fuck, But I Care So Damned Much
As I come through the death of my father, I see the other side is still as beautiful as it ever was. Nothing’s changed except for the fact that he’s no longer part of my day to day life. No phone calls, no card on my birthday, no more handshakes with the man who taught why men shake hands.
But people still laugh, still wake in the morning and begin the day, finding what they need.
I am thrilled to be alive. Thrilled to be where I am, who I am. A wise friend once reminded me of all the energy in this world. All the blades of grass growing, spilling oxygen into the air. I think of all the blades of grass in my life, all the oxygen they so freely pass on to me, life in my lungs. I think of how lucky I am, how blessed. At night after my children have faded into sleep, I think of the joy of their blankets, the soft pillows they drool on as they slumber and dream of their momma’s chocolate chip cookies.
I think of my friends who look past my faults and love me and let me make them laugh. I think about our differences and why those don’t matter, thrilled in the knowledge I’ll always have a couch when I travel, and the knowledge my photographs hang with pride in their homes. I am thrilled to be a part of their stories, to play the part I do. To be that one tiny force that helps cause the ever so slight creases in their face when smiling over the re-telling of those stories. My life will become a line in their face. Indelible as the smile their presence brings to mine.
I think of the people I have never met. The guy who packaged up the iPod my children gave me on father’s day. The one stocked with music from people I have never met. The beautiful girls who walk by conversing with each other, words of inane brilliance that are so important to them, and so they become important to me. I think of the headstones in the cemetery, names forgotten and those freshly mourned. What of their lives, what ways have they touched mine? I see people in their cars, smiling and pounding the steering wheel, and I want to sing along.
Yeah, I want to sing along.
I think of my mom. And what she did just over 39 years ago. I think about what my wife did 5 years ago, and again 2 years ago. I think of Beethoven and what he did 212 years ago, and my grandfather and the men he stood alongside and what they did 67 years ago.
When I lie down on the ground and look up into the clouds I see you, I see your life as I wish it to be. Sometimes I fear it isn’t, other times I hope I can’t even begin to imagine, how wonderful it is. There is a wind we are all apart of, a swell that moves through us all, and I think about how lucky I am that this is true.
