Tuesday, June 30, 2009
30 June
Wouldn't it be easier to TRY ourselves numb for the conditional love that we are so greedy for, that ricochets between being bestowed and removed, if Unconditional love was a language that we weren't born to speak? That is my least favorite part of the world, is that I have only met one human who has actually lived out unconditional love, and that is my Mother, but of course she doesn't count because Mothers are expected to give out unconditional love; it's in the job description. But isn't that also true of humans? Isn't that what we're supposed to do: love each other like we love ourselves? Cause really, even if we don't like ourselves, we still can't help but love ourselves in that upbuilding, self-preservation kind of way. Kind of like Mothers do, they can't help it, even when they don't like us. Not even my cat loves me unconditionally, she still expects food and water and a clean litter pan. That is the worst feeling in the world: that you are completely in charge of your own fate, completely responsible for You; not only how you turn out and what you do, but even the people who I choose to conditionally love me are controlled by Almighty I. Good Lord. One of us is really screwed up, God, you or me. The worst part is, it's me.
30 June
Wouldn't it be easier if we never knew that there was such a thing as unconditional love? Wouldn't it make it less painful if we knew that this was it, that there was nothing better out there? That our Now had no alternatives?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
27 June
I have come to the conclusion that our society is a shame-based society. We live shame or non-shame based lives. We live saturated with shame, although we do not relish it; it is from young age thrust upon us. Our lips turn down when we kiss; we think: I must justify my existance. And we cannot. We cannot justify our existance! If the measure of justification is the impact on the world outside of us (for we are not, in and of ourselves, our own justification: this is a contradiction in terms.) So few of us can justify the fact of us being alive except by purely selfish standards. We very often discover others in agreement with this sentiment: I do not, by my being myself, alive, justify the toll that I take on you, on humans, on the environment; that we are expected to "pull our own weight" and have failed. As humans, we are shams. Thus shame.
But we do not love shame, we only live in it. We live in shame; we do not live in the things that we love. We know this because the objects to which we feel the most attachment, the most protective instinct, are the shameless creatures (children? animals?). Their existances are justified by their joy, by their shamelessness; for them there was no Eden, no provocative infiltrating fruit. Animals do not hide from any part of themselves or each other, they do not clothe themselves, their expectations of the world are not misplaced. They have not been taught shame (perhaps this is because they have no incriminators; their chief parent and teacher is God, whose cup is not one of shame.)
It also interests me that Eve, object of Satan's particular vengeance, has (in general) such a particular fascination with clothing, the manifestation of our shame. We wallow in it, the occasional beauty of it, ingrain it into our identities; we carry it, embodiment of our shame, around with us like a pet, as integral to who we are as skin or a kidney. Why?
Why can't we strip ourselves of it? Why is it that no one can identify it, and actually rid themselves of it? Even we who have done no great garrulous thing wrong, whose deprecation comes from the injustifiableness of our existance, that the scale of our contribution is tipped away from our favor? Is that how family is supposed to be, do we always have to live this way? Can we shed it like a superfluous skin? Oh, Lord. I have no idea.
But we do not love shame, we only live in it. We live in shame; we do not live in the things that we love. We know this because the objects to which we feel the most attachment, the most protective instinct, are the shameless creatures (children? animals?). Their existances are justified by their joy, by their shamelessness; for them there was no Eden, no provocative infiltrating fruit. Animals do not hide from any part of themselves or each other, they do not clothe themselves, their expectations of the world are not misplaced. They have not been taught shame (perhaps this is because they have no incriminators; their chief parent and teacher is God, whose cup is not one of shame.)
It also interests me that Eve, object of Satan's particular vengeance, has (in general) such a particular fascination with clothing, the manifestation of our shame. We wallow in it, the occasional beauty of it, ingrain it into our identities; we carry it, embodiment of our shame, around with us like a pet, as integral to who we are as skin or a kidney. Why?
Why can't we strip ourselves of it? Why is it that no one can identify it, and actually rid themselves of it? Even we who have done no great garrulous thing wrong, whose deprecation comes from the injustifiableness of our existance, that the scale of our contribution is tipped away from our favor? Is that how family is supposed to be, do we always have to live this way? Can we shed it like a superfluous skin? Oh, Lord. I have no idea.
Friday, June 26, 2009
silly survey. (remember those?)
Because one day my children will care what I was like as a teenager.
Favorite Color: Yellow!
Favorite Albums: Far by Regina Spektor, Boys & Girls by Ingrid Michaelson, Begin to Hope by Regina Spektor, Re-Arrange Us by Mates of State, Vampire Weekend by Vampire Weekend, Coco by Colbie Caillat
Favorite Author (overall): Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar, Ariel, The Colossus, Johnny Panic, Poems)
Favorite Novelist: Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything is Illuminated, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close)
Favorite Flower: Tulips & Daisies
Favorite Food: Boneless Buffalo Wings, Danish Wedding Cookies, Instant Coffee
Ringtone: Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley
Things I am Obsessed With: Singing, Poetry, People, Ballet, Musicals, Hello Kitty, Foreign Countries/ Foreign Languages, Children, Flowers, Baby Names, Buttons, Notebooks, Cardigans, Postcrossing, Fashion Magazines, Writing, Reading, Music, Anthropologie, my Chacos, Grammar, Band-Aids, Listerine Pocket Spray
Things I Severely Dislike: Vanity, People who Superfluously Honk Car Horns, Mosquito Bites, Elevators, Parking Garages, People-Users, Faux Fur, Real Fur, Degradation of the English Language by Apathetic and/or Linguistically Deficient Americans, Maneaters, Goat Cheese, Uncomfortable Shoes
Favorite Part of Me: Optimism.
Least Favorite Part of Me: Shyness, and my Feet!
My Car: 2003 Navy-Blue Nissan Maxima. REPRESENT! :)
If I Had to Get a Tattoo: I would get a star of David or a smiley face on that stretchy skin where your thumb meets your wrist.
Scars: One on my knee from playing Marco Polo on the rocks in kindergarten.
Bad Habits: Biting my nails! Sucking my thumb when sleeping in unfamiliar places...
Three Most Important Things: God. Humans. Loving/Serving both.
Human of the Year: My mother.
Nostalgia: The smell of hand sanitizer reminds me of pre-school, and Patsy Cline reminds me of listening to old country music with Meemee. Steak with peas reminds me of how me and Meemee used to eat that every Monday after school when she picked me up from the bus, and how I would sit on the floor and pretend to be some exotic animal; and we would watch the Price is Right. Orange creamsicles remind me of beautiful carefree summers at Meemee's house telling stories out loud to myself while bouncing a ball against the brick wall or riding bikes in the driveway, and mall-walking, and watching Step by Step. Fur reminds me of my mother's mammoth black mink coat that I used to hide in, and when she would pick me up from Meemee's at night, I'd smell the coldness of the outside air in its musky cleanness. I wish I could re-arrange that house just the way it was back then, and live one more day in the beautiful simplicity I somehow carried around in my chest. But we've remodeled it now, of course; and Meemee isn't my Meemee anymore.
Bedtime?: 9:00 on school nights; 10:00 on the weekends. My body wakes me up at 8 every morning, unfortunately, without my consent.
If You Could Learn Ten Languages Overnight...: French, German, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, Russian, Czech, Spanish, Swahili, Hindi
Future Potential Careers: Teacher or Professor of either English or Music or Foreign Language, or Obstetric Nurse. But definately Mother.
Favorite Color: Yellow!
Favorite Albums: Far by Regina Spektor, Boys & Girls by Ingrid Michaelson, Begin to Hope by Regina Spektor, Re-Arrange Us by Mates of State, Vampire Weekend by Vampire Weekend, Coco by Colbie Caillat
Favorite Author (overall): Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar, Ariel, The Colossus, Johnny Panic, Poems)
Favorite Novelist: Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything is Illuminated, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close)
Favorite Flower: Tulips & Daisies
Favorite Food: Boneless Buffalo Wings, Danish Wedding Cookies, Instant Coffee
Ringtone: Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley
Things I am Obsessed With: Singing, Poetry, People, Ballet, Musicals, Hello Kitty, Foreign Countries/ Foreign Languages, Children, Flowers, Baby Names, Buttons, Notebooks, Cardigans, Postcrossing, Fashion Magazines, Writing, Reading, Music, Anthropologie, my Chacos, Grammar, Band-Aids, Listerine Pocket Spray
Things I Severely Dislike: Vanity, People who Superfluously Honk Car Horns, Mosquito Bites, Elevators, Parking Garages, People-Users, Faux Fur, Real Fur, Degradation of the English Language by Apathetic and/or Linguistically Deficient Americans, Maneaters, Goat Cheese, Uncomfortable Shoes
Favorite Part of Me: Optimism.
Least Favorite Part of Me: Shyness, and my Feet!
My Car: 2003 Navy-Blue Nissan Maxima. REPRESENT! :)
If I Had to Get a Tattoo: I would get a star of David or a smiley face on that stretchy skin where your thumb meets your wrist.
Scars: One on my knee from playing Marco Polo on the rocks in kindergarten.
Bad Habits: Biting my nails! Sucking my thumb when sleeping in unfamiliar places...
Three Most Important Things: God. Humans. Loving/Serving both.
Human of the Year: My mother.
Nostalgia: The smell of hand sanitizer reminds me of pre-school, and Patsy Cline reminds me of listening to old country music with Meemee. Steak with peas reminds me of how me and Meemee used to eat that every Monday after school when she picked me up from the bus, and how I would sit on the floor and pretend to be some exotic animal; and we would watch the Price is Right. Orange creamsicles remind me of beautiful carefree summers at Meemee's house telling stories out loud to myself while bouncing a ball against the brick wall or riding bikes in the driveway, and mall-walking, and watching Step by Step. Fur reminds me of my mother's mammoth black mink coat that I used to hide in, and when she would pick me up from Meemee's at night, I'd smell the coldness of the outside air in its musky cleanness. I wish I could re-arrange that house just the way it was back then, and live one more day in the beautiful simplicity I somehow carried around in my chest. But we've remodeled it now, of course; and Meemee isn't my Meemee anymore.
Bedtime?: 9:00 on school nights; 10:00 on the weekends. My body wakes me up at 8 every morning, unfortunately, without my consent.
If You Could Learn Ten Languages Overnight...: French, German, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, Russian, Czech, Spanish, Swahili, Hindi
Future Potential Careers: Teacher or Professor of either English or Music or Foreign Language, or Obstetric Nurse. But definately Mother.
The Diet Chronicles
The Three Fruit Commandments:
1. Fruit must be eaten on an empty stomach. This means:
a. Wait 2 hours after your last meal before ingesting fruit.
2. Wait 20 minutes after Fruit to eat a Carb meal.
3. Wait 1 hour after Fruit to eat a Fat/Protein meal.
The Golden Rule of Food Pairing:
Do not mix carbs with fats/proteins in a meal. Ever. Acceptable meals: carb+vegetable; fat+protein+vegetable.
The Minor Prophets:
1. No nuts.
2. No carb/fat&protein combo foods.
3. All Dairy must be fat-free, and can only be eaten with carbs.
4. NO sugar.
I think that whoever invented this (actually highly effective) diet crap had an ulterior motive in mind: of course you're going to lose weight when following these rules, because WHO on earth has the dietic supplies in their house to follow them?? I started this with buoyant spirits (as is usual with my dietic endeavors [note the failed veganism, then the failed vegetarianism, and the waning kosherism]), but after a week the strain of actually controlling my appetite begins to battle with the fact that I have already lost five pounds (and this while cheating and occasionally eating the chocolate that I brought my parents back from Germany-- no one else is eating it!--; but my mother is following it faithfully and has lost at least seven or eight.)
Yesterday's Dietic Adventures:
6:30 AM: Drank 1/2 cup fat-free milk (70 calories) and ate a handful of blueberries (100? 150?)
6:50 AM: After faithfully waiting my 20 Minutes, ate my Fat Free yogurt (100 cal.)
8:00 AM: Arrived at work. Resumed system-wide reorg of HR charts.
9:25 AM: Smugly declined Wendy's second Reese's cup. Thought I broke copier. Fixed Copier.
10:00 AM: Took stairs (rather than elevator) to Wheelchair Clinic; began delivering wheelchairs to new arrival patients. Unearthly gnawing developed in lower abdomen: is my stomach trying to inform me...? Ignored hollow claw-ache in belly.
10:25: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith, gifted by the PR upstairs. Uneasily declined.... no?
10:35: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith. "I can't eat all these by myself!"
10:45: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith. Succumbed. (255 calories.)
11:00 AM: Returned to HR; continued paperwork. Felt thoroughly ashamed of my fat-feast.
1:00 PM: Arrived home. Searched pantry for single carb or protein: ate one cheese cube (5 cal.)
1:30 PM: Ironing: began to be a very dizzy individual: drank 32 fl. oz bottled water. Felt better.
5:45 PM: Searched refrigerator for single carb or protein: Alas! Leftover Chicken Caesar Salad! Ravenously devoured. Felt thoroughly proud of my rule-abiding, middling-calorie dinner. (300- 350 cal.?)
So you see, the diet wars have begun. I have joined the 10/10ths of the women in the world who are unhappy with themselves in some earthly way. Oh, but I am, as everyone expects themself to be, the exception; and so of course I shall emerge from myself victorious, over and of myself.
1. Fruit must be eaten on an empty stomach. This means:
a. Wait 2 hours after your last meal before ingesting fruit.
2. Wait 20 minutes after Fruit to eat a Carb meal.
3. Wait 1 hour after Fruit to eat a Fat/Protein meal.
The Golden Rule of Food Pairing:
Do not mix carbs with fats/proteins in a meal. Ever. Acceptable meals: carb+vegetable; fat+protein+vegetable.
The Minor Prophets:
1. No nuts.
2. No carb/fat&protein combo foods.
3. All Dairy must be fat-free, and can only be eaten with carbs.
4. NO sugar.
I think that whoever invented this (actually highly effective) diet crap had an ulterior motive in mind: of course you're going to lose weight when following these rules, because WHO on earth has the dietic supplies in their house to follow them?? I started this with buoyant spirits (as is usual with my dietic endeavors [note the failed veganism, then the failed vegetarianism, and the waning kosherism]), but after a week the strain of actually controlling my appetite begins to battle with the fact that I have already lost five pounds (and this while cheating and occasionally eating the chocolate that I brought my parents back from Germany-- no one else is eating it!--; but my mother is following it faithfully and has lost at least seven or eight.)
Yesterday's Dietic Adventures:
6:30 AM: Drank 1/2 cup fat-free milk (70 calories) and ate a handful of blueberries (100? 150?)
6:50 AM: After faithfully waiting my 20 Minutes, ate my Fat Free yogurt (100 cal.)
8:00 AM: Arrived at work. Resumed system-wide reorg of HR charts.
9:25 AM: Smugly declined Wendy's second Reese's cup. Thought I broke copier. Fixed Copier.
10:00 AM: Took stairs (rather than elevator) to Wheelchair Clinic; began delivering wheelchairs to new arrival patients. Unearthly gnawing developed in lower abdomen: is my stomach trying to inform me...? Ignored hollow claw-ache in belly.
10:25: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith, gifted by the PR upstairs. Uneasily declined.... no?
10:35: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith. "I can't eat all these by myself!"
10:45: Offered Peanut M&M's by Keith. Succumbed. (255 calories.)
11:00 AM: Returned to HR; continued paperwork. Felt thoroughly ashamed of my fat-feast.
1:00 PM: Arrived home. Searched pantry for single carb or protein: ate one cheese cube (5 cal.)
1:30 PM: Ironing: began to be a very dizzy individual: drank 32 fl. oz bottled water. Felt better.
5:45 PM: Searched refrigerator for single carb or protein: Alas! Leftover Chicken Caesar Salad! Ravenously devoured. Felt thoroughly proud of my rule-abiding, middling-calorie dinner. (300- 350 cal.?)
So you see, the diet wars have begun. I have joined the 10/10ths of the women in the world who are unhappy with themselves in some earthly way. Oh, but I am, as everyone expects themself to be, the exception; and so of course I shall emerge from myself victorious, over and of myself.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
24 june
working five days a week in HR (at Sisken Hospital, no less!) plus giving tennis/voice lessons twice a week is a little tiring for summertime, but oh so invigorating! there is so much en cette vie!
New Regina Spektor CD came out yesterday! (But of course since I live in the backwoods it doesn't come to our Wal-Mart until Friday... sheesh. So I had it burned until I can go buy it in the flesh! :]) She is my favorite artist, I think, of all time! This new CD is a little more poppy than usual; she deviated from her catholic method of simple voice-and-piano (whose simplicity worked beautifully), but even "poppy" Spektor is so eccentric as to never be mistaken for "mainstream". Oh, how I love this girl's music!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
trip notes: 9 June
2:00 PM (american time): Sitting on my unmade bed, home bed, uploading trip pics to Facebook.
I had absolutely no time to write in Paris-- we were literally always going, running 6-11 on very little sleep. But it was marvelous! We did all the touristy stuff, saw the Arc de Triomphe and Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame; boated the Seine, ate dinner on the Eiffel Tower, had street-vendor Crepes. We saw Amboise, a chateu on the Loire, and spoke all the time in French-- marveilleuse! Again, the humility balloons at me, but it is a very good and satisfying humility.
I liked France a lot, but I could never live in Paris. It's very much less clean and calm and meticulous than Munich. There are people, people, people-- all the time magnificent terrifying ravenous herds of people; people like sheep and snakes and ants crawling their tracks through the city. But i loved little Amboise; real France is quaint and refreshing and lovely. Paris, however, was still very neat.
Now I can say what I've learned. (For one cannot expect to spend a week in Europe and come back the same person.) It was very stretching-- a foreign country, one and a half foreign languages, 18 other mostly-foreign students with whom to spend nine entire days-- very overwhelming. But it is good to be occasionally overwhelmed.
This is what I have learned about family, and myself: I did not fully recognize the negative mud my family drowns in until immersing myself in my trip-mates general positivity. I mean, sometimes we all got grumpy, but the overall tone was different. And I bloomed. I was not fighting. That was it-- I was not fighting for anything; I was allowed to be the exact person that I happened to be, and to thrive. I was allowed to be joyful, even when there was not particular occasion for joy. Life can be like that. This what I learned. Even not-in-Europe, life can be like that. People don't always want you only because by draining you they can somehow enhance their three square feet of existance. It can be better. Men can be better. Someday, away from here, I can be allowed to grow.
But with this comes the sickening realization that I am homeless. Emotional hobo, I am. I am so jealous of those who can return to their families and be the exact same person they always are; whose homes allow them to thrive. Who do not have to always be fighting not to suffocate in the deafening negativity. But this is the sand with which I am surrounded, and so I must carve myself likewise. It is good to be sunshine, but sunshine gets lonely hanging out in all that darkness. But a hope has been pricked open and the organs spread out: when I am grown it can be different. I can bloom open, can thrive; can refuse to suffer the slow suffocation, the overabundance of a self that is not mine. I have discovered with my great tap-root (or perhaps it is that which I've discovered-- or found to be missing) that there are good men; and that they, and I, are worthy to be loved.
I had absolutely no time to write in Paris-- we were literally always going, running 6-11 on very little sleep. But it was marvelous! We did all the touristy stuff, saw the Arc de Triomphe and Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame; boated the Seine, ate dinner on the Eiffel Tower, had street-vendor Crepes. We saw Amboise, a chateu on the Loire, and spoke all the time in French-- marveilleuse! Again, the humility balloons at me, but it is a very good and satisfying humility.
I liked France a lot, but I could never live in Paris. It's very much less clean and calm and meticulous than Munich. There are people, people, people-- all the time magnificent terrifying ravenous herds of people; people like sheep and snakes and ants crawling their tracks through the city. But i loved little Amboise; real France is quaint and refreshing and lovely. Paris, however, was still very neat.
Now I can say what I've learned. (For one cannot expect to spend a week in Europe and come back the same person.) It was very stretching-- a foreign country, one and a half foreign languages, 18 other mostly-foreign students with whom to spend nine entire days-- very overwhelming. But it is good to be occasionally overwhelmed.
This is what I have learned about family, and myself: I did not fully recognize the negative mud my family drowns in until immersing myself in my trip-mates general positivity. I mean, sometimes we all got grumpy, but the overall tone was different. And I bloomed. I was not fighting. That was it-- I was not fighting for anything; I was allowed to be the exact person that I happened to be, and to thrive. I was allowed to be joyful, even when there was not particular occasion for joy. Life can be like that. This what I learned. Even not-in-Europe, life can be like that. People don't always want you only because by draining you they can somehow enhance their three square feet of existance. It can be better. Men can be better. Someday, away from here, I can be allowed to grow.
But with this comes the sickening realization that I am homeless. Emotional hobo, I am. I am so jealous of those who can return to their families and be the exact same person they always are; whose homes allow them to thrive. Who do not have to always be fighting not to suffocate in the deafening negativity. But this is the sand with which I am surrounded, and so I must carve myself likewise. It is good to be sunshine, but sunshine gets lonely hanging out in all that darkness. But a hope has been pricked open and the organs spread out: when I am grown it can be different. I can bloom open, can thrive; can refuse to suffer the slow suffocation, the overabundance of a self that is not mine. I have discovered with my great tap-root (or perhaps it is that which I've discovered-- or found to be missing) that there are good men; and that they, and I, are worthy to be loved.
trip notes: 5 June
9:41 AM: Strasbourg, France, Hotel Mercure
Ah, the best night's sleep since arriving! Such marvelous beds. Susie, my roomate, is showering, so for a moment I can write.
Yesterday, besides the interminable (although pleasant) busride, we went to Ulm, wandered around Strasbourg and ate French soup and pate at a restraunt. Or rather-- I picked at it, but it was tolerable (and so festive!)
Here, the breakfast of champions is a (marvelous) croissant and Nutella. Today, after breakfast with Susie and Graham and Andrew, we will tour the city (carefully), and this afternoon depart for Paris.
How I love Europe! And how fantastic to speak their language! (But also, how humbling: for the merit which at home sets me above others is as natural to these people as breathing. One is never so great as one tends to believe.) Next I shall learn German, and finish Italian (for I am not disenchanted with what I have so romanticised-- only overwhelmed by it-- so perhaps language is a real stone; it will not wear with usage. Its testing burns white like animal fat.)
Banish, fear!-- and how I grow! Thank you, Lord, how you stretch me. How risky to be enchanted, to love something, or everything, all thse little things and people that wedge themselves into my existance. How many births I daily birth: some stillborn; some emerge healthy and emerge themselves in glorious painful love. How many chances we take, and nurture our individual fruits-- and it is worthy. For we are worthy of it.
Ah, the best night's sleep since arriving! Such marvelous beds. Susie, my roomate, is showering, so for a moment I can write.
Yesterday, besides the interminable (although pleasant) busride, we went to Ulm, wandered around Strasbourg and ate French soup and pate at a restraunt. Or rather-- I picked at it, but it was tolerable (and so festive!)
Here, the breakfast of champions is a (marvelous) croissant and Nutella. Today, after breakfast with Susie and Graham and Andrew, we will tour the city (carefully), and this afternoon depart for Paris.
How I love Europe! And how fantastic to speak their language! (But also, how humbling: for the merit which at home sets me above others is as natural to these people as breathing. One is never so great as one tends to believe.) Next I shall learn German, and finish Italian (for I am not disenchanted with what I have so romanticised-- only overwhelmed by it-- so perhaps language is a real stone; it will not wear with usage. Its testing burns white like animal fat.)
Banish, fear!-- and how I grow! Thank you, Lord, how you stretch me. How risky to be enchanted, to love something, or everything, all thse little things and people that wedge themselves into my existance. How many births I daily birth: some stillborn; some emerge healthy and emerge themselves in glorious painful love. How many chances we take, and nurture our individual fruits-- and it is worthy. For we are worthy of it.
trip notes: 3 June
2:00 PM: train from Munich, Germany to Strasbourg, France
We've left Munich, which would be terribly sad were we not headed for France. Here I will not be so linguistically helpless (so much of me now wants to learn German!) But here is what we've done: we visited Dachau, the concentration camp, which was terribly emotional considering my infatuation with Judaism: I stook where Jews were gassed and burned and slaughtered. I stood where pictures showed piles of whitened bodies lying in heaps. Life, blooming into itself over corpses.
Et puis: We've toured palace after palace until I think I must dream in silk and silver. We've toured Nymphenbourg and Oberammergau and Neuschwanstein (after which Sleeping Beauty was written!), all of then exuding ivory and gold like froth. I think i was born to be a French or German princess (or was, perhaps, in another life :])
And on this trip, by unintentional dismissal of the petty rules I build up for my self-preservation, I stretch; I grow. I am able to bubble into myself, and equally to be alone. (One cannot, until comfortable with one's insides, be all right alone.) But these are good people, fertile soil for becoming.
We've left Munich, which would be terribly sad were we not headed for France. Here I will not be so linguistically helpless (so much of me now wants to learn German!) But here is what we've done: we visited Dachau, the concentration camp, which was terribly emotional considering my infatuation with Judaism: I stook where Jews were gassed and burned and slaughtered. I stood where pictures showed piles of whitened bodies lying in heaps. Life, blooming into itself over corpses.
Et puis: We've toured palace after palace until I think I must dream in silk and silver. We've toured Nymphenbourg and Oberammergau and Neuschwanstein (after which Sleeping Beauty was written!), all of then exuding ivory and gold like froth. I think i was born to be a French or German princess (or was, perhaps, in another life :])
And on this trip, by unintentional dismissal of the petty rules I build up for my self-preservation, I stretch; I grow. I am able to bubble into myself, and equally to be alone. (One cannot, until comfortable with one's insides, be all right alone.) But these are good people, fertile soil for becoming.
trip notes: 1 June
10:35 PM: Munich, Germany
The first day of Europe was extremely overwhelming-- wonderful, but for a very few hours of exhausted culture-shock i felt something almost like homesickness. (I do, of course, miss my mother quite severely!) But the tensions are dissipated now and this tiny hotel room begins to feel safe, a safe place to shoot off from. (I am still, however, very glad to have a home. This culture shock will take some getting used to.)
Today we: landed after an all-night flight, of which no one slept very long; and sight-saw by walking all day. The city is splendid. For so prominent a town, it is so clean, and so serene; laid back and very docile.
All the buildings are either very old and beautiful or very new and beautiful. Toddlers babble mouthfuls of a language I'm only beginning to grasp-- how strange that it is all they know. And yet they are just as I was, and will become just as I am.
I cannot say that the people are exceptionally friendly-- no, rather, they are so genteel and perfect-looking and consumed with each other that they haven't the time to be friendly. It's just like the textbooks, really! Only infinitely more shocking and beautiful.
And I have learned today, among strangers, the importance of having a home. (For one really can only learn this among strangers.) Although we very often wish to discard it, how comforting it is when it leans from the future, cheery-eyed, ready to envelop us after our travels. No matter how unlovely it may be, it is nonetheless home.
The first day of Europe was extremely overwhelming-- wonderful, but for a very few hours of exhausted culture-shock i felt something almost like homesickness. (I do, of course, miss my mother quite severely!) But the tensions are dissipated now and this tiny hotel room begins to feel safe, a safe place to shoot off from. (I am still, however, very glad to have a home. This culture shock will take some getting used to.)
Today we: landed after an all-night flight, of which no one slept very long; and sight-saw by walking all day. The city is splendid. For so prominent a town, it is so clean, and so serene; laid back and very docile.
All the buildings are either very old and beautiful or very new and beautiful. Toddlers babble mouthfuls of a language I'm only beginning to grasp-- how strange that it is all they know. And yet they are just as I was, and will become just as I am.
I cannot say that the people are exceptionally friendly-- no, rather, they are so genteel and perfect-looking and consumed with each other that they haven't the time to be friendly. It's just like the textbooks, really! Only infinitely more shocking and beautiful.
And I have learned today, among strangers, the importance of having a home. (For one really can only learn this among strangers.) Although we very often wish to discard it, how comforting it is when it leans from the future, cheery-eyed, ready to envelop us after our travels. No matter how unlovely it may be, it is nonetheless home.
trip notes: 31 May
1:00 PM: flight to Philly; then Munich, Germany
The altitude is startling, and should be terrifying. If i could miscomprehend a little less completely that i am flying 36,000 feet above ground in a fully passengered titanium box; if i could actually believe that the brown ribbons below were rivers, the grey splotches towns; the Earth sectioned off like a Monopoly board actually my Earth-- Good Lord. Thank God that i am frightless and mainly mostly ignorant.
At such altitudes one believes that one can see the tilt of the Earth. This should make me feel either invincible or very, very small. I have not decided which is preferable. Perhaps I am neither; or both.
The altitude is startling, and should be terrifying. If i could miscomprehend a little less completely that i am flying 36,000 feet above ground in a fully passengered titanium box; if i could actually believe that the brown ribbons below were rivers, the grey splotches towns; the Earth sectioned off like a Monopoly board actually my Earth-- Good Lord. Thank God that i am frightless and mainly mostly ignorant.
At such altitudes one believes that one can see the tilt of the Earth. This should make me feel either invincible or very, very small. I have not decided which is preferable. Perhaps I am neither; or both.
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