take off tomorrow for west vacation-- two and a half weeks, family, oregon coast and friends, in that order. this is my excited face.

to be leaving tricky (!) here makes it all the more of a relief. i've got books (munroe, gilbert) and music (ritter, tweedy) to keep me company, and the feeling i'll be returning with a clarity. for now, today, i'm glad and grateful.

***
and really, the only thing is that 'the temptation of adam' by josh ritter is on repeat in my place for the last few days. this i can't get over, and it just won't stop breaking my heart.

this is true, today. for c.


This room, and everything in it.
Li-Young Lee


Lie still now
while I prepare for my future,
certain hard days ahead,
when I'll need what I know so clearly this moment.

I am making use
of the one thing I learned
of all the things my father tried to teach me:
the art of memory.

I am letting this room
and everything in it
stand for my ideas about love
and its difficulties.

I'll let your love-cries,
those spacious notes
of a moment ago,
stand for distance.

Your scent,
that scent
of spice and a wound,
I'll let stand for mystery.

Your sunken belly
is the daily cup
of milk I drank
as a boy before morning prayer.

The sun on the face
of the wall
is God, the face
I can't see, my soul,

and so on, each thing
standing for a separate idea,
and those ideas forming the constellation
of my greater idea.
And one day, when I need
to tell myself something intelligent
about love,

I'll close my eyes
and recall this room and everything in it:
My body is estrangement.
This desire, perfection.
Your closed eyes my extinction.
Now I've forgotten my
idea. The book
on the windowsill, riffled by wind...
the even-numbered pages are
the past, the odd-
numbered pages, the future.
The sun is
God, your body is milk...

useless, useless...
your cries are song, my body's not me...
no good ... my idea
has evaporated...your hair is time, your thighs are song...
it had something to do
with death...it had something
to do with love.

today i went to the post office, and 60ish-drunk-dirty-wander-pants held the door for me. i should say he opened the door, but stood in the doorway, making it impossible for me to walk in. also, he rearranged his fingers, quite deliberately, so that the only finger holding the door was his middle finger.

he gave me the bird AS he held the door for me.

and then he did it again at the next door, this time following my eyes as i registered the birdie, and then gave a little smile. whack whack whack.

happy holidays. may every birdie you get also mean an open door.