A Brief Interlude (#24)

Yes, I am recycling. I just don't have the energy
to search for a new one, and this one fits tonight's theme.

Well, after last week's post, I spent the next three days doing chores, returning to my daily routines after a week of vacation on a Caribbean island. It included extra laundry, grocery shopping, yard work, and a long list of phone calls. Oh, and a task I was not expecting: a trip to the vet in order to put down my nineteen-year-old cat. Do not worry about me, it was a great relief for both the pet and me.

Despite an unforeseen emotional event, I was busy and productive--a rare combination for me. But then I woke up Thursday morning and hit a brick wall. And whatever plans about writing I may have made in Sunday night's blog post, they came to an abrupt end. For three days, I drowned myself beneath blankets; for three nights I wrestled with the pillows and sheets. The whole time I desperately searched for sleep, and grasped at whatever tattered strands I discovered. They were few and far between. Indeed, last night I finally fell asleep around four-thirty in the morning. But woke up two hours later, famished, both in mind and body.

Then I began moving about, and consuming precious calories, but this time in satiating substances. Saltine crackers will only carry you so far. Man cannot live on bread alone, though whoever said that was talking about something beyond food. So, I moved on to other forms of sustenance. After skipping four days of journaling, I finally sat down and wrote a long entry, and transcribed a vivid dream. It felt good. I was returning to my proper form. 

 

But tonight's blog post was far from guaranteed. While my body was improving, my mind remained sleep deprived despite efforts to take naps throughout the day. Blogging did not seem appealing (unlike the egg roll I consumed this evening--clearly my appetite was returning). Then I found myself crying while watching the funeral scene from Four Weddings and a Funeral. That recitation of W.H. Auden's Funeral Blues gets me every time. I guess shedding some tears cleared my mind. The thought of blogging tonight revealed itself. So, I heeded the call, went to the basement, and typed up this post.

And that's all he wrote, folks, for now. With whatever energy remains, I am going to share this on Facebook, return to my family room, and watch an episode or two of another strange Japanese anime I found streaming on Prime. When I have had enough, I am going to bed. Hopefully I will find that elusive good night's sleep.

Sweet dreams...

Meandering Thoughts (#14)

For this post to make sense, I have to share one of my irrational habits. I photograph, for archival purposes, those fortune cookie I find prescient, relevant, and inspiring. Not that they have every predicted anything. However, on occasion, their arrival has coincided with my current thoughts. That revelation shifts my thinking, some times motivating me to take action, or to change. For example, lately, I have been thinking long and hard about being middle aged and building friendships. Then, in June, I received "A phone call to a good friend will ease your mind and lift your spirits". A week later, that one was followed by "A charming friendship is in the making". Coincidence?

When first drafting a new blog post, I start with its title. It helps to focus my thoughts, which, if you know anything about me, my mind is filled with them. Well, tonight, I decided on "Meandering Thoughts" (and only now am I noticing the irony). And since I have made a habit of numbering repeated titles, it was necessary to do a bit of research. To my surprise, my last use of it was back in late October... of 2021. Curiosity inspired me to read it. By the end I was shaking my head and laughing to myself. 

You see, in that last "Meandering Thoughts" post, I mentioned a goal: complete the NaNoWriMo challenge. Basically, write the first draft to a 50,000 word novel. In one month. In other words, develop a habit of producing about 1700 words a day. My first attempt, years before, failed. Since my blogging had been steady for over a year, I thought, why not. So, I dove into it, like all my goals, head first.

After a month, what did I have to show for it? Well, the unfinished first draft of a novel. Fifty-thousand words strong. And, interestingly, five blog posts detailing my writing habit. Also, my inability to carry that habit of daily fictional writing beyond that month. I wrote an entire post (it is in the fifth, and final post of the "On This Thing Called Writing" series) about how I was going to continue the process into December. It never happened.

But never one to repress my failures, I used this particular one to inspire a blog post. It ended with a call to be hopeful. After all, Christmas was a week away, and a new year just beyond it. 

Where am I going with all of this? Well, throughout my life, seemingly random experiences and events coalesce at just the right time, in just the right way, to motivate me. 

Yesterday, I returned from a week long vacation at an all-inclusive resort that required flying out of the country. A first for me (the all-inclusive resort, not the international travel). The whole time, I was totally out of my comfort zone. And I survived. Also, while I failed to blog last week, I managed to journal every day, even on the days I was flying. 

That night, after spending the whole day experiencing sweltering heat, hour-long lines, and the worst airport of my life, I arrived home. Tired and hungry, ordering in was the only option. Since that morning, a sub was on my mind. Then, about halfway through our forty-minute drive home, I changed my mind. Chinese food was now on the menu. General Tso's Chicken Combination, with pork fried rice and an egg roll. Damn did it taste good. And it came with two fortune cookies. I cannot recall what the second said, but I clearly remember the first.

"Do it now! Today will be yesterday tomorrow."

See, here is another funny fact about me. Leading up to a long trip away from home, I am in high productive gear. The days right before leaving, I am cleaning and organizing the house. Yes, I do a deep clean right before vacation. Arriving at my destination makes it more relaxing; coming home to a tidy house makes me feel like I can start over. And that is what vacations do to me. They make me want to start fresh. My mind is clear and focused. My body cries out for a reprieve from gluttony and sloth. Together, these feelings motivate me to act.

Last night was no different. Before that fortune cookie, I was already set to start Sunday morning accomplishing things. That message, one of million printed at a factory, an entire continent and ocean away, arrived at the right time and place. And it reached me just as my mind was ready for it.

So, I spent this morning active and productive. The day before flying out, I did a marathon planting. Cucumbers, summer squashes, and a bunch of herbs. Not sure if any of it will produce before the first frost. I do not care. But I had to do something with my garden. Well, the seeds sprouted. If the rabbits stay away, I just might have a decent crop. Maybe even pickles. Today, I watered them, weeded the beds, and trimmed the tomato plants (I transplanted them back in late June--yes, that is late, but they are doing well). 

Next the pool which I plan on using as much as I can before the summer ends. Vacuumed, backwashed, and shocked. Then all the laundry from seven days of ocean swimming, restaurant hopping, and just lounging around on a hot, humid Caribbean island. Washed, dried, and folded. Followed by two home-cooked meals. Grilled and air-fried. Finally, this blog post. Written and posted.

But I almost did not write it. The series, Only Murders in the Building, dropped the first four episodes of its new season while I was away. Now that we were home, my wife was desperate to see them. Satisfied with all my work I had done since seven this morning, I happily obliged. However, after two episodes, and with dusk descending I gave thought to my blogging. Missing last week's post was acceptable. I was on vacation, and did not need to share that fact, at that time, with the world. This Sunday? Well, yesterday was exhausting. An undersized airport, and an understaffed customs entry point. In addition, today was busy and productive. Plenty of good excuses.

Yet, that fortune cookie called to me. The two episodes had me feeling good. And my mind was swirling with thoughts (more so than usual). After getting up from the couch, and folding one last load of laundry, I returned to the basement (that is where the washer and dryer are located), sat down at the laptop, and began thinking about a title.

"I haven't done 'Meandering Thoughts' in a while. What number did I do last? What was it even about?"

Eventually I found it and read it. That is how I discovered it was all about restarting a writing goal. Searching through subsequent posts revealed a series called "On This Thing Called Writing". Those posts revealed my success: fifty-thousand words in a single month. The fifth and final one contained a desire to continue writing fiction daily. Another example of my optimism and motivation. Two weeks later, that was followed up by a confession. I never followed through. That draft still lingers on a hard drive, unedited and unread.

Yet, despite my failure, I wrote about a hope that the experience had planted in me. That was a year and eight months ago. That is how long it took me to rediscover those words and events. Right now, I am feeling good about this thing called writing. Like, I will wake up tomorrow morning, sit down, and start typing. And there will a page or two filled with fictional prose. Maybe wrestle with any one of my seven novels floating in my mind. Hell, at this point I will settle for a first draft of next week's blog post. I mean, there is only so many times I can throw long-winded and unedited essays, filled with misspellings and ungrammatical sentences, at you, my dear reader. 

At this point, I am supposed to say I owe it all to last night's fortune cookie that derived from a last-minute decision to switch dinner options. But really, everything I have written here has played a part in this process. 

Every. Single. Detail.

For the record, this is how my mind has been working since I can remember. My thoughts and experiences do these meandering routines, until they coalesce under the guidance of a catalyst. Then I act, or attempt to do so. Most times it ends in failure. Once in a while something arises from this mess. 

For example, like starting this blog...

Tomorrow is a new day.

One day at a time.

It is what it is. 

A Review... of Sorts (#1)

I might just buy the manga version that this television series is based.
Apparently, there are six volumes, and the show only covers the first four. 

About an hour ago, I finished an anime series that I watched on Amazon Prime titled Girls' Last Tour. It took me three days to complete. At twenty minutes for each of its twelve episodes, it was not difficult. Although not dubbed, the pacing of the show's dialogue made it easier to read the subtitles. My only complaint was the introduction of a character towards the end. For me it broke the setting, though not the entire experience. By the final episode, while I was not entirely satisfied with that character's story arc, the resolution for the two main characters felt right.

It was their appearance in the beginning of the first episode that caught my attention. Dressed in winter fatigues and metal helmets, Chito and Yuuri were maneuvering a mini military half-track inside a huge, dark, and grim structure crisscrossed with broken pipes and  twisted beams. Yet, their two adorable faces somehow remained lit throughout the darkness. To me, the two girls looked about twelve and fourteen (Yuuri seemed the older of the two). However, according to some sites, they are in their late teens, perhaps even twenty. I do not see that all. And for me, it was that youth which contrasted sharply with the post-apocalyptic world around them. 

And that was the main plot. Two close friends navigating a world destroyed by war. But this is not the Walking Dead, World War Z, or the Road. It is less about surviving, though there is plenty of that going on in this series. The horrors are not rooted in morally questionable actions and ghastly scenes of carnage. Nor are the existential crises these girls face being filtered through adult minds. Instead, we are getting the perspectives of two young people with limited experience and education plodding through complex philosophical questions. What is life? How should one face hopelessness? What is our purpose?

The story moves slowly, just as two teenage girls would while driving a half-track vehicle through decaying industrialized graveyards void of life. Their conversations are some times silly, or simplistic. But always curious. And eventually lead to deeper understandings. They argue and they laugh, while facing serious dangers. Yet, they are capable of embracing and appreciating beauty whenever it confronts them. Most importantly, they do it as close friends. 

Like most of the shows I thoroughly enjoy, especially the animated ones, this is not for everyone, even those who love anime. While the setting is post-apocalyptic, it breaks from the usual grimdark plots and actions of the genre. In a good way. And the ending is only happy if you understand the courage and wisdom behind the girls' final choice.

A final note. Japanese anime has many sub genres. Some of them are amusing. while others can be outright obscene. Think of romance novels, and the broad spectrum of categories they occupy. Some you can discuss with your parents; others you will need to scrub your mind vigorously after experiencing. On various sites, Girls' Last Tour is considered Iyashikei. Wikipedia describes it as a "sub-genre of slice of life, portraying characters living out peaceful lives in calming environments, and is intended to have a healing effect on the audience". Maybe it is a sign of my age, or that fact that I am a parent of two teenage girls, but I have grown an affinity for this kind of anime. For me, at least, I found this story of two close friends, traveling through a post-apocalyptic world, quite healing.

Even if it left a part of me sad.