Meandering Thoughts (#7)

"Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

  ~ Mark Twain 

"Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old." 

  ~ Franz Kafka 

I don't mind, and I can still see beauty, so I should be okay.

It's that time of the year. Forgive me, but I need a moment to figure out how old I am. In the meantime, here is some background concerning my general indifference towards my birthdays.

(IIRC, I shared Pierre-Auguste Renoir's A Dance in the Country before. I enjoyed looking at it so much, I decided to share it again. But in my search for a new link, I discovered that it was part of series. The two other paintings are nearly as beautiful, though a special fondness remains for the woman in a Dance in the Country.)

One Year Anniversary!

Okay, so while doing some preliminary research for this post (i.e., searching through this blog), I discovered something interesting and funny. For the past few weeks I have been anxious about not reaching my 100th post on the one year anniversary of this blogging.  You can read about it here and here. Yes, it is not that important, but it would satisfy a certain part of my mind to have those two numbers align.

Well, I am happy to report I discovered a post from back in September, a Weekly Checkup, that seems to have been reverted to "draft" status. Well, I republished it just now, and found the total number of current posts to have finally reached ninety-nine. 

Today's post is going to bring my to one hundred!

Sigh. I feel relief. And regret. 

Read on to find out why.

(BTW, for the more observant of you, yes, my first two blog posts were published on April 5, 2020. And, yes, this blog post will be published on April 4, 2021, around 10 pm. Unfortunately, for complex reasons, I need to officially publish the weekly blog post on a Sunday night around 10 pm, and quickly follow it up with a Facebook post linking to the blog. Hence the discrepancy in the dates. Trust me, it is complex, but it is worth it.)

(I have shared a lot of beautiful and powerful paintings on this blog, but this is the earliest, and one of my top ten favorite ones.)

Meandering Thoughts (#6)

An older monk and younger one were traveling along a road. They came upon a shallow but muddy stream. Beside it stood a beautiful woman in a pretty dress. Without hesitation and ignoring his vow to not touch women, the older monk picked up the woman, carried her across the stream, and placed her down on the other side. Without a word, he continued on down the road.

The younger monk, shocked and angered by his mentor's actions, quickly crossed the stream, and fell in line beside him. Hours passed, and neither spoke. However, the young monk, still disturbed and appalled by what he had witnessed, finally said something.

'Why did you carry that woman, knowing that you were breaking a vow?'

'I did carry her, but I put her down immediately, and left her there by the stream. That was hours ago. So, why are you still carrying her?"

~ Old Buddhist Story

I do love that story. For years I have been trying to develop a version that has a middle-aged monk in there, stirring shit up. Because life is not that simple. And it takes a person in his forties to point that out. Haha.

(I can always count on Norman Rockwell. Seriously, check out these images. There are some real gems. I chose the two below because they reflect different aspects of my current mood. I think they are both powerful, but in subtle ways.)

Meandering Thoughts (#5)

April 5, 2021, will be the one year anniversary of this blog. But if I continue my pace of one post a week, I will end up celebrating with my ninety-ninth post. Since I prefer that numbers align neatly, I will be forced to take action. Therefore, I will be writing up something extra during the next two weeks. So, what should I discuss? The subject of my 100th post will of course be an "anniversary" piece. Next week's will most likely address another special event happening that Saturday. So, that leaves the topic of tonight's post and the extra one to be determined. 

And, thanks to an inspiring event this past week, I am all set. 

That floating post, to be published some time over the next two weeks, will be a book review.

And tonight's will uncover some of my reasons for doing it.

(Seriously, my treadmill has several stats it records during my routine: time, distance, elevation traversed, and calories. When they don't end in zeroes, especially the time and distance, it drives me nuts.)  

(I found this painting beautiful, especially the colors, but also amusing, for some reason. There are more paintings of women reading at this link. It includes one of my personal favorites, Jove decadent by Ramon Casas. And one of a nude woman reading. I am sure we have all done that at one time, right?)

Confessions (#9)

On April 5, 2020, I published my first blog post. Well, it was two posts. Because I could not decide the best way to introduce this blog, I published two on the same day. Also, it was not my first blog post. Over six years ago, I tried blog every day--that did not go very far.

This time around, I have been a bit more successful. I am fast approaching the first anniversary of this second round of blogging. In addition, I am four shy of my 100th post. However, after tonight, I only have three Sundays left before celebrating my blog's birthday. Being a stickler for aligning numbers (seriously, you should see my treadmill stats--the miles, time, and elevation have to end in zeroes, or else I feel like a failure), I have to find a way to publish four more posts by April 5, 2021. 

Yes, I am not right in the head. Never was. Most likely, never will be. 

And here is another post to prove it. 

(There is something about the movement in this painting, the colors, and the contrast of the figure in the foreground and the one in the background, that caught my attention. For some reason, it reminds me of a dream sequence I once found in an animation series.)

On Dreaming (#8)

As I mentioned in an earlier post on dreaming, I keep a daily journal where I record such things as inspirations, revelations, and reflections. And since my dreams are constantly filled with these three things, I make every effort to record them. My last post on dreams had to do with beaches and my struggles with them. I must admit, before sitting down to write this post, I thought I was experiencing a drought of vivid dreaming, broken only by the three I experienced Thursday and Friday night of this past week. However, thanks to my journal entries, which I just now reviewed, my memory was easily refreshed. Over the past three weeks in question, I chronicled quite a few lucid dreams:

• One involving a messy litter box, and my attempt to clean it up (the dream occurred the night before I had to visit Walmart);
• Another had me setting up for an event, doing something wrong, and trying to lie about it to one of my peers (a debate about permanent and dry erase markers were somehow a part of it);
• In a barely remembered one, I found a child locked in an otherwise empty van, and I decided to break in free them (by driving around in circles in the parking lot);
• In a strange one, I went from cleaning a green pool with a former student, to feeling sorry for a group of young people running a concession stand alongside an empty field (apparently, my former mentor had required that they remain working, even though there were no costumers);
• Then there was the time Major Houlihan from MASH inspired me to march in a parade that ended up with me standing in a line outside a crowded pub (my party left me at the door, as they managed to find a place inside--I finally woke up just as I walked away disappointed);
• One night I dreamed I was in a car with someone who took a detour against my better judgement (we ended up driving through a crowded baseball field outside a school that was letting out for recess);
• Another night I dreamt of a conversation between my sister, my father, and me, about the film, The Godfather, and Edgar Allen Poe (the whole time we were outside in the pouring rain trying to get my sister into her car so she could drive home--I had an umbrella, which I used to keep my sister dry, but none from my father, who did not seem to mind);
• Finally, I experienced a dream where I found myself outside my friend's house at the end of a party, struggling to find a place to urinate. But, I was desperate to get it over with as quickly as possible, so I could spend some time with my friend, whom I was not able to hang out with at all that night (I ended up finding an extremely tight bathroom on the second floor, where I managed to start peeing, only to discover, halfway through, that the toilet was filled with children's toys--yeah, I'll spare you the details. After I cleaned up the mess, I went downstairs, and found my friend. Excited that I still had time, I began to speak. Suddenly the dream ended, and I woke up.)   

That last one had me feeling quite disappointed. But I could be reading too much into it. After all, that night I did end up having to get out of bed and use the bathroom. There may have been something else to that dream!

Anyway, now that I am aware that I have not experienced a draught these past two week, I can share my last three dreams. However, this review has not been in vain. It has given me some context in which to evaluate these past three dreams. Trust me, there is plenty to think about.

Confessions (#8)

"Sometimes you can think someone is totally cool, but you never become besties."

    ~ Finn to Prismo, Adventure Time

"between two people."

    ~ the bottom half of my fortune from the only fortune cookie that was in the order (the top         half was cleanly cut off)

My two daughters and I were able to experience a tradition this past Wednesday night: order in Chinese food and watch episodes of Adventure Time. While the food was not as good as our usual fare (we decided to try an old place, because it delivers), the entertainment was every bit as good as I remembered. A quote from one particular episode from that night stuck out. That is why I  shared it above. I guess I never caught it the six other times I watched it. Maybe my mind was not ready to make the necessary connections until that night. Perhaps my soul was finally willing to listen to such a profound and humble truth. But, at that moment, I came to realize the countless times I tried to fight against that truth, and how it caused me and other people pain. 

Jealously can blind you; resentment can paralyze you; bad expectations can lead you astray. 

However, with the help of this blog, and some experiences these past several years, I have been able to come to terms with this essential truth. 

But that is not what today's post is about. I will save the above revelation for another day. In the meantime, here is another confession. In the form of a dialogue... between two people. One is cool. The other wants the first to be their bestie.

(Came across this painting by Edvard Munch--the one who did the famous "The Scream" painting--when I did a search for famous art works of friendship. I find the image below both beautiful and relevant.)

Meandering Thoughts (#4)

On Wednesday, February 17, 2021, an influential man, seventy years of age, died from lung cancer. Millions adored him, while other scorned his very existence. Controversial in life, his death would inspire people to praise his accomplishments, and rant about his sins. I have spent the past four days dwelling on what his death means to me, struggling to put into words my thoughts about him and his deeds. Please forgive me. Being neither particularly witty nor skillfully clever, and desiring deeply to meet tonight's deadline, I leave you with the following.

(Although it is not necessary, if will help if you read the NPR article linked above, especially a quote near the beginning given during a 2007 NPR interview.)

On Dreaming (#7)

There is something awesome about the sea. Although I have never ventured out onto it, I understand when sailors say it beckons them. Throughout my childhood, I would dig deep into the sand.  By throwing a heavy towel over it, I would hide myself away from the world. The droning sound of crashing waves muffled out the cacophony of anxieties, expectations, and responsibilities. There, in that makeshift emotional grave, I would flee the coils of the real world, and embrace the comforting realm of daydreams. When adulthood arrived, the covered pits in the sand became too small to hold my body and imagination. Instead, they were replaced by late nights lounging on dark balconies beyond the tides' reach, but still in earshot of the pounding surf. With the veil of those childhood beach towels long discarded from my view, I basked in sights as well as sounds:  the dying stars above, glowing lights of night life in the distance, bouncing points of flashlights moving along the dark beaches, and the near endless stretches of blackness punctuated constantly by the white crests of passing waves. With a wall of glass to deafen the sounds of TVs and voices from within the room behind me, and the several stories of floors below me to keep out the handful of adventurous souls walking the beach at night, I would, just as in those moments as a child, lose myself in daydreams.

No wonder my most vivid dreams involve the sea.

(Two paintings from the Spanish painter, Joaquin Sorolla. The composition of this particular one contrasts sharply with the rest of the post. I shared the second one, because I love the way the girl in the red jacket stands out in an already beautiful scene.)

Meandering Thoughts (#3)

redux: brought back; revived.

deja vu: a feeling of having already experienced the present situation; tedious familiarity.

duplicate: to make double or twofold; to produce something equal to; to do over or again often needlessly.

It snowed today. All day. So there was a lot of shoveling. The house had to be cleaned. The entire house. That includes vacuuming, moping, and scrubbing things down.  Then there was the laundry. And the meals. Which included buffalo wings, followed by bloating. Lots of bloating. Finally, there is this blog post. It sounds a little like last week's piece. Except... I am sick of shoveling.

(I love this illustration. Shared it in this post from way back.)