Friday, September 07, 2007
I Speak For Myself
In the corner of my childhood home, there's a tombstone for my great grandmother, a beautiful piece of black granite shaped like a heart that says, Dearest Beloved. I grew up with it given that it never got put by her grave; by the time her other relatives had shipped this stone, my parents had purchased another one, strangely enough at the same funeral home that handled their services. While many people found the tombstone creepy (lots of Addams Family jokes, a show I loved because the characters were rich and eccentric instead of poor and pinned down), I found it soothing. My parents rarely got rid of anything -- I go back home and can see to the beginning of time, my time on earth anyway. We love our lore, and I am no different.
Sometimes I think back to my childhood, that lost world. Auden says that if you make it to twenty-five, you've survived the worst life has to offer and everything is better from there. This, of course, was when he wasn't asking if "anyone would mind too terribly giving him a blow-job." This question springs from the man who wrote the beautiful line, "lay your human head on my faithless arm" and "about suffering, the old masters were never wrong." Ah, we are so many things at once! Brilliant, crass, hopeful, and despairing. Usually, we are just trying to get by and hold it together without breaking down in sobs. Okay, I speak for myself on this one. But we are miracles too. There's a spider in the corner of my room as I write, and I am loathe to kill it. Maybe it's Charlotte! Probably it's just an ordinary spider, spinning a web that will fall apart way too soon. But it's my spider and I love it and that's good enough for now.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I was in a cave and I needed to draw some pictures on the wall about what my journey was, and that drive, that need, led me to acting." Harvey Keitel
Drinking memoir suggestion: On The Couch Lorraine Bracco
Benedictions and Maledictions