morning.

in


i love the early morning.

it feels sacred.

pulling the cold coffee tin from the freezer i feel God.

and i feel Him as the light angles across my wood floor inviting me to dance, to stretch, to give praise for this movable body.

He sits with me as my palm cups over the mug, allowing the drink to breathe into me before ever raising it to my lips.



this is all contingent upon me being able to get out of bed. of course.

metanoia.

in ,



i believe it was during game two of the alcs championship--you know that five hour, ten minute game?--that my metanoia occurred (how's that for a word?).


i was sitting there watching the game, anxiety plinking (is that a word? oh well, is now) away at my oh-so-many-emotions, when i thought, hold up, stop. the story is already written. the answer has been told. if my boys are meant to win, they will win. no need to worry or stress, just sit back and enjoy the game. feel the experience.

the story is written.

already.

but that doesn't mean my boys got to ease up. they had to fight for the win--fight for their lives--every step of the way.

and win they did.

i've been thinking about this a lot lately. how somewhere out there i'm living a life that's already known. the answers are just in front of me, waiting. no need to worry, just enjoy the experience. but fight, fight through every step, scuffle, double-play.

the thing is... in baseball the answer is simple: score more runs than the other team and you will win. but how does one win in life--what exactly is one fighting for? and because the answer is ambiguous at best, it's hard to tell if you're attempting to re-write the story or just fighting for your life with more resilience and courage than you ever knew possible.

it's mucky. tricky. no clear lines.


reading recap.

in ,
okay. so here goes. quick write ups and recommendations.


A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF STAGGERING GENIUS
by DAVE EGGERS

i might make a lot of non-friends by saying this, but i didn't like it. i took it to australia with me and it took an interminable amount of time to get through. i think it really is just a question of taste. yes, it was well written, but i lost track of the story being told and felt like i was just moving in circles with a marginal amount of forward movement (interestingly enough, this was the very reason i didn't like WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE {the film} co-penned by eggers). i will say, all the reviews and critics commented on eggers anger, while i was struck not by anger at all, but a profound sadness--which raises the question how different are the two things, really?

WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR
by DORIS KEARNS GOODWIN

one of the great things about the high school i went to was the caliber and frequency with which we received really unbelievable public speakers. and to this day, doris kearns goodwin (presidential historian) remains the best i've ever seen. this fact, combined with my love of baseball and history made this book a must-read for me (i'm actually surprised it took me so long to get around to it). while goodwin is not an unparalleled writer, her words are simple and clear and the story itself is lovely. i've come to realize there are two types of books i like to read--those that i read in bed in the morning or before sleep, and those that i take on the subway. the books i like to read on the subway tend to be more information based and this was certainly a great subway book. not to mention the love story of her mother and father was particularly moving--i blogged a wee bit about it, here.

THE HELP
by KATHRYN STOCKETT

my mom insisted i read this debut novel by kathryn stockett and i'm really glad i did. it's the perfect in-bed read. stockett does a fantastic job of giving voice to a diverse group of women. set in a segregated mississippi, the novel depicts the relationships between an entitled upper-class and the women who care for them (and in most cases, raise their families).


SOUTH OF BROAD
by PAT CONROY

you know how i love pat conroy. if you don't, well now you do--he's just about my favorite. however, this book was not. while i liked it, conroy seemed to be trying too hard--reaching, a bit. but you should keep in mind, i wasn't that keen on prince of tides (which he seems to have garnered the most praise for). again, let me say, if you are new to this author, you must read beach music and the lords of discipline.


THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY
by MARY ANN SHAFFER and ANNIE BARROWS

i picked this one up on the recommendation of many of you lovely people. and i must say, good choice, ladies. i loved it. i mean, i really, really loved it. i read it quickly--unable to put it down and not since elizabeth bennett in pride and prejudice have i more wanted to be a character than that of the main voice here, juliet. it is the story of a writer and lover of literature as she learns about of the occupation of the channel islands in world war two.

EATING ANIMALS
by JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER

so this is what i'm reading now. i'll write more about it when i finish the book.
you know how i love pat conroy? well, the greatest threat to his status as my favorite author is jonathan safran foer (author of extremely loud and incredibly close {hands down, the best book i've ever read}. this book, eating animals, is about animal agriculture--its effects on the environment and our health, as well as what the animals experience. as someone who's had a tenuous relationship with food for a while now, i figured it was about time to start learning about food in the larger--societal sense--moving the idea from "me" to "us"--because believe it or not the choices we make about what we put in our bodies affect everyone.

apple crisps

in

new york is cold and gray this morning.

and i am in love with the city for this reason alone.

because from the confines of my room--my home, with my desk lamp all aglow, i am thankful for this next day, this new season, for the impending holidays that herald this weather as their calling card.


this writing business is a tricky thing.

ideas come often.

well, relatively often.

nagging, little ideas mostly.

usually an idea comes to me and it sits for awhile.

and then another idea will come. and another.

and once i've collected four or five seemingly disconnected notions they start moving around like in the spin cycle of a dryer.

and after just enough to time to lose a few socks to who-knows-where, i begin to write.

but if i let the ideas collect for too long--if i have too much to say, the dryer stops turning, the socks stop warming, and i am the one who's lost.

i suppose that is the point where i just choose one idea and begin. work it out in words. even if i don't think i have words. even if words fail.


i've been in such a funk. a little over a month and a half now. the great debacle of 2009, my little funk.

ned. oh ned. really, we're back here?

after australia things were so good. it was all in perspective. and i started to feel beautiful. my god, for the first time in four years i felt beautiful. and then ned. and you know what? i didn't want to write about it because i thought, been there, done that. no one wants to know. the story's been told. it's boring. and honestly? i was embarrassed, ashamed. by the humanity of it--by my own fallibility. but this is how it works. you go in circles and move forward only to be sucked back by a current you couldn't see. and then you break free again. and you find new waterways. and you reexamine and rethink. and one of these days, one of those thoughts might just change my world.

some of my friends threw an apple crisping party on tuesday night. apple crisp and ice cream and wine.

i wasn't going to go. the funk prevails.

but the party was so close (a miracle, since i live far from almost everything) and i was cooped up in my room. and i have some very lovely friends that know my habits and knew some coaxing might be in order. so i got on the bus and went. and i didn't put any makeup on, or change my clothes. i didn't feel beautiful. and the funk carried on.

and then i got there. and i felt so unbelievably lucky. for these people that couldn't have given two shits what i was wearing. for these people who have seen me at my worst and still invite me to their apple crisps. for these friends who make me laugh and offer me wine and say, this too shall pass.

and pass it did. or at least lifted a little.