Category Archives: life

Just One Step

Life is ridiculous. I don’t say this with any negative connotations. I am not saying this sarcastically, or in any existentialist sort of way. I simply mean, life is ridiculous.

It is a dark comedy on a never ending stage, and even as the scenes change, sometimes in quick procession, the entire thing never moves past Act I, and you are left to wonder, “is this a one act play?” Unfortunately life doesn’t come with a table of contents.

Have you ever heard Jacques Brel sing? You should. I think everyone should, at least once.

Anyway, I digress.

I was looking at Courbet’s L’Atelier (top of this blog). Beautiful painting, and utterly ridiculous. What do you see? Probably not what I see. I am sure what you think is happening is quite different from my own interpretation. I think I will keep mine to myself.

I am obviously in a francophile kind of mood, so while you are at it:

Also, since we are on the topic of both the French and how ridiculous life is, read Sartre’s The Family Idiot.

Today I read a story in The Paris Review on Frida Kahlo. If you weren’t aware, she had a plethora of physical ailments, one of which required her to wear a plaster corset for most of her life. She changed them out regularly, and crafted art on each. The art was interesting, but what captivated my eye was a quote by Charles Baxter that the author felt applies to Kahlo as well. Here is the excerpt:

Charles Baxter once found what he called “the last appeal” in a scene from Sherwood Anderson, a woman running naked in the rain, begging attention from an old deaf man. “Her body,” he writes, “her last semiotic appeal, or vulnerability, or precious secret—it’s all of these things, but it will not be reduced to one meaning—carries the burden of her longing, and becomes the record of erasure.”

Every time a piece of her body failed, got amputated, or stopped performing properly, Kahlo undid the erasure through her art, decorating the very pieces that were a reminder of her suffering. She masked her pain with paint.

I thought that was interesting.

None of this really goes together, but rather bits and pieces of what I looked at today, and somehow came to the conclusion that life is ridiculous.

As Napoleon once said “du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un pas.”

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

First of all, happy birthday! I guess today is as good a day as any to tell you how much I appreciate you. You have spent my entire life trying to teach me, but honestly, I learned most from the things you weren’t overtly explicating.

You are the strongest woman I know. I got my stoicism from you. I never quite learned how to block out all emotion, or never show I care, but I learned enough to protect myself. I have watched you my entire life, taking everything in stride. Nothing affected you. In a way I envy that, and maybe one day I will perfect the art of nonchalance.

You taught me how to build everything from nothing. You withheld from me when I was young, and as resentful as I may have been (and maybe still am once in a while), I learned to do everything for myself, never relying on anyone else. I am at a point in my life where I will have to build myself from nothing once more, and this time I have others depending on me, and because of the experience you have given me, I have quite a running start. I have learned from you how to pull things out of thin air, and in times of desperation, push just a bit further.

I have heard your stories, and I don’t know if I could do what you did, but I would like to think I could accomplish half. I have learned that much.

No matter what I did, you always wanted more from me, it was never good enough, and I think that was simply your way of motivating me, giving me impetus for achieving just a bit extra and never stagnating.

You even taught me the silly things, yet still important in their own right. I have your insane fashion sense, always ready for all occasions. I remember being about eight, and wanting to wear an outfit not far from pajamas. You asked me to change and I didn’t want me. You asked me to think about what would happen if plans change, if something spontaneous happens. What if I may think I am just running out for an errand and something comes up that demands I arrive somewhere formal? Then what? Wouldn’t I be embarrassed at the way I am dressed? That was the example you gave me and I never forgot. You will be glad to know I have never been embarrassed anywhere.

I cannot enumerate your many lessons, things learned directly, and indirectly watching you, inadvertently studying you and mimicking you as a child would do.

You have never lied to me, and taught me to be more honest than may be good for me. You praised my talents, and simultaneously reminded me of my shortcomings. Thank you for never deluding me into believing I am good at everything, or worse, at the very things I don’t have a calling for. Thank you for helping me develop those things at which I excel, even when you could not give me the answers, but guided me to find them elsewhere.

Now you have grandchildren who learn everything from you second hand through me. So far I cannot say I have taught them any great life lessons, but they see, and have probably gleaned more than I think.

Mom, from you I have learned patience, defiance, wit, charm, decadence, passion, stoicism, strength, and my own weaknesses.

I love you like I love my own children. When you had me you gave me life. Since then you have given me your life in pieces. Thank you for giving me everything, and teaching me how to find those things you could not give.

City Rain

Today a friend of mine posted a video on Facebook. It was only fifteen seconds long, but it was beautiful. I wish I could share it here, but I haven’t the slightest clue how to get it off Facebook. I am sure she would not mind, as it was made public, and there are no people in it.
She took this video as she was walking home last night. It was pouring rain, and it was beautiful. It made me nostalgic for a city I have never lived in, and have not even ever seen. Several close friends of mine live there, or around there, and have often invited me to come. Maybe I should, but I have not yet.
In those fifteen seconds her city looked like any other, some of which I have lived in. It reminded me of New York when I was a little girl. It reminded me of San Francisco on the many occasions I have had the chance to visit. It reminded me of Paris, London, Bucharest, and several others in Europe I have been to over the years. It was nondescript, yet distinctly city like. The buildings and street were unquestionably urban.
She took the video as she walked, and her pace seemed steady, calm, used to the falling sheets of water. Brisk, yes, but not alarmed. Not like the suburban haphazard dash towards cover at the slightest provocation, the tiniest drops from the sky. Despite the fact that she was born and raised in Southern California, she seems to have adapted well to her new surroundings. I was not born or raised in Southern California, yet I have acquiesced to its climate, and somehow managed to bury myself in the deepest recesses of its suburbs.
I have moved to a place that only has one and a half climates (at best). Half the roads are unpaved, not because they have been well worn, but because they never existed. Everyone goes to bed at nine. And I blog nightly to escape.