Currents In The Air
6-14-2002
Done with my chores. I am empty of thought; but not in a Zen way. Not in the eastern way of enlightenment. I was incredibly lazy, watched one and 3/4 movies--- the last interrupted by the craftsman who will be working on our house in late fall. My chores were waiting for the HVAC people to do the annual check up on the AC and waiting for the craftsman.
Back to Borders:
This is interesting. An older man---what am I saying --he is perhaps my age--- is meeting with a bleached blond, too much blue eye shadow, too long, too red nails, wearing a black top and white pants with her body puddling in the middle, her skin not as tight fitting or soft as it probably was, no longer a teenager-- hell no longer a 30 year old.. echoes of an attractive woman.
"Glad to meet you. This is an interesting place to do this."
Damn, this is nothing more than a real estate deal.
The woman leaves first and then the man. He has gray hair balding, fluffed up in front, a mustache (do you ever wonder if all balding men grow beards or mustaches to make up for the lack of hair on top) steel rimmed glasses, a gray loose fitting tee shirt and loose blue jeans. I can't read much about him from looking at him.
Ah now here is a woman who appeals to me. She is very well dressed. Her dark blond hair is pulled back from her face, cinched in back by a tortoise contraption whose name I do not know and should if I am ever going to be a writer. She is wearing a black knit top cut so that I can see that her white shoulders have a hint of red from the sun. Her complexion is still smooth. She is concentrating on her book, despite the fact that the cafe is filling up and getting noisy. I am getting bored with her since her back is to me and she is deep in her book. There is a stillness about her.
I have not been drinking much caffeine lately because of the UTI. So the triple cappuccino is having more of an effect than usual. I want to type faster but my fingers are spastic-- hitting the wrong keys. My mind wants to move quickly as well.
There are four deaf people sitting near me. I live across from the school for the deaf in Frederick so I am not surprised. They are so animated. I would hate not being able to hear-- no more opera.
Even the background music is getting to me. It is Spanish guitar. I want to get up on the table and stomp my feet (sure to be carted away if I do) I am trying not to move but I keep tightening my gluteus maximus, swaying my shoulders slightly and moving my feet to the music. The music stops.
The deaf woman and her friend keep distracting me with their animated conversation. Their hands dance in the air to their own music which I cannot hear.
There is a young woman who is probably in her twenties but has a careworn air about her which makes her much older looking. She looks like she is from another age. She walks with a cane and her left hand is totally unusable. CP maybe? Her hair is brushed back emphasizing her high forehead which needs no emphasis. She is talking to an older woman (her older sister?) with a very small head and very big glasses which a cartoonist would have a very easy time with. The older sister has a lock of her hair which keeps escaping from the rest which is held back by her ear. Since I have been studying the younger woman, I am getting a different opinion of her. She seems to have a ready laugh and smile. They get up and walk away. The young woman seems to have a left side which has melted away. I think she may even have an artificial leg. I wonder what her story is.
Life passes quickly
Hardly enough time to be wet with tears
to laugh enough for lines to be written on careworn faces
Why not try to intensify each moment
To feel the currents in the air
To hear a song of insects
To see the fireflies painting the sky, Picasso like
To smell the sweat of worker bees
To sing where catbirds perchTo travel the tracery of a medieval church
Done with my chores. I am empty of thought; but not in a Zen way. Not in the eastern way of enlightenment. I was incredibly lazy, watched one and 3/4 movies--- the last interrupted by the craftsman who will be working on our house in late fall. My chores were waiting for the HVAC people to do the annual check up on the AC and waiting for the craftsman.
Back to Borders:
This is interesting. An older man---what am I saying --he is perhaps my age--- is meeting with a bleached blond, too much blue eye shadow, too long, too red nails, wearing a black top and white pants with her body puddling in the middle, her skin not as tight fitting or soft as it probably was, no longer a teenager-- hell no longer a 30 year old.. echoes of an attractive woman.
"Glad to meet you. This is an interesting place to do this."
Damn, this is nothing more than a real estate deal.
The woman leaves first and then the man. He has gray hair balding, fluffed up in front, a mustache (do you ever wonder if all balding men grow beards or mustaches to make up for the lack of hair on top) steel rimmed glasses, a gray loose fitting tee shirt and loose blue jeans. I can't read much about him from looking at him.
Ah now here is a woman who appeals to me. She is very well dressed. Her dark blond hair is pulled back from her face, cinched in back by a tortoise contraption whose name I do not know and should if I am ever going to be a writer. She is wearing a black knit top cut so that I can see that her white shoulders have a hint of red from the sun. Her complexion is still smooth. She is concentrating on her book, despite the fact that the cafe is filling up and getting noisy. I am getting bored with her since her back is to me and she is deep in her book. There is a stillness about her.
I have not been drinking much caffeine lately because of the UTI. So the triple cappuccino is having more of an effect than usual. I want to type faster but my fingers are spastic-- hitting the wrong keys. My mind wants to move quickly as well.
There are four deaf people sitting near me. I live across from the school for the deaf in Frederick so I am not surprised. They are so animated. I would hate not being able to hear-- no more opera.
Even the background music is getting to me. It is Spanish guitar. I want to get up on the table and stomp my feet (sure to be carted away if I do) I am trying not to move but I keep tightening my gluteus maximus, swaying my shoulders slightly and moving my feet to the music. The music stops.
The deaf woman and her friend keep distracting me with their animated conversation. Their hands dance in the air to their own music which I cannot hear.
There is a young woman who is probably in her twenties but has a careworn air about her which makes her much older looking. She looks like she is from another age. She walks with a cane and her left hand is totally unusable. CP maybe? Her hair is brushed back emphasizing her high forehead which needs no emphasis. She is talking to an older woman (her older sister?) with a very small head and very big glasses which a cartoonist would have a very easy time with. The older sister has a lock of her hair which keeps escaping from the rest which is held back by her ear. Since I have been studying the younger woman, I am getting a different opinion of her. She seems to have a ready laugh and smile. They get up and walk away. The young woman seems to have a left side which has melted away. I think she may even have an artificial leg. I wonder what her story is.
Life passes quickly
Hardly enough time to be wet with tears
to laugh enough for lines to be written on careworn faces
Why not try to intensify each moment
To feel the currents in the air
To hear a song of insects
To see the fireflies painting the sky, Picasso like
To smell the sweat of worker bees
To sing where catbirds perchTo travel the tracery of a medieval church
posted by Kajgreb | 5:43 PM
2 Comments:
I just love your Borders essays on the different personalities you come across. One day, I hope to see one of these personalities in a story you've penned.
Meantime, this was stunning:
Life passes quickly
Hardly enough time to be wet with tears
. . .
To travel the tracery of a medieval church
This made me want to write. So many things made me think - the woman with the small head - my sister Pam. The 4 deaf people:
When I was a little girl, one of my grandmother's strays was a deaf boy. He was older than I was by a few years and I can't really remember why we had him or why his family hadn't sent him to school. We did. I remember taking him to St Mary's school for the deaf in Buffalo. When I was about 15, he had gone back to live with his family by then, I was swimming with a bunch of kids and I heard some others teasing this big lout of a boy - calling him 'Dummy Dummy.' I lit into them like a tornado. I bet they never called anybody Dummy again. (he never thanked me (grin)
Anyway Krajeck or whatever it is you call yourself. Thanks for the memories.
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