Meditations on a Snowy Step

I don't think enough of you read this yet, so I'll just put it back at the top and pretend it's new. The 2 of you who did read it (did you click all the links?), please go to July 1 in my archives and you can see all my old HNT's in a lineup. The rest of you can do that too, if you want. Then go read Meditiations Split Pea and Pomegranate, they're my faves. I'll expect a full report in my comments. Thank you! My Daddy says I'm bad.

Shovel, shovel, shovel.

Think, think, think.

While I drive, I hold entire conversations inside my head; who doesn’t, right? But for some reason, when I get to the part where I say, no!, I say it out loud. And with much more attitude than I would ever use in real life. It’s like a Nnnyeawwwww, with an implied and f### you! behind it. I’m just practicing for the day I might actually need to say it just like that. Strangely, I never need to practice my yes.

This guy is a Buddhist priest who teaches in a local school. I was introduced to him by a mutual friend upon a chance meeting at Office Max . He was introduced to me by his real name, which is Todd. I didn’t know anything about him. When he shook my hand, he said, “Please … call me Wisdom.” Without missing a beat, I said, “And please ... call me Beauty.”

When I comb my wet hair and I have a tangle, I pull really hard until the tangle tears out in a giant clump. For some reason, I derive enormous satisfaction from this. It makes me feel alive. Yes! I have torn out a gigantic chunk of my own hair! Now bow and pay homage unto me! Then I go to the store and buy some detangler.

I may have mentioned this elsewhere, but until I was 9 I never realized that my head had a back to it. There was my twin sister, always brushing her hair, and then me, with the front nice and brushed and the back one gigantic sleeptangle. I also didn’t wear a shirt until I was 12, but that is another story.

I derive the greatest enjoyment in life from being completely, utterly, nakedly, rawly honest. These scarce moments of utter clarity, best when shared with another human being, are moments of pure beauty and utter humanity. I am saddest when I have shared that with someone and then it is lost because we have both put up our defenses. But I also recognize that it is necessary for daily functioning, and that only the very insane and the very young live like that all the time. I wonder if there is a way I could be like that all the time and not have people think I am insane. Maybe when I am 90.

When did we start thinking that buying bottled water was OK? I remember when it first started, I was like, yeah right. As if! Now it seems commonplace. Kind of like cell phones; remember how weird it looked when someone was talking on a phone in the car? Wow! Now every middle-schooler I see in front of my school is on the cell phone, probably calling their au pair to make sure they have a ride to Abercrombie.

The absolute best water I have ever tasted comes out of a well on my grandparents’ farm; it’s chock-full of lime and clogs the pipes something terrible, but boy is it delish!

I remember precisely two things about third grade recess. One of them is climbing the pole on the jungle gym over and over. Not because I liked getting to the top that much, but because I got a special feeling in my tummy after I did it. Boy, did I like climbing! The other was chasing Clement all over the playground and, when I caught him, straddling him and pinning him to the ground. Boy, did I like pinning him down! I figured out much later that the two activities were closely related.

In 1979 my sisters and I had a fantasy of building an elaborate system of snowtunnels, all interconnected, with various openings at critical points in the lawn. We got as far as digging a 3’ deep hole and then gave up in a sweaty heap, and started making snow angels instead. Wow … when I think about that now, I can’t believe we had even that much energy. It just sounds like work.

Kind of like shoveling. Was it always this hard?!?!?