Sunday, November 10, 2013
Is it too soon to start playing holiday music? This morning, I put on Pandora and realized I have an "indie holiday" station (which-- ha, but I kind of wanted to put it on). What I played was Bach and then some jazz and then the Smiths and Duran Duran, in case any of that helped the baby organize his mind. He hopped in his jumper along to "Girlfriend in a Coma." Oh, gosh. When he was a fetus, I played him Talking Heads and Erik Satie, and I played him some Satie again yesterday to see if he remembered it, which maybe he did. I have this feeling he remembers me eating tomato sauce when he was a fetus. I love spaghetti sauce and so does he. When I give him tastes of it, he shouts for more and twirls one hand about in the air for emphasis.
Today I stayed inside mostly and ate different foods, like French toast, honey crisp apples, Bloomsday cheese from the farmer's market (which I guess is actually named after James Joyce). Then I took a nap with the baby, and when I woke up, it was getting dark. Now I'm at a cafe alone and darkness has fallen just like that. I like the idea of darkness "falling." How interesting to think about the original metaphorical impetus behind cliches, and to think about how the over-used language of one time and place might be novel to people in another time and place. For example, near the poles, darkness does not suddenly "fall." (I've been reading a book that mentions this, but I will have to go home and look at the author and title. They are utterly escaping me. "Escaping me.")
The older I get, the more interested in seasons I am? (I just put a question mark there without thinking about it. Because-- really? Maybe.) I will just come out and use the word "energies"-- I like watching and feeling the shift of seasonal energies. This is the time of year when I like to think about and write drafts of poems about going underground. In yoga yesterday, one thought that floated up was the time a massage therapist in Asheville told me that New York City was a vortex of weird energies. This is for metaphysical reasons that again "escape me" . . . I think it had something to do with the city being built on rock and with water running underground? (Question mark.) And how weird, she may have remarked, that people pack into subways and ride around under there, right where the strange energy is congregating. Then, back in yoga, I started thinking about The Descent of Alette and how I would like to read it again. Perhaps I think too much during yoga. Or perhaps I pay too much attention to the thoughts.
Last night, we watched The Conjuring, which didn't scare me as much as it scared Liz! This morning I was thinking that it was because I am tired of people blaming Salem witches and their sisters for everything. It was scary, though. I like how families are always moving into large old creepy houses in horror movies set in and/or made in the '70s. And how either the father or the mother or the teenage daughter begins soaking up the bad vibes and showing the cracks in the shared dream of the Family Romance. Perhaps soon I will listen to indie holiday music and write an essay called "Are Families Uncanny?" But first I'll go home and make soup.