in the coffee shop i will own someday, there will be a kiddie-espresso and free kitten room. it is official.
This is why I should never own a coffee shop!
this ain’t no foolin’ around
this ain’t no mudd club
i ain’t got time for that now…
i find myself, just about every day of my life, quickly and completely wrapped up in something. my mind works in tangents of doing, considering, existing in a particular space. some thought enters. before it has a chance to stretch out and articulate itself, my mind wraps it up in intricate, gauzy fabric, rendering it unable to leave - at least not until fully explored, examined by my senses. i’ll obsess, say, over a song for three days straight. it’s in playing in my head. i have to hear it. i have to listen to it a million times. i must ride the waves of incessant fascination until the urge just dissipates of its very own volition… inside my brain, a thing must do work and be worked on until the job is finished. i never know what the job is. what the meaning or relevance might be. there’s no time to question it because the thing is just there and i am temporarily rapt. a piece of artwork. a fear. a food craving. a particular word. an abstract concept. whatever it is, it can, at any moment, become the subject of my own uniquely child-like laser-focused attention. as it consumes me, i consume it, and we live in the oddest communion until my consciousness bids it adieu… and moves on to something else.
glad we got that cleared up.
i love you. let’s live together in a house of flying doors, or something else just as trite. let’s play hide-and-go-seek for the rest of our natural lives, catch a door by the knob and hunker behind. just hide and find and squeal with delight at the finding, until our bones creak like the doors do. and not a drop of wd-40. i love you. no viagra either. just living, falling apart, failing, floundering, finding, laughing into hysterics. and crying. sometimes doors will hit us. this will hurt. but i love you. i’ll pick out our splinters and you’ll break off door knobs. i’ll sing you to sleep every night, holding you like a baby. my voice will crack and my arms will cramp under your weight. your drool will slick down the hair on my arms. i love you. let’s not do anything fancier than living. we’ll take the day off. the week. the year. the lifetime. just to love… and open doors. open them forever. just promise you’ll be behind one of them. i love you.
our generation may very well see the demise of human touch. a representative from a government agency gave a talk to my daughter’s preschool classroom about appropriate and inappropriate touch. fine.
but then my daughter came home to tell me about it. she said, “it’s easier to just keep your hands to yourself. that’s what the teacher said. then you know you’re not touching anybody in a bad way.” i was afraid.
ring-around-the-rosey and london bridge don’t exist without touching. we cannot play patty-cake, give a high-five or engage in peaknuckle war without touch. the touch-free world is devoid of the fist fight (remember when that was the climax of a dispute?), the kiss, the nudge, the embrace and the making of love.
the touch-free world is not a world, but a cell. can you even imagine how cold? government officials were all newborns once, and they would have died without touch.
i told my daughter it probably IS easier to keep her hands to herself, but it’s very hard to love that way.
touch nicely. touch carefully. ask permission, if you must. if that’s what we’ve come to. but please, don’t stop. don’t stop touching.
if you do, everything we know of intimacy (and of life) is lost.
our generation may very well live to see the complete demise of books. i’m afraid. i know the country is in shambles and the rest of the world isn’t looking much better and the entire world as we know it will probably come to an end soon. maybe not in my generation, but most likely my child’s generation. that’s scary, but i’m not AS afraid of that as i am of the idea of a world without books.
there is nothing like owning a book. holding a book. reading a book. dog-earing and bookmarking pages. cracking or preserving the spine. touching new pages. smelling ink and history. lying across a couch or bed, reading a book. there are certain muscles in the hands and wrists that can be exercised properly ONLY by holding and manipulating a REAL BOOK during the act of reading. yes, there are iPads and Nooks, and they are totally not the same. i want pencil outlines, highlighter marks, someone else’s tedious notes in a second-hand book. coffee stains. signs of human life.
if all of humanity is going to be consumed in a brilliant soup of flames, i will most mourn the loss of connection to books… and the way they made us connect to each other.