“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” ~ Jack Kerouac
Got the news today . . .
Music by Ani Difranco, “When I’m Gone”
Dreaming Of Hair
Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I’ve found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.
My love’s hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.
Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood–the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don’t fall!_
In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother’s hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.
Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.
Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father’s, three peaks pointing down.
What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?
Where have I misplaced my heart?
What stops wheels and great machines?
What tangles in the bough
and snaps the loom?
Out of the grave
my father’s hair
bursts. A strand
pierces my left sole, shoots
up bone, past ribs,
to the broken heart it stiches,
then down,
swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down,
through the right foot.
What binds me to this earth?
What remembers the dead
and grows towards them?
I’m tired of thinking.
I long to taste the world with a kiss.
I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping,
remembering an afternoon
when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time
behind the thick swirl of his black hair,
the mole of wisdom,
a lone planet spinning slowly.
Sometimes my love is melancholy
and I hold her head in my hands.
Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.
Then, I must grab handfuls
of her hair, and, I tell you, there
are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men
taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,
not knowing
which they love more, the water, or
their women’s hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.
Peggy's Cove Lighthouse, Nova Scotia (Wikimedia Commons)
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
Wednesday, early evening. Cloudy and quite chilly, low 50’s.
Lighthouse, Sälskär in Hammarland, Finland WC
Corey left port today, 11 a.m. our time, 6 p.m. his time. I am posting pictures of lighthouses that I imagine he might see along his route home. Of course, I have no way of knowing if he will be able to see any lighthouses once they leave the Baltic Sea. But I would like to think that the beams from these beacons will shine upon their bow if only ever so lightly.
We will be out of touch for approximately 19 days. I don’t know why this did not occur to me sooner, the fact that he will be out of touch. I think that I am so used to living in this technology-driven society, that I never stopped to think that in the middle of the ocean, there is no signal, no one can hear you now because cell towers are not scattered along the Atlantic Ocean at strategic outposts.
The idea of not being able to contact him, even via text, is a bit jarring; how often, any more, are we actually out of touch, we as a society in this supposedly advanced world? I mean, if I ever do go live on that remote island somewhere, there will be no cell tower nearby, and that appeals to me, that is if I have my loved ones with me.
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page” ~ St. Augustine
The lighthouse at Skansin, Tórshavn, Faroe Islands, Denmark
When I was a little girl, I loved the idea of lighthouses to make the path clear for my father while he was at sea. I suppose I imagined that he was standing on the deck somewhere, and the rotating light cast its beam upon him, and he felt safe. Of course, he was actually below deck, in the engine room, and because of his seniority, he never had to stand watch. He absolutely hated to stand watch, and the ship captains for whom he worked knew this, and they agreed to his requests because he was that good at his job.
Corey is also very good at his job. The crew with whom he works (several of whom are Filipino and have taken him under their collective wings) has already given him the responsibility of being helm watch. He says that working on big ships is nothing like working on tugs, and not nearly as labor-intensive, but in spite of that, he misses being on tugs.
Oh my. Just had quite a scare. The whole post disappeared, and when it came back, it appeared to have only the quotes and nothing else. Luckily, I reopened Firefox, and it was here. I really hate it when that happens in the middle of writing.
“When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.” ~ William Least Heat Moon
Aside: I love Native American names: Least Heat Moon got his name from his father, who called himself Heat Moon; as William came after his brother, he was Least. If I had a Native American name, I think it would be something along the lines of Troubled Heart or Broken Path.
Väderöbods Lighthouse, Sweden, by Lars Reidar (Wikimedia Commons)
Anyway, back to the whole idea of journeys, voyages, travels.
So while Corey is making his way from the North Atlantic to the upper lower Atlantic (?)—or whatever Florida is considered in relation to the Atlantic Ocean—I’m hoping that he gets rid of the cold/sinus troubles that he has had ever since arriving in Lithuania. He said that the weather there has really been beastly; it snowed on Easter. I have not told him how temperate it is here, except for today, that is.
The cold was one of the things that my father absolutely hated about Europe, especially when he was doing the run from Rotterdam to New York. I imagine that working on the cold on the water is doubly fierce: the wind and the spray from the water.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware” ~ Martin Buber
I’m also hoping that this trip brings Corey a certain measure of self-satisfaction, something that has been missing from his life in many ways since he was laid off.
Lighthouse at Carraig Aonair, Ireland by Richard Webb (Wikimedia Commons)
He has been so unsure of so many things for so long. Going back to school was great for him, and I know that he really enjoyed it, but he still felt restless because he wasn’t working at a job in which he could make any kind of money or that had any room for advancement. So with any luck, he will finish this hitch feeling better about himself, about his abilities, about his training. He needs the kind of validation that I simply cannot give him, regardless of how much I care or how much I respect his abilities.
And with any luck, he’ll be able to find something afterwards that still allows him to take some classes. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move; to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly;” ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Friday, early evening. Sunny and low 60’s.
Penmon Lighthouse at the Isle of Anglesey, Wales, UK, by Alistair Young (Wikimedia Commons)
Well, this has to set a record for the post taking the longest to finish. What I started on Wednesday I was unable to finish that evening as Eamonn came home from work and wanted his room. Can you imagine? And I couldn’t use Brett’s computer as I had to pick him up from school early that evening as he wasn’t feeling well. So no Wednesday night writing for me.
Then yesterday I had a doctor’s appointment to get the shots in my back, and I had to take Brett to school. That only left the evening, and once again, Eamonn was home. Add to this that the time that I do have access to this computer is almost useless as this particular computer is definitely on its last legs. More often than not, I get the Not Responding message. May I say once more how happy I will be to get my computer up and running. Just imagine, 24-hour access to a computer that works! In my room! Oh happy day . . .
So my good intentions about sending beacons out into the universe for Corey are a little late, but the sentiment remains. Do I back post this to the 11th? the 12th? today? I guess I’ll go for the one in between.
I suppose I’ll close for now so that I might still be able to do a current post.
More later. Peace.
Music by Beth Thornley, “Everyone Falls”
Love at Thirty-two Degrees (section III of IV sections)
III
Then, there is the astronomer’s wife
ascending stairs to her bed.
The astronomer gazes out,
one eye at a time,
to a sky that expands
even as it falls apart
like a paper boat dissolving in bilge.
Furious, fuming stars.
When his migraine builds &
lodges its dark anchor behind
the eyes, he fastens the wooden buttons
of his jacket, & walks
outside with a flashlight
to keep company with the barn owl
who stares back at him with eyes
that are no greater or less than
a spiral galaxy.
The snow outside
is white & quiet
as a woman’s slip
against cracked floorboards.
So he walks to the house
inflamed by moonlight, & slips
into the bed with his wife
“You may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn.” ~ T. H. White, The Once and Future King
West Virginia One-Room School
Yesterday was Glenn Beck’s big day, his day of reckoning for the nation, his big “restoring honor” rally, which also happened to coincide with the 47th anniversary of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Beck’s choice of the historic date was a result of (in his words), “divine providence.” Beck, ever humble, declared that he wasn’t going to try to match King’s oratory, that he was only going to use talking bullet points, to leave room in case the spirit should speak to him.
Wow. Megalomania, anyone?
Talk about arrogance. I know that I make fun of Beck as much as possible, but I have come to believe that he may truly be crazy, not crazy as in I’m crazy, but certifiably crazy. A lunatic. Rubber-room crazy. I mean, just think about it: If Obama said that he was waiting for the spirit to speak to him, people all over this country would be talking about the POTUS’s messianic complex. But Beck? No, not so. Instead, people paid to go see this loony, and very few people wondered where the money was going.
Big surprise: Sarah Palin was in attendance, offering her usual pablum. Is there a bowling alley or convention that she won’t attend? By the way, I wasn’t there.
“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.” ~ M. Scott Peck
Old Schoolhouse, Rockford, Illinois
So other than Beck, what’s been going on around here? Let’s see . . . Friday night/Saturday morning, I finally fell asleep at 8:30—in the morning. I’ve been particularly manic for the past week, driven mostly by the details of trying to get Brett ready for school tomorrow.
He is registered for four classes, and I was finally able to get him a reasonable schedule. Since he registered late in the summer, not many classes were open for registration. I had to check the site every day to see what had opened as he really wanted to take the introductory astronomy class. Ultimately, he is registered for an introductory literature course, philosophy of science, intro to psychology, and intro to astronomy with a lab, for a total of 13 hours.
He had been registered for 12 hours, but the astronomy lab added another hour, which means that we need to pay ODU more money. Of course. He’s been to campus a few times with his friend, and I took him one day last week to the Career Management Center so that he could get information on an on-campus job. That application is next up on the list of things to do.
I’ve spent lots of time in the past three days looking for the best possible prices on textbooks, which, as a whole, as incredibly overpriced. His literature book alone is almost $100. I miss the days when I could get free books from the publishers. Anyway, three different sources, and books for four courses, totaling more money than seems possible: over $500.
Geez. College certainly is expensive, she said not all ironically.
“I love the dark hours of my being
in which my senses drop into the deep . . .
Then I know that there is room in me
for a second huge and timeless life.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke
One-Room School, Fayette County, Ohio (ca. 1910)
Last night was the first time that I fell asleep and stayed asleep while Corey was working. I was so exhausted from the night before that I fell asleep just after midnight. Did my usual getting up every three hours or so to let the dogs out, but never really woke up completely. Heard Corey come in around 9 this morning. His relief did not show up at 7, so he was late in getting home. That’s the second time his relief hasn’t shown up.
Since I’m fairly rested today, I thought that I would try to put up a real post, with words and everything, not just vids from “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report,” although what they said was far funnier than anything I could have said.
Brett is very nervous about starting college, as I had expected that he would be. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he settles in comfortably once he realizes that the experience is nothing like being in high school and that he will not have to deal with cliques and in-crowds unless he chooses to. That’s the wonderful thing about the whole experience of attending college: It is exactly what the individual makes it.
At least one of us is excited, though. I suppose I’ve been doing all of this researching and running around to try to make his first week as stressless as possible, but I also know that doing these things allows me to hang on for as long as I can. My dreams of late have included Brett as a small boy. I don’t need dream analysis to tell me what that means.
“If what proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge; experience, and creation.” ~ Anais Nin
One-Room Schoolhouse, Miller County
I know that I have said many times that I would not go back to my youth for anything, and I mean that. However, I would love to be going back to college for the first time, only armed with the knowledge that I have now.
If I had it do to over, I would go to a different school, and I would major in something else, like oceanography. I would also go straight through to my doctorate.
Too bad that when we begin these journeys that we do not have the knowledge necessary to make informed decisions. All that we have is intuition, and if we are lucky, good advice from someone who knows a thing or two. Intuition is great if you happen to be in tune with yourself, but how many 18-year-olds are actually in such a state? Very few.
Advice is double-edged: well-meaning but having little to do with the reality of life, and well-informed but not necessarily what you need to hear. Our parents tend to give us advice that is in keeping with what they would do. Yes, it is filled with love, but usually filled with bias. My mother talked me out of going away to college. I’m not saying that I wish that I had gone to another area for school, but I do wish that I had been more selective in choosing which school to attend for my undergraduate degree.
It matters. It really does, and I found that out the hard way. College students should choose their schools based on where they think they might want to go, but that doesn’t really happen. I remember that so many of the undergrads that I taught at ODU chose the school for its proximity to the beach. People choose VCU because it’s a party school. People choose UVA for its prestige.
I chose ODU because it was convenient and affordable, but at the time, its English department was not what would be considered cutting edge. I once had a colleague try to convince me to get a Ph.D. in urban studies from ODU because as he said, “Any doctorate is better than no doctorate.” Wrong. I mean, a doctorate is great, but a doctorate in the wrong field from the wrong school—what’s the point.
Brett is doing this first year at ODU to get used to the college experience, to get some of his general education requirements out of the way. With luck, we will all have a much better idea of just where we hope to be in the next six months. Maybe then Brett can choose a school that really meets his needs, and if it happens to be ODU, great; if not, that’s good, too.
I only know that we are all starting a new chapter. Scary, indeed.
Lola's Curmudgeonly Musings 