I was reminded of pine trees (which rarely go out of my mind in winter...how could anything that keeps it's green in winter be far from thought?) today while listening to pandora radio. Winter has not been kind so far but my rhododendron comforts me in the morning as I pass it to get the bus. There are a lot of long needle pines along the way too. They have not fared as well this and last winter. The snow has been heavy and icy and many have lost a lot of limbs or gone down altogether. They appear to go happily though, hanging around dead, perfect green splinters preserved in dirty and disintegrating snowpack. I know how they feel. Winter makes me relish the shortness of life. While idling solitary at the bus stop, having long since stopped wondering about the bus, the baying wind binds this idea to my brain. It's a warm idea that subtracts me and negates me. It makes me feel brave in humility. It makes me feel healthy in diminishment. It makes me long to disappear beneath the rearing light. Under the groaning waves of the faltering evergreens, I'll gladly drown. What is winter for if not for loneliness, pneumonia and for reminding you that you are little more than a desolate meerkat in the desert night nattering to yourself about food and shelter for a few brief days before you're extinguished, having accidentally nibbled on a scorpion you mistook for a delicious grub. Winter is winter. I was not once and I will not be again. In the meanwhile, I'll be a pleasant winter herbage, not wilting by nature but not opposing it.
Though the spirits have been good all around of late (owing to my new job, which makes me less of an asshole), the bodies have not.
We bought our biennial subscription to cable (hello Time Warner, fuck you I hate you) at the Cumberland County Fair. Who doesn't buy their cable at the fair? This year it was $39.95 for a year of digital cable. Not as good as the $29.99 I got for basic cable two years ago, but better nonetheless than the $57.95 that they normally charge for garbage television. It's a racket, we know it, paying anything for commercial television. But it's better than ritualistic suicide or violent hard drinking, both things that come to mind on dark, raw February nights. So, we indulge ourselves as winter comes.
Given their frequency, why shouldn't two of my first five posts be about slugs?
It's been a while since I've posted. I'm not one that can just sit down and bang out a couple paragraphs of thoughts. I have a tendency to dither, edit, delete, rewrite and eventually abandon ship. It doesn't help that I work on a computer all day long (I don't want to talk about it), so cozying up in front of this is the last thing I want to do when I get home.
I was reminded of this by my great friend Jeff, who, similarly employed, said as much while noting that my blog was languishing.
(Thanks for the reminder Jeff and fuck you your blog isn't exactly teeming).
I went to church on Sunday with my wife and daughter. It was a catholic church, Sacred Heart, in Portland, Maine. It's a great church, cavernous, lined with towering stained glass, some nice, big imposing steps and columns out front. It's a little run down, but a decent spectacle, especially if you're two (like my daughter).
I've managed to get a site up and running...