How can we survive another day?
I recently read Uncle Tungsten: Memories of a Chemical Boyhood, which is an affectionate and detailed memoir by Oliver Sacks. And now—I must acquire a wall size periodic table of the elements so I can memorize the noble gases. The idea of reading a book and learning something new lifts me from the gravity of stagnation.
I wasn’t a doomsayer at birth, but I was born reluctant.
Everything has always been slightly fuzzy to me. I am constantly practicing the ninja warrior feigning sleep pose, which embraces the power of sublime ignorance.
Today is fresh produce. If I bought it yesterday it would be unripe. If I bought it tomorrow it would be decadent.
I love the scene in Silver Linings Playbook where the Bradley Cooper character throws the Hemingway book out of the window because he wasn't satisfied with the ending.
"The world's hard enough as it is guys. It's fucking hard enough as it is. Can't somebody say, hey let's be positive, let's have a good ending to the story." — Pat Solitano
Ok Pat, let me be that somebody. Here’s my enchanted finale.
My bedridden grandma was an avid reader. When I visited her in the convalescent home I would always bring her two things: a pint of bourbon and a mystery novel. I would sit in a chair next to her and we'd both read our books and I'd leave after she fell asleep. On a Friday when the sun was setting low, I watched granny take a nip, then turn a page. Nip, then turn. Nip. Then turn. It was a soothing visual for me, seeing her under the blanket with those rosy cheeks. At the time I was reading The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath, which trained me to focus and read slowly. I was immersed in the poem "Channel Crossing" which read:
"On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul. With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship cleaves forward into fury. Dark as anger, waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull. Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up, grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer such force can last."
When I finished the verse I noticed a peaceful silence. I lifted my eyes and looked at Grandma's gentle face. Was she? … Oh no. The mystery slid out of her hand, bounced off the comforter, and thudded against the dusty wooden floorboard. Her bookmark, freed from the deckled pages, fluttered beneath the hissing radiator, disappearing amidst the fur balls and the dust bunnies.
I stared at her glassy eyes: absent of desire or suffering.
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