Thursday, December 25, 2008

Quinoa, Movies & Motorcycles

I sat down to write this and I was feeling quite cranky. But then I got up to check the quinoa I'd put on to simmer. I lifted the lid and I could smell the quinoa. What does it smell like? Grain, a nutty grain aroma. Smells are so difficult to describe—especially when you've barely smelled anything in fifteen years. But I was so happy to smell this smell that my crankiness evaporated.

I'm glad Xmas is over. It's not my holiday. I'm happy people are happy, if that is so. But I'm glad it's over. The owl returned last night to the palm tree, on Christmas Eve. My present—that's what I took it to be. The owl was gone this morning and didn't return all day. That didn't make me cranky, just melancholy.

I've been having normal bodily reactions to me being here, which makes me a little cranky but not overly so. I have a cold sore that has caused women and children to run away from me screaming. (Not men? No, I've got white hair. Men don't look at me. Especially when I have this thing growing from my lip the size of Bombay. I'm sorry. My mistake: the size of Mumbai.) I've got a rash all over my hands. Not sure if that's the sun or the water (from doing dishes). I'm gonna say it's the water and then I'll have to stop doing the dishes. I weep for this loss in my life.

We left the house tonight after listening to a motorbike or motorcycle at one of the neighbors. Now THAT made me cranky and anxious. I can't abide that sound. My heart races, my blood pressure goes up, my stress level sprawls all over everything. I mean it's a mess. So we got in our car and drove away. Granted, we were going to leave anyway, but I did it with more flourish. So there, we're leaving because of your stupid noise machine!

We went to eat at an Indian restaurant. Then we went to see Slumdog Millionaire which we really enjoyed and Doubt which we really did not enjoy. Talk about your completely contrasting movie styles. I am so over the Catholic stuff and the religion stuff. I don't relate. I don't care about it. Other people can relate and care about it. I don't.

Today I thought I'd write a book on grief. Call it Good Grief. Get people to talk about terrible things that have happened in their lives and how they grieved and lived through it. But then I thought, man, I'd have to ask about 30 people to talk about something terrible in their lives. That would be tough.

OK. I'm on Mario's computer because mine is turned off, and I'm getting woozy, so I'm going to say good night.

You wouldn't believe the dreams I've been having!

Lucky for you, I'm too tired to write them down. And the quinoa is burning.

May You Dream in Beauty!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Now you are starting to sound like Ernie Gohn (did I spell that right?) :)

Do you remember no one wanted to get on the elevator with him because inevitably someone would say "How's it going Dr Gohn?" and then he would start with "Well I have a running sore on my left foot," and we would realize it was going to be a long trip down from the sixth floor. We called him Long Gohn.

Anyway, I hope the curry cauterized your cold sore and you continue to resist that dehabilitating dish washing habit.
(That's what pine does to my hands.)

As for the motorcycle: you go girl!


All work copyright © Kim Antieau 2008-.