Homily, Medieval, Ladyfinger, Latte, OoooWeee, Escapism, Saturation, Baloney
Today our homily will focus on saturation.
It occurred to me as I was hauling myself into work this morning, a process which is alternately like allowing yourself to be carried by a swift and violent river and what I imagine to be fighting as a medieval footsoldier - only without all the maces, pikes, and broadswords....
To begin, and get back to the thematic content, last night I dreamed I was a ladyfinger in a cup of espresso. I’ve dreamt of food before, but I’ve never dreamt I was food.... Talk about being saturated! When I woke up, I found that Mark had piled his share of the blankets on me due to the unusual warmth of our predawn bedroom. I was sweating profusely - perhaps why the feeling of being soaked in hot coffee?
By the way, to complete your mental photograph of me this fine February morning, I’m hanging out killing time in the Beacon St & Charles St Starbucks. ::sings:: Me and my latte. Me and my latte. ...
The next line of that Sesame Street vintage gem is, “Goin’ to the dentist. OoooWeee” Hmmmmm....
Then, for no apparent reason, I spent the ride in this morning indulging in auditory escapism on the Pod. Supposedly scent is the sense with the strongest connection to memory; this morning I’m not so sure... I chose selections from two albums put out by the male a capella group at The College on the Hill in the 1996-1997 era to begin the ride in... wow. It was like being there. I could actually envision my room, down to details like where on the shelves my goldfish bowl resided and the smell of the hallway in Barnes 2nd Floor Orange. I recalled sitting in a window seat in a corridor in Milliken 2nd Floor in the wee hours of the morning with Liz and Pete, Liz and I drunk and rowdy, Pete indulgent and sleepy... I felt the anguish that only 19 year old girls can feel when the boy they can’t stop thinking about just isn’t ever going to be the boy they get. It was overwhelming. I was almost glad when the last track played out. Of course once I’m feeling dramatic, there’s not much hope for me... So I played my folder of Decemberists music. I admit to only having discovered this band a few weeks ago by the suggestion of a friend (and thanks go to both that friend and the friend who’s collection he got it from. You both know who you are.) I am, however, smitten. So, now I’m immersed in laments by legionnaires homesick for Paris, set to accordion and guitar with a faintly Bossa Nova swing, laments of a dead child’s ghost, laments of ancient mariners with vendettas...
If that isn’t saturation, I don’t know what is...
O has a low grade fever this morning, which confirms that I’m also ill, and not just worn down from Valentine’s Drunk. Poor lovey. He’s so sleepy and sad. J’s regular Thursday playdate got canceled, so at least I get a week off from dealing with SB and his baloney. AND I’m not working on Monday. Yay for 3 day weekends!
It occurred to me as I was hauling myself into work this morning, a process which is alternately like allowing yourself to be carried by a swift and violent river and what I imagine to be fighting as a medieval footsoldier - only without all the maces, pikes, and broadswords....
To begin, and get back to the thematic content, last night I dreamed I was a ladyfinger in a cup of espresso. I’ve dreamt of food before, but I’ve never dreamt I was food.... Talk about being saturated! When I woke up, I found that Mark had piled his share of the blankets on me due to the unusual warmth of our predawn bedroom. I was sweating profusely - perhaps why the feeling of being soaked in hot coffee?
By the way, to complete your mental photograph of me this fine February morning, I’m hanging out killing time in the Beacon St & Charles St Starbucks. ::sings:: Me and my latte. Me and my latte. ...
The next line of that Sesame Street vintage gem is, “Goin’ to the dentist. OoooWeee” Hmmmmm....
Then, for no apparent reason, I spent the ride in this morning indulging in auditory escapism on the Pod. Supposedly scent is the sense with the strongest connection to memory; this morning I’m not so sure... I chose selections from two albums put out by the male a capella group at The College on the Hill in the 1996-1997 era to begin the ride in... wow. It was like being there. I could actually envision my room, down to details like where on the shelves my goldfish bowl resided and the smell of the hallway in Barnes 2nd Floor Orange. I recalled sitting in a window seat in a corridor in Milliken 2nd Floor in the wee hours of the morning with Liz and Pete, Liz and I drunk and rowdy, Pete indulgent and sleepy... I felt the anguish that only 19 year old girls can feel when the boy they can’t stop thinking about just isn’t ever going to be the boy they get. It was overwhelming. I was almost glad when the last track played out. Of course once I’m feeling dramatic, there’s not much hope for me... So I played my folder of Decemberists music. I admit to only having discovered this band a few weeks ago by the suggestion of a friend (and thanks go to both that friend and the friend who’s collection he got it from. You both know who you are.) I am, however, smitten. So, now I’m immersed in laments by legionnaires homesick for Paris, set to accordion and guitar with a faintly Bossa Nova swing, laments of a dead child’s ghost, laments of ancient mariners with vendettas...
If that isn’t saturation, I don’t know what is...
O has a low grade fever this morning, which confirms that I’m also ill, and not just worn down from Valentine’s Drunk. Poor lovey. He’s so sleepy and sad. J’s regular Thursday playdate got canceled, so at least I get a week off from dealing with SB and his baloney. AND I’m not working on Monday. Yay for 3 day weekends!
Labels: Friends and Family, Nostalgia, Ramblings, The Carpet Bag
posted by Cameron | 9:55 AM
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