Marching exhaustedly forward
I was listening to snatches of A Prarie Home Companion today and Garrison Keilor said "(March is) the month that God designed to show people who don't drink what a hangover is like." I could not agree more! It feels to me like Dante's description of Limbo (correct me if I'm wrong) wherein the souls are chasing a banner that flaps in the wind, but they will never catch it and never stop trying. It is my least favorite month.
He also told a story about some Minnesota golfers who got so excited about the mild temperature that they went out to play golf in shorts and were caught by a Spring blizzard. After this trauma they had to flee to Costa Rica; they just couldn't handle changing temperatures any more. But as they sipped cool drinks in the pleasant and unchanging heat, they dreamt of home, knowing that no one in that paradise would ever know them as the folks in Lake Wobegon did. No one in Costa Rica could tell them the name of the short-haired alto who sat in front of them in choir and smelled like lilacs. This too is exactly what I have been feeling. As lovely as it is to have a bird-of-paradise plant outside my window, there is a loneliness in knowing that not a single soul in for hundreds of miles knows what parts I played in the high school musicals, or how I made paper dolls inside my desk during class all through middle school.
That being said, my major goal right now is to live life as it unfolds and not always have to know the terrain 10 steps ahead of where I am. But it was so comforting to have that voice that so precisely captures for me the feeling og being home tell me that what lies in my own heart is drawn from the well of some collective human heart.
He also told a story about some Minnesota golfers who got so excited about the mild temperature that they went out to play golf in shorts and were caught by a Spring blizzard. After this trauma they had to flee to Costa Rica; they just couldn't handle changing temperatures any more. But as they sipped cool drinks in the pleasant and unchanging heat, they dreamt of home, knowing that no one in that paradise would ever know them as the folks in Lake Wobegon did. No one in Costa Rica could tell them the name of the short-haired alto who sat in front of them in choir and smelled like lilacs. This too is exactly what I have been feeling. As lovely as it is to have a bird-of-paradise plant outside my window, there is a loneliness in knowing that not a single soul in for hundreds of miles knows what parts I played in the high school musicals, or how I made paper dolls inside my desk during class all through middle school.
That being said, my major goal right now is to live life as it unfolds and not always have to know the terrain 10 steps ahead of where I am. But it was so comforting to have that voice that so precisely captures for me the feeling og being home tell me that what lies in my own heart is drawn from the well of some collective human heart.
posted by Eiren at 8:36 PM
1 Comments:
I read this almost a week ago and I keep thinking about you. I wish we were closer so we could learn things about each other now that we could share in the future. But I also admire you for having forged a new path and found a new place to be for now, and do hope that as your life unfolds it leads you back here. Yesterday during scones I shared a fantasy that when--I had said "if" but got good coaching on expectations from your mother--so I say again, WHEN Martha wins the lottery and gives me a million dollars, I'll buy Ron Gaffey's house in Birchrunville and use it to entice you home. It's the house between Jane and Peter Gaffer and the old schoolhouse. I did try to interest Jamie in it, too, being as it is in our center city, but it was too small and close to the road for your niece. So, my plan has evolved to having a windfall of cash and buying it to have a nice home for someone I care for. I must remind Martha to buy her lottery tickets now that I'm sharing my fantasy with so many people. Anyway, the bottom line is, wish you were here, and I'm glad we'll see you in June. Sara
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