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runswithscissors


Saturday, June 23, 2007

Lately, for some reason, I've been running into individuals I haven't seen or heard from in a long time -- many, many months, even years. Each one of them friends who blew me off in one way or another -- not all at once, rather with an accumulation of less than wonderful-feeling things and a final, especially less-than-wonderful event -- so that I stopped making contact, which meant contact ceased. Each of whom seemed happy, even excited to see me again. Which is nice, I suppose, except that I had let go of them some time ago, so that each of the recent encounters left me bemused, not exactly sure how I felt about pretty much, er, everything. And I found myself not being cool exactly, not being warm exactly -- somewhere in between. Cordial, not unkind. But restrained. Not effusively friendly. Walking a fine line that some part of me struggled to figure out in the moment. Doing the best I could, meaning it probably could have been handled better on at least one occasion and could have been handled worse on others.

So some days that's been percolating in the background. Not today, though. This morning I got a haircut, meaning a half hour spent in the company of T., one of the most enjoyably eccentric individuals I know. A colorful 60-something sprite, with the rebellious spirit of someone way younger. Got married last year, now shares her residence with her guy: a house that sits on a corner at a t-junction of two roads, a corner drivers like to cut, slicing across part of her property, ripping up grass and flower beds in the process. She reached the end of her tether about it, wanted to end the incursions by sinking metal spikes in the ground on her property line at the corner, but the town wouldn't give permission. Which pissed her off so much that she installed piles of old tires along the property line instead, which put a stop to the trouble (though she says drivers still yearn to cut the corner, tire tracks on the shoulder going right up to the tires). A neighbor complained that the tires were ugly, but spoke to T.'s guy, not to Herself. Her response: go out and buy cans of the brightest yellow paint she could find, slap it all over the tires as the primary phase of their redecoration. I suggested filling them with dirt, turning them into planters, which might blunt some of the ugliness complaint. She seemed to consider that, but mused aloud about painting them with happy faces or something equally unpretty.

From there, she segued into other tales about living with the traffic at that corner, a lot of it drivers who come and go from what she called rich people's camps down the road, whipping along at speeds well over the limit. She mentioned having called out to one car to slow down, the woman behind the wheel slowed to a stop, looking like she was about to respond by yelling something unwise and unproductive. T. picked up a nearby axe, began walking toward the car. The woman, she said, got the hell out of there. Other stories followed, progressively darker, featuring guns and mentioning the danger of home invasions, citing news stories about that. I tried to soothe her, pointing out that in this part of the world there's probably more chance of being struck by lightning seven days in a row, suggested that watching news programs these days is more likely to cultivate paranoia than levelheadedness or peace of mind.

This is in a hair salon, mind you, me the only male on the premises at that time. I had the distinct feeling that T.'s dark conversation was making the other staff and customers uneasy, and much as I enjoy her and care for her, I was happy to step out of there into morning sunlight. (I've never experienced her in such an intense state before, will have to ask what was up next time I'm in for a shearing.)

Meanwhile, summer officially slouched in yesterday. I'm told that other parts of the northern hemisphere are actually experiencing warm weather. That's what I'm told anyway. I can't say for sure -- cold weather returned to this part of the world two, three days ago, skies mostly gray and dumping plenty of moisture. When I stepped outside yesterday evening around eight, my breath produced mist, the air feeling autumnal.

This has really got to stop.


Espaņa, te echo de menos.

rws 4:10 PM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
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November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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