Top 10 Tuesday

Happy January Thaw to all of you. It has been a rainy day here in central Pennsylvania with intermittent sunshine. Central Pennsylvania. What a boring thing to say. Not as fun as Michigan's "Thumbs up to you from the mitten!" or Louisian's "A kick-ass greetin' to ya from da boot!" Central Pennsylvania. No wait, Central P-A. Most Pennsylvanians don't even say the state's name. Do other states do that? "A big H-I to you from Hawaii!" "Maine is all about M-E!" "Come learn all about Missouri's M-O!"

Anyway, it's been a week. The temperatures have risen, so now the world is a gray head of wilted lettuce. It's a three-day-old salad outside. With a greasy dressing. I do love rain and a gray blanket of sky.

Shortly after I posted last week's Top 10 Tuesday, I learned that my sister had passed away. I wanted to thank those of you who shared your thoughts and condolences. My family appreciates it. We're doing okay. Times have been rough for my family for about two years now, but as I kept saying to them, it was our turn. We've been fortunate--at least all my life--with good things. A shoe or five were bound to drop. We're looking forward to better things and good changes ahead. But it still hurts.

But time to look behind me at the past week. Hope you enjoy.

The Top 10

1. Weekend with My Family Brian, the pups, and I went to visit my mom and dad this past weekend. There were no set plans but just to be together. It was relaxing and we actually had fun. We played card games, got buzzed off margaritas, and played Scattergories.

2. Writing My Sister's Obituary Not long ago, I was listening to a podcast in which Mara Kalman was being interviewed. For those of you who do not know who she is, she is a writer/artist/illustrator based out of NYC. She did the renowned illustrations for Strunk & White's Elements of Style. I've written in here about her before. She has a penchant for dogs, hats, cakes, and the ways in which people walk. She's a people-watcher. In the podcast, she talked about her morning routine which consists of reading the obituaries. She mentioned that some of the best obituaries she had ever read were from England's newspapers. I kept this in mind, knowing that I'd eventually have to write one for my sister. But my Googling led me nowhere when the sad time came. I couldn't find a prime example of what Mara Kalman claimed to love. I haven't reached that time in my life where reading the obituaries is important. But then again, I don't have access to the best newspapers, either. I love celebrating people. When it came time to write my sister's obituary, I was sad, but not for the obvious reasons. I was sad because...my sister didn't really seem to enjoy life. Don't get me wrong; she enjoyed various things and had her hobbies. But she never showed too much passion for anything and my sadness for this is nothing new. I've always felt sad for her in this respect. I idolized my sister when I was growing up. We grew apart and I'm sorry to say, but she taught me what not to do. And that's the best gift I have ever received. But I wrote my sister's obituary, made the usual list of survivors, and listed her hobbies and interests. Listed Mandy's thank-yous to this oncology department and those hospice staff. There was no "Big Fish" moment of befriended giants, conquered mountains, wonder, or discoveries. I was sad that it was an average obituary. But that's what she chose for her life and I respect that. I submitted the obituary and photo to the funeral director and he said it was wonderfully done. I'm salty, though, because they omitted my Oxford commas. Stupid AP style.

3. Call Me By Your Name So, I went and saw "Call Me By Your Name" last week because I heard it was groundbreaking and I absolutely love coming-of-age films. After seeing it, I guess I understand why it may be an award-winning, unforgettable film, but Sarah is probably going to forget about it. It touches upon gay relationships which is all the rage, but it isn't to me. And if this film were about a heterosexual couple and not a gay couple, I'd feel the same way due to a lack of the protagonist's character development. In fact, I absolutely adore a very similar film--"Heavenly Creatures"--about two young women who are passionately and even fatally connected. You see, I don't care if people are gay. Let people be gay. I'm honestly weary of the gay agenda. I wish it didn't need to be an agenda because it's love. Let people love, as long as they're not hurting or taking advantage of one another somehow. Love is always going to be an agenda. I know this is all easy for me--a heterosexual white woman--to say. Yeah, it is. And if I were gay, I'd be gay. I'd say "I'm gay." And then I'd go for a hike and do all the Sarah things that Sarah does because I'm Sarah. And if people didn't like it, then they're people I don't need in my life. And if big, controlling groups of people didn't like it, it wouldn't matter *to me* because regardless of their opinions and insults, the love is still going to be there. But back to the movie. There were four people--including myself--in the theater watching this movie. During a more poignant moment of the film, I saw one girl begin to cry and I was startled with myself because I always cry about everything and I wasn't crying. I looked away from the crying girl and back to the screen and tilted my head...Huh, I guess this is a moment to cry? I suppose? But I didn't cry. I felt an emotional response to the passion between the two gay men (one 17, one probably twice that age) in the film because I can empathize with passion and unrequited passion. But I didn't have an emotive response to the young man (the protagonist) because he wasn't that developed to me. Other than being an awkward, intelligent, creative young man who wrote music, read, and played the piano, he was not developed. His mother and father, on the other hand, I loved. And they had only a fraction of screen time. Of the coming-of-age films that I've seen as of late, I think "Lady Bird" ranks highest.

4. Coffeehouse Writing Last Thursday, I attended the Greenbean Coffeehouse open mic session. I arrived a bit early and did some writing of my own. Once I finished it, I figured that maybe I'd share it during the open mic. I knew that if I read it aloud in front of strangers that I would probably cry because the (poem? essay?) was a stream-of-conscious response to hearing of my sister's passing. So, I told them I would be back but would like to read a poem for the show, even though everyone performing that night was a musician. I left for a little bit, made myself slightly more presentable, took a (legal) drug to help me feel more calm, and went back to the coffeehouse, prepared. I watched musician after musician perform, but my name was not yet called. It was getting toward the end of the night. The music was hot, everyone was loving the good vibes, people were jamming. It was great. I was feeling great. But the end was coming and I didn't want to be the after-thought poet reading something sad at the very end. So, with fifteen minutes still left to go of the evening and my name not yet called, I went home. I was disappointed, but whatever. I haven't read in front of a crowd in a long time. I wanted for something light and ice-breaking to come after me. Maybe next time...

5. Stream of Conscious So, I mentioned above that I wrote my stream-of-conscious response to hearing of my sister's passing. I love the brain, studying it, and trying to understand my own and others'. I have never lost someone I was very close to and so I wondered how I would react to my sister's passing. I knew the basics: I'd cry and possibly ponder "the great inevitable" and nothingness, ad infinitum. However, I wondered how my stream of conscious would flow. What exactly would my brain do? It wasn't until after I heard the bad news and sat with the bad news that I realized Oh, I should document these thoughts/feelings/actions. So, I began writing a little bit here and there when something came up. Two days later, I had recounted that memorable evening with my words, thoughts, feelings, and reactions. It amounted to what is now my previous blog post.

6. Webster's Books I had heard that Webster's Bookstore & Café in State College was having a 1/2 off sale on all their used books during this month. Yesterday, I took a huge tote of my own books to give to them for store credit. As much as I love bookstores, I am often left sort-of disappointed, as well. There are always treasures to find, but sometimes my desire for immediate satisfaction isn't met at used bookstores. I wandered over to the travel writing, nature writing, and essay sections and wasn't really thrilled with what I found. No book of poetry really popped out to me. I left empty-handed. So, I went to the Barnes & Noble in State College and found the buzz and delight that I was hoping for. I left with several books and still have gift cards left to spend.

7. "More Than This" by Dave Kirby I came across this poem this past week and I'm swooning.

MORE THAN THIS

When you tell me that a woman is visiting the grave

of her college friend and she’s trying not to get irritated

at the man in the red truck who keeps walking back and forth

and dropping tools as he listens to a pro football

game on the truck radio, which is much too loud, I start

to feel as though I know where this story is going,

so I say Stop, you’re going to make me cry.

How sad the world is. When young men died in the mud

of Flanders, the headmaster called their brothers out

of the classroom one by one, but when the older brothers

began to die by the hundreds every day, they simply handed

the child a note as he did his lessons, and of course the boy

wouldn’t cry in front of the others, though at night

the halls were filled with the sound of schoolboys sobbing

for the dead, young men only slightly older than themselves.

Yet the world’s beauty breaks our hearts as well:

the old cowboy is riding along and looks down

at his dog and realizes she died a long time ago

and that his horse did as well, and this makes him

wonder if he is dead, too, and as he’s thinking this,

he comes to a big shiny gate that opens onto a golden

highway, and there’s a man in a robe and white wings,

and when the cowboy asks what this place is, the man tells

him it’s heaven and invites him in, though he says animals

aren’t allowed, so the cowboy keeps going till he comes

to an old rusty gate with a road full of weeds and potholes

on the other side and a guy on a tractor, and the guy

wipes his brow and says you three must be thirsty,

come in and get a drink, and the cowboy says okay,

but what is this place, and the guy says it’s heaven,

and the cowboy says then what’s that place down

the road with the shiny gate and the golden highway,

and when the guy says oh, that’s hell, the cowboy

says doesn’t it make you mad that they’re pretending

to be you, and the guy on the tractor says no,

we like it that they screen out the folks who’d desert

their friends. You tell me your friend can’t take it

any more, and she turns to confront the man

who’s making all the noise, to beg him to leave her alone

with her grief, and that’s when she sees that he’s been

putting up a Christmas tree on his son’s grave

and that he’s grieving, too, but in his own way,

one that is not better or worse than the woman’s,

just different, the kind of grief that says the world

is so beautiful, that it will give you no peace.

8. Rainbow For several years, I have worked in an office without windows and now that is no longer the case. I'm always all-eyes-on-the-sky and it's nice to be able to watch the snow and rain as of late. The wind was insane today, bringing in the cold front that will drop the temps. I looked out the window as a particularly gusty wind blew and I saw this. Day made.

9. "Ode to Fat" by Ellen Bass

Tonight, as you undress, I watch your wondrous flesh

that’s swelled again, the way a river swells

when the ice relents. Sweet relief

just to regard the sheaves of your hips,

your boundless breasts and marshy belly.

I adore the acreage of your thighs

and praise the promising planets of your ass.

O, you were lean that terrifying year

you were unraveling, as though you were returning

to the slender scrap of a girl I fell in love with.

But your skin was vacant, a ripped sack,

sugar spilling out and your bones insistent.

O, praise the loyalty of the body that labors

to rebuild its palatial realm.

Bless butter. Bless brie. Sanctify schmaltz. And cream and cashews.

Stoke the furnace of the stomach and load the vessels.

Darling, drench yourself in opulent oil, the lamp

of your body glowing. May you always flourish

enormous and sumptuous, be marbled with fat,

a great vault that I can enter, the cathedral where I pray.

10. "The Queen of Hearts" by Kathleen Hawes I came across this personal, instructional essay when reading The Sun Magazine. I have a soft-spot for "instructional" essays and poems. In this essay, Hawes instructs the reader on how to let your life and heart break for the sake of an unshakeable need.

#toptentuesday