hi ho hi ho

I’ll be needing a job soon. Not so much for money, though pocket change is nothing to sneeze at. I cannot assume I’ll ever make money writing, though write I must, and it’s quite certain that no-one will pay me for playing fiddle or whistle. As far as I know, there is no money to be had in being a student of languages, or a crossword puzzler, so fortunately, no, it is not so much about the money.

It’s about being in the world. I’m noticing that my kids are getting pretty grown up pretty fast. As their explorations become outwardly focused I’m standing here thinking you can’t leave me here in this stinking house! Houses are boring!

I’m not sure where I will go for a job. Maybe a music shop. I’ve thought about even fixing lattes. I just need to see and interact with real live people on a regular basis, and with some continuity.

It kind of stinks that there’s no branch of Lark in the Morning in Annapolis, or on the East Coast for that matter. And I’m still kind of hoping that the cosmos will drop a “help wanted” clipping on my head so the direction to go will be obvious. But I’m afraid that, as usual, I’ll have to suck it up and figure this one out on my own.

not for really religious people

Narnia did make me think. It was, all in all, a pretty good flick. As one who has read much by and about C.S. Lewis, I could not separate my awareness of the story’s Christian underpinnings from my viewing experience, so I was forced, as always, to confront my discomfort with what many consider fundamentals of Christian ideology.

In particular, the notion, beloved by many Bible thumpers, that that which we call God requires a blood sacrifice as due payment for human foibles. (Hence, of course, if you follow this line of thinking, Jesus stepping in as the killee.)

I’ve had some pretty good talks with that which I think of as god in my lifetime, and have never gotten a sense of its being that sort of blood-demanding tribal chief. But the language of the film’s analogy got me to thinking. (I’ll note that I was a great fan of the books as a young adolescent and read them all, despite my mild annoyance at the way Lewis glibly and callously wrote Susan out of the story toward the end.)

When young Edmund, one of the four principle Narnia kids, screws up big time, the bad witch points out to Aslan the lion (the Jesus counterpart) that there is “deep magic” in the land which dictates that Edmund’s life/blood/what-have-you now belongs to her, and it is for this reason that Aslan arranges to sub for Ed on the chopping block.

This is why allegorical stories can be a fine thing. They give you another vista on an archetypical theme. So in Narnia, the thing that’s going to get you is deep magic. What might that translate into in the universe as we know it? I honestly cannot envision a deity standing there, foaming at the mouth, as it demands blood be spilled because you stuck those lifesavers in your pocket (without paying) when you were seven. If the archetype of sacrifice works for so many people of religion there has to be a less primitive explanation.

I would suggest this: The human is a rare beast in its existential self-awareness. I have walked through (for example) the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem and felt the weight of human guilt on my shoulders, and I’ve no doubt that many of my species have also experienced similar guilty pain at their awareness of the depths of atrocity to which people can sink. If the sacrifice archetype works for you maybe it’s because you yourself need someone to say “It’s ok, you can let go of the guilt,” and maybe, if you’re of the Christian persuasion, the person of Jesus fills the bill. I think we sear the red A for Accountable into our own forearms with a hot iron. Nobody named God condemned you to death.

Personally, I have no particular conviction that Jesus was actually thinking of this stuff when he was executed for what looked pretty much like political reasons. But I have a sort of sense that like the ten avatars of Vishnu, god can fill a great variety of needs, and for someone in need of salvation theology, god can be that shape.

bleeping beep

It is one of the inexplicable but inarguable givens of living in this house that things won’t work right. For the last few months it has been (among other things) the refrigerator. This is a big hulking hulk of a fridge. You could not go to Sears and find a reasonably priced model to fill the gap it will leave if I give the executive order for its condemnation. I do not like it beeping at me. There are enough things that beep at me. The oven beeps when you set the timer. It beeps when it finishes preheating. The dishwasher more than beeps. It sings--in beeps--when you open it. It sings--in beeps--when you change its settings. It beeps when you start it. So I really don’t need to be beeped at by the fridge. Because there are, as I’ve stated, enough beeps, and because it’s trying to alert me to the fact that it doesn’t work. Shut up I tell it. I don’t want to know that the fridge is running at 43 F and the freezer at 16. I push buttons (which beep) and insist that it go back to 37 and 0. It doesn’t believe me and beeps back. I turn it off, hoping that a brief respite from electricity may make it forget that it was acting up, and it will return to normal fridge behavior when I push the on button (to much beeping) again. That actually worked for a couple months. Today it just beeps. Three beeps actually. beebeebeep. A third repair company is coming Thursday. The first two didn’t fix it right even though they thought they did. I doubt if a more clever muse of circuitry will follow repairman #3 in the door. I do not want to buy something that would fill the gaping hole that fridge would leave. But I might have to.

Looking

I really did it for myself anyway. Pulling pics out of photo albums that date back to 1984--ones that he was in. Pics which I could see him in and remember what 100% looked like and felt like. I squished into the chair beside him, and showed them to him. I had the stupid magic idea that he’d see himself and things would clear up like the fog of amnesia lifting. He said, “That’s your brother.” I said, “No, that’s you.” He said, “Who’s that? Becca?” “No, it’s Olivia.” He remembered lots of things, but not, I guess, what it was like to see through those eyes in the pictures. “Thanks for showing me those,” he said.

Great house--free to good home

In my dream I suddenly found myself to be the free and clear owner of a lovely, clean, light-filled house (for the purposes of the dream, my sister had given it to me--but I don’t think that was relevent in the interpretive sense,) and the thing is, I didn’t want it.

Why am I supposed to want this house,I thought to myself, and what am I supposed to do with it? I was quite certain that my real life was somewhere out there--as in not in that house--and staying there, keeping it, would be an impediment. But not to worry--it was just a weird dream.

games and monsters

Of course I want to run away from the beast. It’s not a pretty animal. And it’s certainly not a member of a species I ever had thoughts of engaging, or would have wanted to engage had I known about its existence. But, the bummer--if it is a bummer, because bummer may just be the word I’m applying...one girl’s bummer may be another girl’s dream come true--the bummer is that it’s mine, and I’ve got to figure out how to wrestle it.
Or, to completely change metaphors midstream--What if you spent 20 years playing a really cool game of Parcheesi, and they suddenly yank the gameboard out from under the pieces, slip in a Monopoly board instead, and insist you go on playing as if nothing weird had happened? (So far my best guess is you learn to play Monopoly, even if you never really liked it.)

good stuff to drink

Here’s an ailment that doesn’t play fair: Parkinson’s disease. So now they’re telling me that fewer years of education and a smoking habit lower your risk? I don’t think the news will induce me to stop studying Spanish, but perhaps I’ll jog the stairs with greater diligence, and...

...keep up the coffee habit. It’s encouraging that something so decadently addictive has Parkinson’s inhibiting properties in addition to its growing reputation for being chock full of antioxidants. Yum to coffee. And cheers to the nightly glass of vino.