Stuff. Stuff. Who wants stuff?
In the two decades (plus a bit) I've lived on this world, all I've accumulated is stuff. Knick-knacks, clothes, books (!! who can possibly have enough?), pictures, scraps and assorted crafting materials, etc.
What good does it do when we're gone? Or, more immediately, when we're moving?
I'm moving for the umpteenth time in my life, and now more than ever I realize how much I--any of us--accumulate. (It doesn't help that I'm a pack rat!) Oh, oh, oh. Stuff. Will I ever rid myself of it?
And can I ever bear to part with any of it?
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Things I have learned, 1
There is no point to storing things under your bed, unless it is boxes. When you're little, it's different. I used to love to climb under my bed. Seriously. I got a kick out of diving under there, pushing myself between the bed springs and the dust bunnies, and just relaxing in the little hidey-hole that the sheets and blanket make. Now, what's the point? There isn't. I won't be squirming around in the dust anytime soon to grab something out from under my bed. If it's under there, it's because it's not going to get used for a lo-o-ong time.
Life in general
I think about life in general quite a bit, which is sort of strange, I guess. Like, what is the meaning of life? Except that the question doesn't bother me so much as it did those philosophers years ago and probably even today. Why wouldn't there be life? Maybe I sound cocky, but I can't help it. I feel we're here for a reason, too, but aside from making the world a better place, trying to figure out what our role is and working it to the best of our ability, I feel like life just is. So. Period, end of subject?
No. I'm afraid I'm much too verbose for that. Even though the darn "E" key keeps sticking on me.
It starts off and on. I think of life cycles, you see. I go to a funeral, I go to a wedding. That combination has been happening a lot, for me.
The most recent funeral was for a friend, an old co-worker, who had was 29, had been married a week before, was in the prime of her life. The most recent wedding, for two friends who I had known separately, who met after both had met me, who will be experiencing life and death together in such a different capacity than I would have thought. Living with each other, probably having children, growing old--like their parents have, like mine are. The circle of life continues.
Not for me--not yet.
There is a great little video circling the Web, of a couple who danced in during the wedding procession. The bride planned it all out. It's been called viral, it's so wide-spread, these days. I saw it, and fell in love.
My family didn't like it so much as I did.
"It's a metaphor," I told them. My brother looked at me blankly, while my parents laughed.
"They're dancing is their life. Their dance brought them circling closer and closer together. Now they'll dance on into the future." It might not have been worded as well as that, but isn't that the beauty of writing? You can go back and reword what you said, so that in the future, the past is as pretty as a poem.
Perfection isn't life. But the process of attaining it--perhaps that's a part of life that we don't consider all too often.
No. I'm afraid I'm much too verbose for that. Even though the darn "E" key keeps sticking on me.
It starts off and on. I think of life cycles, you see. I go to a funeral, I go to a wedding. That combination has been happening a lot, for me.
The most recent funeral was for a friend, an old co-worker, who had was 29, had been married a week before, was in the prime of her life. The most recent wedding, for two friends who I had known separately, who met after both had met me, who will be experiencing life and death together in such a different capacity than I would have thought. Living with each other, probably having children, growing old--like their parents have, like mine are. The circle of life continues.
Not for me--not yet.
There is a great little video circling the Web, of a couple who danced in during the wedding procession. The bride planned it all out. It's been called viral, it's so wide-spread, these days. I saw it, and fell in love.
My family didn't like it so much as I did.
"It's a metaphor," I told them. My brother looked at me blankly, while my parents laughed.
"They're dancing is their life. Their dance brought them circling closer and closer together. Now they'll dance on into the future." It might not have been worded as well as that, but isn't that the beauty of writing? You can go back and reword what you said, so that in the future, the past is as pretty as a poem.
Perfection isn't life. But the process of attaining it--perhaps that's a part of life that we don't consider all too often.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Inspiration, or lack thereof
I have a friend who tagged me in a note on Facebook with a very interesting idea--pasted below.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK boys and girls. I need some help. I thought being unemployed would be a perfect time to work on some more artwork, but strangely, I have found that living in one the most artistically cool cities in the world is not improving my inspiration.
I do have one idea, but I need your help.
I would like to do a series of paintings that are inspired from lines or phrases out of a literary work. Can be a poem, a line from a book, music lyrics, quote, whatever. Think similar to explodingdog.com, but with less robots.
So basically, I want you to think of the titles of my painting, and then I will paint it! sound good? great!
send away!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, lately I feel like I've been working toward working with people. And I would like to help her. I feel like it would make me a more artsy person. But here's the deal--I'm not sure I'm artsy. Or able. Or inspiring.
I recently decided that my life is very similar to that of George in "It's a Wonderful Life." I, too, desire to travel. I, too, am anchored to my family--I am very close to my parents and my brother, and I love them very much, and I love being in the same city as them. Mom and I do have a lot of fun together, and we are friends. But sometimes I wonder if that's holding me back. Not that George was held back. He thought he was, but he was the, ahem, inspiration for many and many of the citizens of that sorry old town. Heavens to Betsy, he kept the world from turning into Pottersville!
Yes, I'm a huge fan of the movie.
I thought to myself, well, at least in the future I will realize that I have made a difference, and I ran off down the hallway of my parents house shouting, "Zuzu's petals! Zuzu's petals!" Just because I liked it, the way it felt, the feeling of elated understanding.
Till my brother reminded me, yes, George had done wonderful things...and I hadn't.
Not to turn this into a sobfest for my lack of intricate connection to this world. Not to make this mean I haven't done anything. I know I've talked to some people, cheered some people, affected some people in some small way--it's practically impossible not to affect someone, when we live in society, when we live in a community. But I have not saved a boy who would save a platoon, I have not affected a community in some large way, I have not kept Pottersville from the world. So what have I done?
I've written stuff. I've wanted to write for the longest time, and I've wanted to share for the longest time. I can't even do much with my own blog, so that's obviously not going so well. This was to turn into my legacy...instead, it's become more of a hobby with dreams of a future.
I've loved my family and my friends. Everything about them has affected me. I've hoped that I have also affected them.
I have worked to excel at work, to succeed financially as best as I could at this moment, to prepare for my future. That's a biggie, for me. I'm always worried, especially now, that I will never be able to retire. Which is quite funny, as I'm something of a work-a-holic. Though not that badly of one.
I've given back. Or tried to. Done some work for the community, taught and mentored younger children, etc. Taught Sunday School. To three-year-olds. Need I say more?
So, I've done something, and small though it may be, you never know the impact. I suspect that's the case for everyone, really.
One person's thoughts and manners affect others, as well. And you never know what will happen, what will occur.
So to my friend, I think I will post that moment of inspiration that rises and falls through my mind, regardless of what anyone says or what I view my accomplishments as, to this date.
Zuzu's petals!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK boys and girls. I need some help. I thought being unemployed would be a perfect time to work on some more artwork, but strangely, I have found that living in one the most artistically cool cities in the world is not improving my inspiration.
I do have one idea, but I need your help.
I would like to do a series of paintings that are inspired from lines or phrases out of a literary work. Can be a poem, a line from a book, music lyrics, quote, whatever. Think similar to explodingdog.com, but with less robots.
So basically, I want you to think of the titles of my painting, and then I will paint it! sound good? great!
send away!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, lately I feel like I've been working toward working with people. And I would like to help her. I feel like it would make me a more artsy person. But here's the deal--I'm not sure I'm artsy. Or able. Or inspiring.
I recently decided that my life is very similar to that of George in "It's a Wonderful Life." I, too, desire to travel. I, too, am anchored to my family--I am very close to my parents and my brother, and I love them very much, and I love being in the same city as them. Mom and I do have a lot of fun together, and we are friends. But sometimes I wonder if that's holding me back. Not that George was held back. He thought he was, but he was the, ahem, inspiration for many and many of the citizens of that sorry old town. Heavens to Betsy, he kept the world from turning into Pottersville!
Yes, I'm a huge fan of the movie.
I thought to myself, well, at least in the future I will realize that I have made a difference, and I ran off down the hallway of my parents house shouting, "Zuzu's petals! Zuzu's petals!" Just because I liked it, the way it felt, the feeling of elated understanding.
Till my brother reminded me, yes, George had done wonderful things...and I hadn't.
Not to turn this into a sobfest for my lack of intricate connection to this world. Not to make this mean I haven't done anything. I know I've talked to some people, cheered some people, affected some people in some small way--it's practically impossible not to affect someone, when we live in society, when we live in a community. But I have not saved a boy who would save a platoon, I have not affected a community in some large way, I have not kept Pottersville from the world. So what have I done?
I've written stuff. I've wanted to write for the longest time, and I've wanted to share for the longest time. I can't even do much with my own blog, so that's obviously not going so well. This was to turn into my legacy...instead, it's become more of a hobby with dreams of a future.
I've loved my family and my friends. Everything about them has affected me. I've hoped that I have also affected them.
I have worked to excel at work, to succeed financially as best as I could at this moment, to prepare for my future. That's a biggie, for me. I'm always worried, especially now, that I will never be able to retire. Which is quite funny, as I'm something of a work-a-holic. Though not that badly of one.
I've given back. Or tried to. Done some work for the community, taught and mentored younger children, etc. Taught Sunday School. To three-year-olds. Need I say more?
So, I've done something, and small though it may be, you never know the impact. I suspect that's the case for everyone, really.
One person's thoughts and manners affect others, as well. And you never know what will happen, what will occur.
So to my friend, I think I will post that moment of inspiration that rises and falls through my mind, regardless of what anyone says or what I view my accomplishments as, to this date.
Zuzu's petals!
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