...the desire to hide away, to sequester, to lock the doors - literal and metaphorical - and leave the world behind. Even better: on a train, non-stop, to everywhere: private sleeping car, big windows, warm blankets, hot coffee - full of chicory, caramel, and milk - when I want it, Captain rubbing my feet, helping the circulation. Want my days full of books and papers, music and videogames, sleep and seclusion. I love the Road, but these bones need warmth and soft, still and easy. This mind needs quiet and peace, solitude and slow.
It comes: the mania, the depression, the inevitable emptiness as the year dies. I'm never sad to see a year go; hope persists because change can happen, and change comes with time, with movement. The year must die for the next one, frost melting for the soil. The year must pass away to make room for the next. Hope needs room.
I need hope. I need quiet. I need...so much.
12.15.2009
12.08.2009
...ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?...
...because when it comes to Home, I can't be silent, ever. Going this weekend, admittedly for some sad business, but my bond with Her is so great, even my sadness is overcome.
My sister is returning to NY for the holidays, to spend them with her husband. He's in his residency at a hospital up there and can't take off for the holidays, so she's going to him, which any couple in love can appreciate. But it means we won't have her for the holidays, and that makes me sad. But: one more huzzah before she goes - the immediate family is all going down to NOLA to see her off at the train station. The parents are driving her, and my brother and his wife are riding with the Captain and me. We're staying in a hotel down near the Quarter, near the train station, off Canal.
The caravan of cars (all two of them) will leave Friday afternoon. We'll check in to the hotel, unload, go grab some dinner, and then head to Christmas in the Oaks. Saturday we'll see the sister off, have breakfast at Cafe Du Monde, wander around, see my aunt in LaPlace, then head home. It'll be a brief visit to the City Beneath the Sea, but any visit is worth it, any time I can spend there is precious, heirloom of the ages, anchor of the manic spirit.
...let me see the lines on your hand...
It's supposed to rain at Home this weekend, but I don't care. It doesn't matter; just being there will be enough, and being there in the winter, in the cold and the wet - never is She more beautiful than then, except at Mardi Gras, when She loses all abandon.
But never am I more happy than being in the City Park Botanical Gardens during "Christmas in the Oaks," when the Gardens are draped in Christmas lights, and it's cold, and the sky is amethyst. If I have the Captain with me, it's fantastically better, but being alone there, too, is also wonderful.
This week will be difficult - all I can think about is going Home this weekend. I doubt I'll get much work done...
...but I'm going Home, if only for a little while, and that makes everything okay.
My sister is returning to NY for the holidays, to spend them with her husband. He's in his residency at a hospital up there and can't take off for the holidays, so she's going to him, which any couple in love can appreciate. But it means we won't have her for the holidays, and that makes me sad. But: one more huzzah before she goes - the immediate family is all going down to NOLA to see her off at the train station. The parents are driving her, and my brother and his wife are riding with the Captain and me. We're staying in a hotel down near the Quarter, near the train station, off Canal.
The caravan of cars (all two of them) will leave Friday afternoon. We'll check in to the hotel, unload, go grab some dinner, and then head to Christmas in the Oaks. Saturday we'll see the sister off, have breakfast at Cafe Du Monde, wander around, see my aunt in LaPlace, then head home. It'll be a brief visit to the City Beneath the Sea, but any visit is worth it, any time I can spend there is precious, heirloom of the ages, anchor of the manic spirit.
...let me see the lines on your hand...
It's supposed to rain at Home this weekend, but I don't care. It doesn't matter; just being there will be enough, and being there in the winter, in the cold and the wet - never is She more beautiful than then, except at Mardi Gras, when She loses all abandon.
But never am I more happy than being in the City Park Botanical Gardens during "Christmas in the Oaks," when the Gardens are draped in Christmas lights, and it's cold, and the sky is amethyst. If I have the Captain with me, it's fantastically better, but being alone there, too, is also wonderful.
This week will be difficult - all I can think about is going Home this weekend. I doubt I'll get much work done...
...but I'm going Home, if only for a little while, and that makes everything okay.
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