Day 442: Bears and Butterflies

the lopiest

I have failed in my commitment to blog daily. This is one thing I shall relish in the future, when my current situation changes. There are many things I will miss and yearn for. There are many things I will mourn. This is not one of them. Greater blogging ease will be one of those things to focus on. 

There have been many things to inspire my gratitude in the last week, or however long it now is since I dailied (not dallied... dallying is what I HAVE been doing, not what I haven't).


I am. A film. http://iamthedoc.com/
I liked that. Even though, as one reviewer pointed out, it's easy to eschew financial concerns when you have all the money you need, I don't think that's quite the point. I think part of the point isn't to actively not make money, but to do things not just in order to gain wealth and status, but to satisfy a greater craving. Doing what you love; doing what gives you satisfaction through benefit to others too, and collaboration with them. Living more simply. Making sure your happiness doesn't hinge on having a certain kind of house/car/food processor/TV. 

Of course, none of this is news, but one thing there are some delicious moments in this film. There's some cheesy-as-all-shit power ballad action too. That's a pro or a con, depending on your taste, of course. One of the gifts is Desmond Tutu's face. It's a thing to be observed with joy. His wide, wide eyes. His intensity, softened with a playfulness. 

I came out of watching the film feeling that I wanted to live in a community. It's not the first time I've had this urge, of course. Me, grumpy, self-preserving, so much in need of space, living in a community? Maybe. Maybe it could just work. Maybe I'd learn some of the humility and service that is, in fact, close to my core, but which I don't always do. I still have a fantasy of rearing children and dogs surrounded by trusted and interesting adults with different viewpoints and a level of love and care for other people's children (and pets)... a broadening of the nuclear family. Love in a softer, less exclusive sense. I want exclusive too... 

Oh, the thrill of being loved by a person who can't imagine anywhere better to be than in my arms, in my presence, even though I'm annoying and so full of flaws. And a broader love too. I think it's possible. Where, how, when? I don't know. And who knows - in two years' time, I may be writing a blog about how to have a better lawn than your neighbour, how to have a bigger fence, how to get your kids into a better school so they'll have a better life, better prospects, more opportunities. We just don't know, do we, but if I do, I suspect that perhaps you won't be a regular reader... or will you?


Butterflies. Not sure where that came from, but they're cool, aren't they? There are some big, dark, speckeldy ones around at the moment, and some little flitty white ones and similarly dip-diving black ones. They're probably not black. They're probably dark brown, or purple or something, but my, they're fast. 

plain old running?

The woods were pretty on Monday. Very pretty, very green, full of rich smells (some more ripe than others). It was nice to move, to walk, to talk. It was nice to catch a bus home. Speaking of public transport, a mistake led to moments of cherished contact last night. Be careful where your attention goes, that's what I say. There are often many people getting off the train at Roxboro. It's a hub, if you like. And a massive car park. People get off the train and into their cars, or the cars of waiting loved ones, and drive god knows how far to their homes. I wondered, as I got on, if everyone always makes it off the train... well yesterday, I found out. No. There was a lady in front of me when the doors began to close, and one behind me. She wasn't confident throwing her body between the closing doors. I would have been, but I couldn't get past her. She may have saved me a nasty injury.

potential loper

So, the doors closed. We vaguely pressed buttons and we failed to make the doors change. The train pulled out. We discussed, all incredulous. We stopped the guard, who was regally unapologetic and unhelpful, but in such a way that it was actually quite funny. The only bit of help he did offer us, we failed to respond to. He suggested that instead of getting off at the next stop (in the middle of nowhere), we get off at the one after (possibility of cabs). Well, we didn't listen. I found out from google maps yesterday that we were on a little island, really, REALLY in the middle of nowhere, and in the middle of a river. When asked, he told us the time of the train coming back the other way. Half an hour later. Given that there were no more than 5 minutes between the stop we missed and the one we got out at, and after failing to get through to the mothers/sons of the two ladies who actually live here, we decided a cab was a good idea. 

tooth-beary - lope-worthy?

We flagged down a car, who very helpfully called a cab for us. We waited for the cab. The lady in front was Indian, married for 33 years. She had enormous teeth with enormous gaps in, glasses, and from what I could understand, a PhD. She 'mentioned the war' - how my people had occupied her country for far too long. I agreed. I apologised. She said, reluctantly, 'It's not your fault'. She was very interesting. She talked about marriage and education and commitment. She talked about resistance. She wasn't hugely big on listening... the lovely (and fully trilingual) Russian girl with us had a few stories too, but most got cut off. She had a mellifluous voice, as soft in Russian as in English. She was confident, young, dark-haired and full of sarky remarks about Russian politics and culture - and the Quebecois rail system. I liked them both and I liked the ease with which we three strangers collaborated, decided, organised ourselves and took action.

coyote on a train, oh yeah

So... the taxi came. I asked how much. The driver said $35. What??? For a five-minute trip? Five minutes if you drive all the way along the train track, maybe. If you take the roads, we discovered, you have to first leave the little island one way, onto the mainland, then find a big road that will take you to the next bridge that will take you back onto the island you live on. And this past not only the station you missed, but the one before it. Then you need to curl around to get on to the road that will take you past two recently-visited stops and back to the station, pulling in just in time to see... the train you could have waited for pulling into the station. It was $30 in the end, just under. Thank you, taxi driver, for over-quoting. Feels so much better that way round. 

I learnt a lot. And I enjoyed the camaraderie of strangers. 

things that might lope

I think perhaps I'm not reading enough... or not enough of the kind of things I should be/could be reading. Rich, juicy novels where people pick words that make them smile or salivate. I read far too many 'how to' books, self-help, mindfulness, non-fiction of a fairly basic kind. I want to be bathed in language and to remember how to spell. 

lope or not, this guy is cooool

I resort to a dictionary only when I've tried as many ways as I can think of to spell a word and it still doesn't shed its little red skirt. I'm compiling a list of words I looked up (or worked out). On it, so far are: precedence, lope and languorous. Lope was a definition, not a spelling. I thought it meant a slow, languorous movement (fuck... I just had to look up languorous again - just 'up' on the next line, but still... languorous, languorous, languorous... that's it). Some dictionaries say it's a 'long and bounding stride'. They claim to be the world's most trusted dictionaries. Do I trust them? not so sure. Glad I can just whip up a frenzy of definitions with my fingers and Tim Horton's internet connection, though. That's good isn't it?