Sunday, December 6, 2015

the smirk

As so often happens, it begins with thoughts disjointed.
  • to each our own bullshit (pardon the word, you know which one);
  • all these people coming out of the past—I blame the 40th high school reunion, which I did not attend, but “blame” is the wrong word;
  • I am enjoying this gauzy kind of contact through Facebook, of all things, with people from grade school, but I still think Facebook is a little weird and a little suspect, and the fact that it draws me in, maybe that should worry me;
  • sometimes I feel as if life picks me up, puts me in a trolley car, shoots me down a track and I get distracted by the view;
  • an online conversation with a grade school classmate that led me to
  • a mulling on the topic of teasing, then
  • a play with viewpoint;
  • and imagine my dismay when I discovered I have been smirking for the last 52 years;
  • if my dad were still around I’d ask him to cut my hair again (and not complain) because I kind of like that first-grade style, which my mom called a “pixie”;
  • and certainly all this mucking about in the past is a little suspect, but still, I’ve come to like the perspective it sheds on the here and now;
  • because I do have all my class photos from first through sixth grade and one night I pulled them out, suddenly remembering which box they were in, and I looked at them and tried to remember;
  • someone reminded me that I used to sing “What’s the Story, Wishbone?” to Buster, substituting  “Buster” for  “Wishbone,” of course, and I had forgotten this though I remember the song quite well as it pops in and out of my head all the time, and I do remember perfectly well singing “Good morning, good morning …” from Singing in the Rain to both Queenie and Buster, and even to Goldie, the cat, if he were around, just making up a lyric or two especially for him, and remembering that I sang “Wishbone” to Buster made me laugh, and realizing I’d been given a memory lost to me by someone kind of lost to me but not really, obviously, made me cry, and one can never have too many memories of Buster, and how quickly these emotions play;
  • then, incredible: another shooting? How many?
  • “peace on earth”;
  • and, by the way, this list is not chronological;
  • Facebook is so eerie;
  • what if I am the same person now as I was then, which means the same then as now,  and we each have this one true nature, this part of us that is us, intrinsic to our being—wouldn’t it be cool to know that true nature, your true nature, without a doubt, without apology? Seriously? Without apology?;
  • and I get such a kick out of Josie’s tail;
  • doesn’t that make you wonder? Doesn’t it all make you wonder? No, I see it doesn’t. No wonder left in this world at all;
  • back in the real world the cinnamon beeswax moose candle is popular, contending for holiday best seller with perennial favorite little pine cone;
  • and when did all these days after Thanksgiving get Such Important Names like Black, Cyber, Giving, Small Business, Give It Up Already?
  • and, while I am at it, why is Josie so independent on afternoon walks along the river and elsewhere and otherwise so clingy and dependent?
  • lately there have been a few books that weren’t reaching me chapter one, chapter two, and I would wonder if maybe I would forget this book, not read it after all, then later find myself in chapter whatever, unable to get out;
  • will super glue blow up in the microwave?
  • and then there is Elliott, who thinks just because it is raining and snowing and snowing and raining and then a little foggy that he cannot go out, must stay in and go crazy;
  • because cats come from a slightly different world;
  • and now the days are sunny and mild and he is still acting a little crazy, kind of like May, and he and Josie go outside and nibble on grass;
  • isn’t it all just a matter—a problem, perhaps—of identity?
  • can’t help wondering what I am smirking about;
  • the definition of smirk is “ to smile in a conceited, knowing, or annoyingly complacent way.” (See Webster’s New World Dictionary, Second College Edition);
  • so what is it that I know? That I think I know? Will I tell? Or just smirk?
  • except there is that scene from The Andy Griffith Show when Andy’s trying to figure out why the Carters and Wakefields are feuding so he can patch things up between them and get them kids married cuz them kinds are in love, just like Romeo & Juliet, and so Andy just goes ahead and asks Mr. Carter and Mr. Wakefield why y’all shooting at each other, and the answers are: Cuz he’s a Carter. Cuz he’s a Wakefield;
  • and, you see, this is one’s own bullshit;
  • and I really think “the holidays” bring so much weird stuff out and lordy, what gets stuffed in …
Enough.

I try to fathom the world, myself, fall short.