Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
An Aesthetic Life
Last night at work an older couple came in for refills of tea. They had a giant stack of old bags but only ended up buying three teas:
8 oz of Malaysian Highlands
8 oz of Flowery Yunnan
8 oz of Empire Keemun
When I was ringing them up we were chatting about the cold weather and I asked the woman if she needed a bag, and she said no, they lived in the area. She continued to say how nice it was to finally be settled in one place after traveling so much earlier in their marriage, and how wonderful it was to live in such "an aesthetic time of life." I can only assume her definition of an aesthetic life meant enjoying her family, her home, and her favorite tea.
What does it mean to you?
8 oz of Malaysian Highlands
8 oz of Flowery Yunnan
8 oz of Empire Keemun
When I was ringing them up we were chatting about the cold weather and I asked the woman if she needed a bag, and she said no, they lived in the area. She continued to say how nice it was to finally be settled in one place after traveling so much earlier in their marriage, and how wonderful it was to live in such "an aesthetic time of life." I can only assume her definition of an aesthetic life meant enjoying her family, her home, and her favorite tea.
What does it mean to you?
Monday, October 12, 2009
Lazy Monday
Let me tell you a little secret about my day. Rarely do I actually utilize my free days to do nothing. Being lazy is not in my bones, but today, IT WAS. I slept in until 9:00, read my book for about half an hour in bed, and then fell back asleep. I woke up around 11:00, decided I should really take a shower, and then left the house for about an hour to run a couple errands (very leisurely, mind you). After errands, I watched T.V. and wrote thank you cards for another hour and a half and then climbed BACK into bed to watch something on Hulu...which I did for about three hours... My dinner was a short trip through the McD's drive-thru and then it was back under the covers where I currently am. I guess a warm bed and snow on the ground is all it takes to make me pretty much immobile.Life is good.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
hardly a fan
Wow, I am an epic failure at blogging lately. Domestic bliss is keeping me busy, I guess.
In the midst of MN's recent success in the sports department, I will post a poem that I have saved in Word under "football" even though I would hardly call myself a fan.
Standard Play
When I was in fourth grade, my neighbor
taught me to throw a perfect spiral.
He was a father to four girls and liked to drum
his fingers on the steering wheel when he drove us
to early morning orchestra.
I knew he had always wanted a son, so I figured my brief
tomboy streak was enough to earn his attention.
"All you have to do is line your fingers up with the laces, like this," he said,
demonstrating and handing me the football.
It felt rough and awkward in my nine-year old palm
as I placed my fingers along the braced, white grooves.
A row of oversized tennis shoes popped into my head.
"Now, bring your arm back and keep your eye on the prize."
He ran down the slight hill into our yard and turned to me,
his hands forming an imaginary target for me to aim at.
I drew my arm back, steadied my gaze, and released the ball.
I exhaled and watched the air between us bend,
aware that that perfect arch had realigned his perception
of what it means to throw like a girl.
-slgc
GO VIKINGS! GO TWINS!
In the midst of MN's recent success in the sports department, I will post a poem that I have saved in Word under "football" even though I would hardly call myself a fan.
Standard Play
When I was in fourth grade, my neighbor
taught me to throw a perfect spiral.
He was a father to four girls and liked to drum
his fingers on the steering wheel when he drove us
to early morning orchestra.
I knew he had always wanted a son, so I figured my brief
tomboy streak was enough to earn his attention.
"All you have to do is line your fingers up with the laces, like this," he said,
demonstrating and handing me the football.
It felt rough and awkward in my nine-year old palm
as I placed my fingers along the braced, white grooves.
A row of oversized tennis shoes popped into my head.
"Now, bring your arm back and keep your eye on the prize."
He ran down the slight hill into our yard and turned to me,
his hands forming an imaginary target for me to aim at.
I drew my arm back, steadied my gaze, and released the ball.
I exhaled and watched the air between us bend,
aware that that perfect arch had realigned his perception
of what it means to throw like a girl.
-slgc
GO VIKINGS! GO TWINS!
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