Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Hello darling, up in the aerie relaxing, wondering what to write, after an hour of chores, moving about the kitchen tidying, and putting together dinner, roast chicken, corn, and a summer-squash gratin, that is, slices of yellow zucchini layered in a ceramic baking dish, each layer topped with a white sauce of sauteed onions, milk, a knob of melted gruyere (forgotten about and finally used up), and parmesan. It's very humid, a bit oppressively so (though in comparison to the sultry-climed burg where you live you might find conditions here comfortable). I went for a walk in the morning, doing my usual big loop around here, zigzagging along roads that zigzag parallel to various creeks that run, and join, and divide again, around here - it really is quite a dynamic landscape, what with the tributaries, ravines, and hills. On my walk I encountered a small army of roadworks crews, dump truck after dump truck from county and surrounding towns, pouring new asphalt on an obscure side road that gets scant traffic, and one of the thus gainfully employed public works guys (all guys, all white I think) was making himself useful by directing traffic with a fluorescent orange flag (the all of a car or two that passes by in these quiet, offpeak parts), and as I walked past him he jokingly said, I want to see your ID. And I responded, not without humor, but darkly, we're not in a totalitarian state - yet. I know, I'm a little heavy, the guy was just trying to make a joke - and yet, it didn't strike me as funny, it was all tinged with that good 'ole boy Homeland Security-funded firetrucks & dumptrucks that reinforces this kind of small-town big-machined authoritarianism. I find it annoying.

Also on my walk, at my faster pace I passed an older woman pushing a stroller, a grandmother (though not so old) with her grandchild, I've seen her a few times before, without the stroller, and as I passed by she said to me, marveling, my how far do you walk? I replied, vaguely gesticulating a circle in the air, I do a big loop. I zoomed past, on the other side of the road from her, and as I went by I glanced at the stroller, offhand friendly curiosity to glimpse the baby. And was so surprised to see a little toddler boy staring at me - and his face was convulsed with anguish or grief. The little child was crying, but in utter silence - just this rictus of heartbreaking pain. I was very surprised, and looked at the little boy as I kept walking, with great sympathy, and in instant cooing tones - oh, baby what's the matter baby? The grandmother was at first confused that I had said that - what? And then she glanced at the child and saw for herself, with apparent surprise, how upset he was for some reason, and tended to him. It was just a very poignant moment, this thoroughly unexpected glimpse of the youngest child's sentient yet voiceless pain - not surreal exactly, but highly expressionistic. Not that I mean to turn it into art, that this particular child's way of expressing his unhappiness was so silent and at the same time so forceful and unmistakable. The vision of his sorrowful pained face, his eyes looking straight into mine, stays with me - and so I write. I hope the child is all right, perhaps he isn't, quite.

And that's all I have really, for this evening, darling. I'm feeling a bit off, due to the humidity. Other random thoughts? Just that I did an abbreviated workout to Charlie Rose again, and am feeling just discouraged, as a woman, that he has so few women on his program. I mean, I haven't done a formal study of course, it just seems that his guests are often predominantly or exclusively male. Obviously there are exceptions - but should the inclusion of a woman be an "exception"? I don't know why I'm feeling so sensitive to it - perhaps because it's one of the few shows I watch, at least lately, on a regular basis. I like to see a mix, to reflect the diversity in the world that we actually live in. But his show is hardly representative. Actually, he confuses me a bit. He seems a disciple of Bill Moyers on the one hand, (with all the compassionate values that that affiliation to me implies) but very Ralph Lauren Purple-Label establishment on the other. Can you have it both ways? Well, he seems to, but the latter seems to prevail. Why do I watch? Really, I should do my workouts at noon, with Tavis Smiley for the hour. Because Charlie Rose has that dickwad (sorry) Mark Halprin on all the time, a "journalist" who doesn't even bother to hide his bias - today in some gushing appreciation of wunder uberbitch Michele B he said something about "the left will scream..."

Yeah, the left is screaming right now, inwardly, like that poor little child, fallen angel. I hope he's all right.

Darling, signing off. And I will try to do so on a nicer note, as befitting a love letter. So I hope wherever you are you've been having a nice or at least tolerable day, and I look forward to meeting up with you later tonight, dearest Minotaur - in my dreams, and after. XOXO

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