Sunday, March 4, 2012

Hi darling, a beautiful golden hour, right at five, the first of the day, as I'm up here in the aerie the world is in warm color again, like stepping suddenly into a different universe, after this cold gray wintry day. I have just come back from the Berkshires, a jaunt to Great Barrington, driving through snow-covered mountain passes, where I caught, on its second go-round, a matinee of Hugo. Which I enjoyed very much, glad I managed to catch it, and especially so on the big-screen. Beautifully done, rich, and treasure-filled: Scorsese certainly knows how to tell a fluid narrative, each scene flowing seamlessly one to the next, with many surprising twists & turns. Impressive. Far more so, I think, than was The Artist, which was good - but slight in comparison. My lunch date and I last week wondered if there was some strange subterranean Franco-American diplomacy going on, through the (over?)-feting of that film. He had seen Hugo, I hadn't, and so now we're on the same page - as far as that movie goes.

It was a satisfying spin, too, in that I scored my favorite French camembert, Le Chatelain, at a gourmet grocery there, and later back in Hudson, a perfectly fresh artisanal baguette. The combination -- redolent cheese squeezed between torn end of divinely chewy, crunchy bread -- oh my word -- one of my favorite snacks ever, intoxicatingly dreamy - and that's without wine.

Sweetheart, you may be wondering if my own blog has 'jumped the shark.' I sometimes wonder that myself, never more so than when I'm listening to the liturgy at church. Truly I'm an admixture of the sacred & the profane. I hardly know what to make of it myself. Now, sometimes I'm a little over the top, I know, and without being "conventionally," piously moral, in that "make sure you color within the lines because it's all about the next life" way -- well, I don't know, somehow I think that Jesus would have (or has) a sense of humor, that being "good" and "following" him can take on a myriad of forms, some of them at times mischievous. So I'm mischievous, and a little boundary-busting, and a little irreverent, and frank about my desires, and admitting to loneliness and the longing for loving companionship. But none of that seems "bad" to me, though it may shock some. No, to me what is immoral, evil, my personal take-away from listening carefully to a service, and making sense of it as it relates to me, is people who are -- faithless to others, banal in their blithe constant lying, callously & indifferently picking up & dropping people --- in short, I see the New Testament mostly as a railing -- well, maybe that's not the right word, but response, an alternative -- to highpowered, highrolling, power-mad, ego-driven predatory narcissism. End of Sermon, for the time being. And so, though in my writing (and perhaps in some of my other actions) I may flaunt some conventions (not to compare myself to Nabokov -- but as did Nabokov) -- I feel comfortable and entitled and not hypocritical to participate in the service, and to think about it, and feel it deeply, even if on my own terms, in my own way, and not spoonfed into a treacly watered down next-to-meaningless bland tapioca. No -- my life is about living -- I'm just not going to trample on others along the way.

Dearest, how are you, I hope wherever you are, you are having a fine time, enjoying yourself, enjoying your life. You're a great guy, I'm glad we found each other, even if we can't be together. I don't know. I'm sitting here wondering what to type next. I'm wearing my E.D. "superwoman" outfit, sequined midnight-blue & black paisley top, cashmere cardigan, tight jeans. My fingers type. The burst of golden light has faded, now it's getting towards dusk. I enjoy driving, obeying all the speed limits (no more tickets for me), driving down curves, along hills & dales. I like Bob Schneider's song Honeypot, I think it's called. He croons just to me, is what it feels like, when I'm alone in the car and he comes on. Wow. And next week's another week, a whole 'nother week before I have to sit down at the organ again. Which I did today, and it went fine, though I felt that I stumbled a little this morning, more so than I had last week with a much bigger crowd. There was another guest clergyman this morning, a different one, and I think I felt a little nervous with him. He sang with a wonderful full, strong voice, and I was plowing through one of the hymns in my way -- and I've always been a bit shaky on strict rhythms & meters -- and I think I was rushing (inadvertently) some notes, at ends of lines, that should have been held longer --- but I was off & running to the next line -- only the clergyman with his strong, operatic baritone was a few steps behind me -- and in this patriarchy of the church (!!)-- OMG, this upstart of an organist is flouting some sort of norm of how "Let us break bread together on our knees," is supposed to go...

Well, fortunately there are other hymns, even if I didn't quite get that one right. No matter -- right?

Love you, sweetheart. Listen, wherever you are, I hope you've had a wonderful weekend and will have a great week to follow. Who knows what might happen -- and I mean wonderful things - smiles, kisses, fresh loaves of bread, sunshiny days, days -- whether it's sunny or not -- increasing in length by leaps & bounds each day --

so reluctant to let you go, as though we were in a train station, with the train pulling away
many kisses
waving my handkerchief
blowing kisses
love you I mouth
I'll send you a postcard tomorrow, sweetheart, when I've arrived

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