Greek-ish Chorus

I mentioned a couple of days ago on Facebook that my life needs a Greek Chorus. I think I was off the mark a little bit. I think that what I really need is to get my Greek Chorus into line. At the moment, they are more like what we see in the musicals Evita and Mamma Mia. Rather than a chorus talking in unison, I have a disparate group of voices chatting higgledy-piggledy. They follow me through my days, adding color and commentary to my life. When I'm feeling down they are there to echo my emotions, a sort of musical call and response. When I'm happy, we're dancing around the room, bowing to each other and lifting our glasses. If I can't sleep, a heap of them are sitting atop bed, discussing formulas for spreadsheets.

If I'm dizzy from my meds I have a very laid back guy saying, "Dude". Sometimes I'll be doing something – something productive, let's say – and I start to get dizzy. If I'm at home I generally take a nap, but if I'm out and about there's not nap to be had. I sit still a moment and think, what was it I was doing? Then we're all in the car together, happily singing along, ABBA blaring from the speakers, driving to Jerry's Artarama to get art supplies. Or, I'll be enjoying a nice cup of coffee and think about a beautiful tree outside the window. I'll consider that it is older than the building I'm sitting in, and suddenly there's all this chatter about what the neighborhood was like 50 years ago when it was all trees and fields, and how did they select this one tree to stay and lean on the railing of the porch, when they razed all of the others to make the shopping center. Sitting next to me, head-to-head, is a handsome Hispanic man and we're looking at each other knowingly, singing about the tree and how good the drawing is going to turn out. Then I take out the art supplies that I keep with me and begin drawing. Others chime in about the depth, and the need for shade in this one area and how this area is flat and they sing (in chorus) when I begin to make it better. And then the railing coming toward the viewer and taking a sharp turn, running parallel with the window I'm looking out of. Just kind of sketched in there, not detailed like the ♪ BEAUTIFUL TREE that is just outside my window! ♫♪♪ And the beautiful drawing that I'm adding to my journal, and I'm going to be able to retire from work and write and draw and a ♫ NEW EARNIE – A Rather Earnest Painter ♪ ♫ ♪ is coming into his own in a coffee shop in this wicked little town of Austin, TX.

Not quite the award-winning piece of art that my Greek-ish Chorus would have me believe, but they lost interest after about 20 minutes.

Other times they mock me. Why am I still working at this job where everybody is so mean? (In reality, the people I work with are delightful.) Why am I still sitting in front of a company computer marking time until I die? What happened to those wild dreams, when we were soaring and laughing and the Rather Earnest Painter was going to have it all? So, what happens now? Don't ask... any more. You made your bed, now lie in it. You have three novels started, you have writing skills that you've put into a drawer. At work I sit at my desk while, dancing around me, men and women sing about what I've done with my life, and more to the point what I haven't. Where is the success that would let me own a home in two towns, a place to get away and a place to come home to? Or, did I forget to try?

All in all I have to say that I like this group of singers, this Greek-ish Chorus, better than the one I used to have... or the way they used to dress? Does one lose the voices in one's head, only to be replaced by new voices? Or, do the voices age as we do? Anyway, I used to have voices taunting me about futility and ending my life. That group wasn't quite as much fun to be around. Even then I used to dream at night about being in a musical – a happy, upbeat musical that was my life and life was good. In the darkest times my chorus was there, somewhere, just out of sight, encouraging me, singing to me. I'd lose track of them and then they'd come to me in my dreams. Now, having moved beyond that other shady crew, I have with me a lovely, if somewhat bewildering, Greek-ish Chorus.

And, we're gonna make it after all...

Quiet Time

March 23, 2013,

Coffee in the morning. It seems so natural, so right. This morning, in particular, it felt good. It's been a long week, a lot going on. So, last night I tried to go to bed early (it didn't work) and this morning when my internal alarm clock woke me up at 7 o'clock I went ahead and got up. My cat was bugging me for her moist food, anyway. I got dressed and went to corporate coffee shop.

A little over ten years ago I had done a Very Stupid Thing and I was having to work a lot to make up for it. I had a day job, Monday through Friday 8 to 5, then I had an evening job delivering pizzas. Pizza delivery was evenings during the week and on Sunday. It was mid-shift on Saturdays. I was off from that job on Mondays, but I didn't have an actual day off. I was at one job or the other, or both. It might seem like I would sleep a lot on Sunday just because I could. But, there was something delicious about getting up early on Sunday mornings, going to a coffee shop, still a little tired mentally and physically, and drinking coffee among other people. I mean, if I had been asleep I wouldn't be conscious of those precious hours to myself. I needed to be awake. And being around other people was particularly nice. Not necessarily people I knew – almost pointedly not people I knew. I could sit and read and watch people go about their happy lives and think about a day when things would be better for me. It was a good time (in my life) to be introspective and heal from the inside out. If I hadn't had those problems, then I wouldn't have had those Sunday mornings by myself – I wouldn't have appreciated them like I did, anyway. It's like a story my father used to tell me about a ranch hand who, every morning, put a rock in his shoe. When asked why, he said that the only joy he had in his life was taking that shoe off in the evenings.

So early this morning I got up and went to a coffee shop. It wasn't exactly the same – things are much better for me now in general. But, I have been working a lot these last few weeks and the stress level has been rather higher. So, I enjoyed, I savored sitting by myself in a coffee shop full of people, reading and watching people interact. Being alone, but around other people. Reading. Being awake and conscious of the fact that I wasn't at work and didn't have to be. Nursing inner bruises. I'm glad I can appreciate these moments still.

eArnie

That's the kind of crazy I am this year

August 27, 2012

Here I am sitting on my patio, drinking coffee and reading. My cats hung around, ate grass, now they're lounging on the concrete under the stairs. It's really nice. I like that I decided to stop spending so much time and money in the corporate coffee shop. I like being home.

Or, do I? I'm sitting on the patio. It's 90º. I'm drinking hot coffee. Yet, I'm outside because that's just the kind of crazy I am this year.

I've always kind of unconsciously avoided being at home. I mean, this dates back to the first time I had an apartment. Odd that I'd pay money every month for a place I didn't want to be. For a while I couldn't sleep on my bed; I could only sleep on my sofa. I don't know. Perhaps I'm claustrophobic. I don't entirely understand it, but it seems to be going away slowly, on its own.

Slowly.

But, here are a couple of pictures of my patio/porch.

Anastasia keeping an eye on things

Not Quite Right

7/11/2012

This afternoon two coworkers asked if I wanted ice cream. I mean, do you even need to ask? Before we went to the break room Donna was picking cat hair off my shirt and Annette asked if I had my shirt on inside out. I said no, it was just some cat hair. Annette pointed out the buttons and Donna put her finger on the seam between the torso and the sleeve and sure 'nuf the shirt was on inside out. But oh well; let's get ice cream.

So, I got home and decided that I want coffee. Two days ago I made the mistake of calculating how much money I spend by going to the corporate coffee shop every day, so I proceeded to make my own coffee. I ground the beans for 15 seconds and poured the grinds into the reservoir. Something seems slightly amiss, like in the back of my mind, but not enough to pay attention to. Then I got the coffee cup, filled it with cold water from the refrigerator because I read that using cold water makes better coffee. I poured the water into the Mr. Coffee coffee maker and saw sludge swimming around in it, then I noticed the coffee filter, which was still white. As in, there were no coffee grinds in it. I had put them into the reservoir and then poured the water right in on top of them and presto I had cold sludge in a very difficult part of the machine to reach.

It's what I get for calculating how much I spend a month at corporate coffee houses.

eArnie

Review of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book made me happy.

I was sitting around a coffee shop wishing I had a Very Good Book to read yesterday (or was it the day before, after work?) when I stumbled across this book on my Nook – not for the first time. It sounded trite and unbearable from the title, but based on the reviews I decided to read the sample. Then I had to buy the book.

Whichever day it was that I bought the book, today is Sunday and I haven't done very much this weekend. The book is not long, but I read slowly and I did have other commitments, like eating and sleeping. However, I did very little without longing to be reading this book. The further into it I got the more I wanted to do nothing but sit and read. (Granted, sitting and reading is a favorite pastime for me anyway.) So, I woke up this morning and put off all obligations and read. Then I got hungry so I went to the same coffee shop and bought a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee and read more. I had to back up a little and re-read some parts for a few reasons: 1. I didn't want to be distracted from my reading while eating, 2. I had read at night while I was incredibly sleepy and I might have not been paying as much attention as I could have and (most importantly) 3. I was getting dangerously close to the end.

This is possibly the worst review ever written, because so far it has been about me and not about the book. But, grant me that it has been about my reaction to the book.

Now, about the book. It is lighthearted. It is simple. It's a chick-flick in book form. It is very possibly predictable. If you know this going into it then it won't surprise you. I'm not generally a fan of chick-flick books but this one was different.

First of all it had many stark details of life in Great Britain just after the war. I cannot answer for how accurate those details are, but they felt real. Second, the characters are delightful, even the jerks. They're not two-dimensional; they are real people. The tight-lipped Adelaide Addison, who tries to put Juliet off of the Literary Society, is believable. She's not just an allegorical representation of prudishness. I could feel that there was something behind the severity – lack of opportunity to marry; a strict upbringing maybe. I wasn't without sympathy for her. And, the witty language in the letters (it is an epistolary novel) grabbed me from the beginning. My favorite character is the eccentric Isola Pribby who is spoken of as a witch (she does make potions), as somebody to be tolerated and one gets the feeling that people don't taker her entirely seriously. Her own letters demonstrate that while she might be an eccentric woman and oblivious to the way others feel about her, she is not without feelings and insecurities.

Quotes I enjoyed.

Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true. (This is used to promote the book. One reviewer used it to demonstrate how poorly the book was written, but in context it comes from a letter written by a woman to a man so you have to take it for what it is. It's a pleasant turn of phrase.)

I laugh. (Written by the severe Adelaide Addison about the Literary Society. It's simple, but it expresses so much – absolute disdain wrapped up in a two-word sentence.)

I admit that Isola needs little encouragement to bang her hammer. (This is the first description of my favorite character – the beginning of her portrait.)

I deny everything! (I just want the opportunity to use this.)

Dr. Stubbins pronounced that you alone had transformed "Distraction" into an honorable word — instead of a character flaw. (I like that flaws can be honorable when given the opportunity to express themselves constructively.)

This book will not shake the world. If you want it to you will be disappointed. However, if you want something to hold your attention, make you think about what horrors people are capable of bringing upon each other, entertain you and make you cry (I admit that I was wiping tears from my eyes in the coffee shop this morning) then I do highly recommend you read this book. It was almost unfortunate that I had to go to a party this afternoon. I wanted to sit around and savor this book, to brood by myself about it. And I feel strangely compelled to write the author a letter.

Thank you for taking the time to read my rambling review. I hope you found it helpful.

e A r n i e


View all my reviews