Letters

"We boast that we belong to the nineteenth century, and are making the most rapid strides of any nation. But consider how little this village does for its own culture....It is time that villages were universities...."
— Thoreau, Walden (Everyman's Library version, p. 96-97)

Letter from grade school friend yesterday. She called me Pajamas, her old nickname for me. Her handwriting looks astonishingly similar to grades 6/7.

I wrote her back, pulling all the stops: fountain pen, Eaton paper, about 5 stamps of varying values on the envelope: pomegranate, silver coffeepot, teapot, Navajo necklace with turquoise. Feels more like art than using the computer does, for sure.

Back in the old days — which I'm desperately trying to revive in small ways here and there, like letters – this was the way distant friends & I kept touch. Back when I had time. I would put on some music, lay down on the floor or sit at the mechanical typewriter purchased for 3 bucks at a yard sale, and write. Go out to class, or work, or a meal, and come back and write some more. Excerpt a book I liked or was reading at the time. I haven't managed this kind of one-to-one mastery with email yet.

The Aneurysm, Part IV

[photo by Mia McCullough]

Who sees inside from outside?
Who finds hundreds of mysteries
even where minds are deranged?

See through his eyes what he sees.
Who then is looking out from his eyes?

— Rumi, Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks, p. 94



This is all a lot of news to take in.

Were I on the internet I would feed my obsession that way. The internet is awesomely fertile ground for fueling obsessions, whether they be well-intentioned or not. Instead I’ve gotten the facts by speaking to live people and have put phone calls out to both Portia and Graham, two people I’ve wanted to be in contact with, because they both worked with E. and me.

In trying to reach Portia, Rob picked up the phone — early morning basketball player, master birder, out in the woods in Western Washington — and I heard his voice. A long lost voice to me yet it only feels like a month since I spoke to him.

I heard his voice, and could picture the white beard, the ever-apologetic look on his face. Could picture him in the tall pines on his land, and in his woodlot.

Haven’t heard back yet from either Portia or Graham but expect I will in the next couple of days.

Taking off the internet

[photo by son, age 6]

"Attention is the ability we have to discriminate and to focus only on that which we want to perceive....By using our attention we learned a whole reality, a whole dream." — Don Miquel Ruiz, The Four Agreements

Still January 6, 2009

There has been a sense that I was in touch with the wrong people, people I should not be having contact with — not necessarily because they were unhealthy alliances, although some were perhaps at times. But because they are not the people who are right here, right now, or important enough (family, friends) to warrant the amount of time spent corresponding.
*
Realizing that as far back as my mothering.com days — and what a godsend that was when the boys were very little — that the presence of in many ways the ‘perfect’ online community had the unintended effect of making me less appreciative of the people right there. Back then life right here, right now was at times feeling unbearable.
*
Taking off the internet has been like taking off the wrong glasses. Here I am.

Getting Real

"I think I love society as much as most, and am ready enough to fasten myself like a blood-sucker for the time to any full-blooded man that comes my way. I am naturally no hermit, but might possibly sit out the sturdiest frequenter of the bar-room, if my business called me thither." — H.D. Thoreau, "Visitors"

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

The experiment continues. I find that I’m still wanting to over-crowd my time. The internet use was only a symptom.

Today I felt like one of Timothy Leary’s people: Drop Out, Tune In. I feel like I’ve dropped below the din and there’s a whole reality going on down here.

I feel like I’m becoming more real to myself again and haven’t felt this way in a long time. Been playing my fiddle more, talking to people more, appreciating more the people in front of me, and who are important to me: family, old friends, neighbors.
*
Today I was talking with Janey on the phone, about various things, including wool — and had to sign off to get the boys. She offered to bring her spinning wheel over when we were back.

She did, and let the boys try it, and I got the carding brushes put together, and started to learn to card. Susan, my neighbor across the street who's a fiber enthusiast / spinner / knitter, must have seen us from her upstairs window because she showed up with dishes from a meal I brought her last month when she had surgery, and a batch of delicious Mexican anise cookies. She came in and upon seeing our project asked if I had an extra set of carders. She and Janey hit it off.

I felt a bit overwhelmed, tired as I was from a long first day back taking the boys to Sierra's (their teacher 2x week), ready for some down time. But how could I say no to such needed and wonderful impromptu community. It’s only day 6 and already my dream is coming true. What will the other 359 days of this year bring?
*
Tonight met with Angie, Janet, and Mandy about the fate of our homeschool coop. We are going to do some outdoor activities and I had the kids’ newspaper idea come back up again. We are going to get an issue out with little articles, an ad or two, and lots of artwork.

The fiddle is at my beck and call all of a sudden. I’ve been playing again. Thinking again more clearly. The thought-habit of narrating my actions as if I were posting a Facebook status update has faded into the background and something else is emerging. What is that---uninterrupted, unedited thought?