And give thanks I shall try to do today.
Thanks.
14 years ago
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Fade into the back
Lately I have been noticing a trend (in my own life) towards the subtle and the muted. I feel a great urge to return to the pure and the natural (or, at least, my interpretation of pure and natural). Subtle, muted, pure, and natural are piggybacking on the simple and minimalist lifestyle I have been trying to craft for myself.
There is something very freeing about colors that fall into the back, neutrals that seem both luxurious and, well, natural (like it's something we are meant to enjoy, that we know we will enjoy), and soft, muted shades that sometimes feel like a second skin. They feel so natural, like it is no big deal to be so drawn to them, yet so new, like rediscovering an old favorite.
It is a glorious discovering.
And my love for natural fibers seem like a natural, usual, appropriate affair. Linen, cotton, silk, cashmere. They are my lovers. My natural-born lovers. My birthright. And it feels like a nasty cheat when I am near synthetics: polyester (ouch), nylon (ew), rayon (OMG), and this thing they dare call "stretch" (just kill me).
This simple-subtle-minimal-faded love affair evokes states of rest and nourishment. Yearning and hungering only for that which is provided by mother nature. Mentally and emotionally fed by calm soothing shapes, shades, and gestures.
I feel as comfortable in hazy browns and grays as I do in my blues, greens, and teals. Something sumptuous. Something right. Something that is like the earth and the water that we cannot live without.
Glorious. indeed.
There is something very freeing about colors that fall into the back, neutrals that seem both luxurious and, well, natural (like it's something we are meant to enjoy, that we know we will enjoy), and soft, muted shades that sometimes feel like a second skin. They feel so natural, like it is no big deal to be so drawn to them, yet so new, like rediscovering an old favorite.
It is a glorious discovering.
And my love for natural fibers seem like a natural, usual, appropriate affair. Linen, cotton, silk, cashmere. They are my lovers. My natural-born lovers. My birthright. And it feels like a nasty cheat when I am near synthetics: polyester (ouch), nylon (ew), rayon (OMG), and this thing they dare call "stretch" (just kill me).
This simple-subtle-minimal-faded love affair evokes states of rest and nourishment. Yearning and hungering only for that which is provided by mother nature. Mentally and emotionally fed by calm soothing shapes, shades, and gestures.
I feel as comfortable in hazy browns and grays as I do in my blues, greens, and teals. Something sumptuous. Something right. Something that is like the earth and the water that we cannot live without.
Glorious. indeed.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Collecting 40 cents Ma'am
The oddest thing occurred to me today. Well, not really me. My sister, since she answered the door first. The postman came to our door to collect 40 cents for postage due on two envelopes.
It all started a couple weeks ago when I was bidding ferociously for vintage stamps. Just a little something to perk up my mailings. I bid and won two auctions from the same seller for vintage stamps from around the world.
They took a long time to come, but, today, they finally arrived. Why it took the USPS an entire week to send a first class envelope from Nevada to California is beyond my comprehension. It wasn't heavy. It wasn't a real package. It was just a thick envelope of old postage stamps. Go figure.
My biggest surprise was seeing the postman at our door asking us for 40 cents. That has never ever happened to us before. In the past, if any mail was missing postage, it would be sent back to the sender before I'd ever receive anything. Is this a new policy?
It doesn't seem like an effective policy change. It slows down the mail carrier's route by having to walk up to the door, ring the doorbell, wait for anyone to answer the door, and then collect money, before continuing his/her route. And what if the mail I am paying for was junk mail? Or unwanted, unsolicited mail? Why would I pay for that? Shouldn't it be the sender's responsibility to affix proper postage? Gee... am I now able to send mail to friends with a 5 cent stamp and let them pick up the rest of the tab? Doesn't seem like the best way to do things.
However, at the end of the day, I'm not too upset over losing 40 cents. I'll live. It's the irony that kills me and gives me cause to laugh. My package of postage stamps lacked the necessary postage to get to me. Postage for postage! Get it? Oh, how it kills me still. :)
It all started a couple weeks ago when I was bidding ferociously for vintage stamps. Just a little something to perk up my mailings. I bid and won two auctions from the same seller for vintage stamps from around the world.
They took a long time to come, but, today, they finally arrived. Why it took the USPS an entire week to send a first class envelope from Nevada to California is beyond my comprehension. It wasn't heavy. It wasn't a real package. It was just a thick envelope of old postage stamps. Go figure.
My biggest surprise was seeing the postman at our door asking us for 40 cents. That has never ever happened to us before. In the past, if any mail was missing postage, it would be sent back to the sender before I'd ever receive anything. Is this a new policy?
It doesn't seem like an effective policy change. It slows down the mail carrier's route by having to walk up to the door, ring the doorbell, wait for anyone to answer the door, and then collect money, before continuing his/her route. And what if the mail I am paying for was junk mail? Or unwanted, unsolicited mail? Why would I pay for that? Shouldn't it be the sender's responsibility to affix proper postage? Gee... am I now able to send mail to friends with a 5 cent stamp and let them pick up the rest of the tab? Doesn't seem like the best way to do things.
However, at the end of the day, I'm not too upset over losing 40 cents. I'll live. It's the irony that kills me and gives me cause to laugh. My package of postage stamps lacked the necessary postage to get to me. Postage for postage! Get it? Oh, how it kills me still. :)
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Tom, or so I think
There is a man who lives in the open garage of a multi-story brick-laden house that is a part of "The Co-op"* (better known as the Berkeley Student Cooperatives, doing business as the University Student's Cooperative Association). And there he lived for years and years and probably many more years before.
Sometimes he comes out to play. Sometimes he likes to talk. Or give a hand when he sees someone in need. Always he says "Hello, good day" with a smile.
He is an odd sort of man. His only belongings (as far as I could tell) were the clothes on his back and the old black radio. He listened to that thing all the time, or, at least, all the times I passed by. Music, I believe. It was always music. Sometimes the news or a talk show. It is hard to recall. I have been away for a year and it is hard to recall.
At the first house council**, or maybe it was the second?, during my freshman year of college, after being on my own for an entire week, I was told this story about a man who resides next door, occupying a part of the garage whose doors are never shut. I was assured he was a kindly folk who meant no harm but also warned that a few people have had some issues with said man. Mostly minor scuffles over whose responsibility it was to maintain the trash/recycling area that nestles between Davis and Sherman***, or silly things like a verbal fight. Who knows.
A singular man. His keep at Davis primarily falls on his promise not to interfere with the members of the house and to keep to himself. He is allowed a cup of water and a member may make him a PB&J sandwich upon request. He must humble himself to invisibility, to not be in anyone's way or cause disruption. And yet his occupancy at the old brick house has far surpassed any student, for it is the tendency of students to come and go and -- upon completion of studies -- leave.
It may be his long residence at Davis Hall that explains his sense of place. Why he seems to think it is his job to take care of the trash/recycling area. And general maintenance of the small area that separates Davis and Sherman.
He is a nice sort of man. A very nice sort of man. One who never lets a passerby go without a "Hello" and, more frequently, a "How are you?" Whenever possible, I said I was good. Though, admittedly, sometimes I walked by with not a reply. Shameful. I know.
My very first encounter with this man -- or one that I can recall -- was when I attempted to heave a heavy bag of trash over the side of the large trash receptacle parked outside in the parking lot. Without realizing it, a man had come to my rescue. You see, I was neither tall nor of the physically strong nature (not in my arms, anyway) and I always, always had trouble heaving heavy bags of trash or recycling over the receptacles. Sometimes a shiny golden lock was employed and, though I tried, unsuccessful I was with the unlocking. He was always there to offer advice. More likely he would tell me to leave the trash bags on the ground and, getting up from his chair walking towards me, he'd get to it.
A singular man indeed. An existence, I wonder, if he'd led for a very long time. I should have taken some time to ask him about his life and how he came to live in the open garage of the multi-storied brick-laden house that is Davis Hall, or why he never fails to be kindly and gentlemanly.
Tom is his name, or so I think.
(My memory fails in a most disappointingly way.)
Correction: Merklin is his name. Spelling has not been confirmed. But Merklin is his name.
_______
* The Co-ops is a mostly student-run non-profit organization that provides low-cost housing to university students in the Berkeley, CA area, though one need not be a student of the University of California at Berkeley.
** House Council is essentially a house meeting for all the members of an individual housing unit (there are apartment complexes in the co-ops too). Generally bi-monthly, these meetings are a place for the members of a house to discuss important issues, resolve conflicts, and discuss any changes, purchases, policies that may affect the entire house.
*** Davis (Hall) and Sherman (Hall) are two of the houses in the co-op. They are neighboring houses. Sherman is all-women. Davis is co-ed.
Sometimes he comes out to play. Sometimes he likes to talk. Or give a hand when he sees someone in need. Always he says "Hello, good day" with a smile.
He is an odd sort of man. His only belongings (as far as I could tell) were the clothes on his back and the old black radio. He listened to that thing all the time, or, at least, all the times I passed by. Music, I believe. It was always music. Sometimes the news or a talk show. It is hard to recall. I have been away for a year and it is hard to recall.
At the first house council**, or maybe it was the second?, during my freshman year of college, after being on my own for an entire week, I was told this story about a man who resides next door, occupying a part of the garage whose doors are never shut. I was assured he was a kindly folk who meant no harm but also warned that a few people have had some issues with said man. Mostly minor scuffles over whose responsibility it was to maintain the trash/recycling area that nestles between Davis and Sherman***, or silly things like a verbal fight. Who knows.
A singular man. His keep at Davis primarily falls on his promise not to interfere with the members of the house and to keep to himself. He is allowed a cup of water and a member may make him a PB&J sandwich upon request. He must humble himself to invisibility, to not be in anyone's way or cause disruption. And yet his occupancy at the old brick house has far surpassed any student, for it is the tendency of students to come and go and -- upon completion of studies -- leave.
It may be his long residence at Davis Hall that explains his sense of place. Why he seems to think it is his job to take care of the trash/recycling area. And general maintenance of the small area that separates Davis and Sherman.
He is a nice sort of man. A very nice sort of man. One who never lets a passerby go without a "Hello" and, more frequently, a "How are you?" Whenever possible, I said I was good. Though, admittedly, sometimes I walked by with not a reply. Shameful. I know.
My very first encounter with this man -- or one that I can recall -- was when I attempted to heave a heavy bag of trash over the side of the large trash receptacle parked outside in the parking lot. Without realizing it, a man had come to my rescue. You see, I was neither tall nor of the physically strong nature (not in my arms, anyway) and I always, always had trouble heaving heavy bags of trash or recycling over the receptacles. Sometimes a shiny golden lock was employed and, though I tried, unsuccessful I was with the unlocking. He was always there to offer advice. More likely he would tell me to leave the trash bags on the ground and, getting up from his chair walking towards me, he'd get to it.
A singular man indeed. An existence, I wonder, if he'd led for a very long time. I should have taken some time to ask him about his life and how he came to live in the open garage of the multi-storied brick-laden house that is Davis Hall, or why he never fails to be kindly and gentlemanly.
Tom is his name, or so I think.
(My memory fails in a most disappointingly way.)
Correction: Merklin is his name. Spelling has not been confirmed. But Merklin is his name.
_______
* The Co-ops is a mostly student-run non-profit organization that provides low-cost housing to university students in the Berkeley, CA area, though one need not be a student of the University of California at Berkeley.
** House Council is essentially a house meeting for all the members of an individual housing unit (there are apartment complexes in the co-ops too). Generally bi-monthly, these meetings are a place for the members of a house to discuss important issues, resolve conflicts, and discuss any changes, purchases, policies that may affect the entire house.
*** Davis (Hall) and Sherman (Hall) are two of the houses in the co-op. They are neighboring houses. Sherman is all-women. Davis is co-ed.
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