stars in my hands

take it in. give it back. deglobalize.

you do, indeed, take yourself with you wherever you go December 15, 2011

Filed under: Gourmet Spinster,Uncategorized — Amanda McRaven @ 1:17 pm

It’s raining in New Zealand. This is ok. It’s summer and the town is popping with old friends all saying “welcome home!” so I reveled and curled up in all that goodness. But then a ghost put it’s cold mouth over mine. A ghost of intimacy. A man who still lives here. Which was something I could lose sight of when I was there. Now here is not the here it was for us. Once. So all the hereness is colored by that. That foray into something you knew wouldn’t work but you were caught up in here’s impetuous sister: here and now.

And why, always, no matter what, no matter who, no matter how much time passes, and how many blessings are sent, does it always feels like crap when you hear that he is with someone new? You don’t love him and you wouldn’t wish yourself on him. But you don’t want to be alone. And that is where you always end up. And him not alone just makes your alone stand out in sharper relief. Against the sheets of rain.

But you chose that. Alone is where you would rather be than somewhere that feels too tight, too lopsided, too undefined, too rhetorical. You own this alone. Good. Yes.

This is the rain talking. Rain and airplanes. That has been my week.

Single white female ISO sunshine. Here. Wherever i am.

 

 

 

Peculiar December 3, 2011

Filed under: words — Amanda McRaven @ 11:56 pm

The Peculiar Ending of December” is the article on dictionary.com right now. I hope that December does have a peculiar ending. I should like to experience more things that are peculiar. Not just strange or weird.

December

c.1000, from O.Fr. decembre, from L. December, from decem “ten” (see ten); tenth month of the old Roman calendar, which began with March. The -ber in four L. month names is probably from -bris, an adjectival suffix. Tucker thinks that the first five months were named for their positions in the agricultural cycle, and “after the gathering in of the crops, the months were merely numbered.”

If the word contains an element related to mensis, we must assume a *decemo-membris (from *-mensris). October must then be by analogy from a false division Sep-tem-ber &c. Perhaps, however, from *de-cem(o)-mr-is, i.e. “forming the tenth part or division,” from *mer- …, while October = *octuo-mr-is. [T.G. Tucker, “Etymological Dictionary of Latin”]

 

On Being a Third Wheel

Filed under: guitar,john denver,roommates,winter — Amanda McRaven @ 11:44 pm

Last night my housemate and I, whom I also consider one of my closest friends, did something we haven’t ever done. I played my mediocre, soulful, verisimilitudinous version of guitar and sang lead while she sang harmony. Amazing Grace. Country Roads. Both Sides Now. Sloop John B. That was it really. We just looped those four. But, it was shape shifting, those harmonies. At the neighbors house while they listened aimlessly, confounded by the old tunes. It was just me and my friend telling a story neither one of realized the other knew.

“Your low notes are really lovely,” she said. I can’t sing harmony, so I am usually unremarkable when I’m in a group. I had nodules as well, so for years my voice was just a wispy grunt. And until last night, I hadn’t sung or played in nearly a year. But, always, when I sing, what I imagine comes out of me is a rich, husky alto. And sometimes it does.

I held on to her words all day, the way she said it – open and slightly surprised. And held on to how she closed her eyes and slipped her soprano into the chords. And how we were sitting perched in the corner to make our own space for singing.

Tonight she came home with her boyfriend and it was just like most nights here. They cook and laugh and kiss and offer me a portion — mostly soup. That’s what she eats. And I eat it. It’s delicious. But I leave them at the table and I sip it on the couch and invent something I have to do on my computer. I duck the strange inclusions that he lobs at me from the kitchen. He answers my rhetorical questions and makes irritating puns. This is all okay. I have learned to let be. I spent too many months letting him drive me (what felt like literally) crazy.

But what I am missing right now is those harmonies. That buried all the hatchets J and I have thrown at each other. That filled a winter night. With no room for anyone else.