A Question:

22 Feb

Is an engagement anniversary a happy event or does a faint sense of tragi-comedy permeate the occasion?

The jury’s out. Vote in.

Leprechaun

16 Feb

a.k.a. Amen to Angst

I am jealous. Of happy people. Not the ones who have it all, or are beautiful, or accomplished. But the ones who find it so easy to live in a permanent state of thrill, who pluck strains of joy out of the ether and plant them in their backyards. The ones who insist on being euphoric. Who slip into contentment like silk over skin.The ones who don’t have their radar trained on discomfort, pick up on melancholy or carry a goatskin bag of pathos straining to burst. The ones missing a depressive gene. Who take curry on ceilings and the loss of ways of living in their skip-hopping stride.

And have the temerity to smile through it all. And make me look at them warily and mouth “How?” while their limited processing capacities, mediocre life and sorry choices mock my wellsprings of angst. I can hear the taunts & chuckling all the way home and their sunshine gleams behind me, an even deeper shade of green.

But my sliver of glee dwells in knowing that you’re the one person in the world who will absolutely understand. And I toss happiness one last pitiful glance and speed-dial your number.

~~~

Updated to add: The Science of Lasting Happiness, an article in the Scientific American magazine.

Pondicherry

9 Feb

When you look at me

I want you to see

a thrush, a hedge, a

garbage can.

The wind, the mansions

and cotton candy;

the bells, the lights,

the smooth-paved street.

Anything, oh anything,

but a five foot nine inch woman

whose eyes you will never

meet.

Of Food & Thought

6 Feb

Poetry is a tar drum

hollowed out and injected with

treacle.

It’s Been A Long Time Since 22

3 Feb

The Boy is currently in the U.S. of A. My old home. The one of mixed feelings and an avalanche of memories. The one I gift-wrapped my twenties for and offered with all the good faith only a 22-year-old who’s never left home can muster. The one that flung me in the air, picked me up, let me down, set me free, tied me forever. And four years after I left on that flight from Logan, I plead the same pointless questions on repeat: How is it there, tell me… How is it, the vibe… How is it, the feeling… How same, how different… knowing full well that my former Europe-dweller can only see it with the eyes of a frequent visitor while I crave a resident’s perspective. Specifically, my own.

You see, it’s not as simple as buying a ticket and hopping across the pond. Some things are like the unclaimed parcel you know not to touch. So you may wonder, and hanker, but leave well enough alone. And ask questions about the weather and the food and how many pairs of shoes he’s getting you. While you sneak onto Mapquest and roll the names of New Jersey townships off your tongue. Parsipanny, New Brunswick, Cherry Hill. Moorestown,Trenton and Belle Mead. Signboards from another lifetime, because hey, you were an upstate New Yorker, hicktown Pennsylvanian, too-proud Bostonian and Jersey’s for the desis with their H4 wives. And then you listen to John Mayer singing this

(via MM) and something forbidden unfurls deep inside and you know the marshland has begun and you’re one foot in.

The Boy comes back late tonight. And I’ll ooh and aah over my shopping list. But all I’ll be wondering is how it is there… tell me… How is it, the vibe… How is it, the feeling…. How same, how different… And some part of me will be glad not to know.

Solitaire

3 Feb

I am

alone.

None in this town

know me.

Delighted to return the favor, I

know my body would

become native

were I to die of joy.

I cling to the hour.

(A leech, a vine, a woman besotted)

Privileges such as these

transgress my existence only

infrequently.

Sir Round Sound

31 Jan

You’d be the delight of an entire cannibal village.

~The Boy, extolling the virtues of my roundness while sneaking in a snuggle.

Me, I’m not impressed.

Know Thy OJ

28 Jan

So 202 posts down the road, I’m suddenly curious. Do you know me at all? Have you stashed away nuggets of trivia that you didn’t realize you knew? Thing is, when I read a blog, it’s hardly ever about the person behind it. If the writing doesn’t hold me, I’m out of there. Funny then that I’m asking you to do precisely what I don’t. Humor me, though. Put it down to Leonine narcissism. (Or my delight at social media.) There, I answered one question already. Head over:

http://urtak.com/u/OJ

Click.

Let’s play.

Hello Doggy

25 Jan

Credits: OJ and her Canon PowerShot SX120 IS. And Dog. Who was patience personified and almost begged to be photographed.

I Do, I Do-I Do-I Do

23 Jan

Like Handel said in the last act of The Messaiah….

~A text the Boy just sent to indicate he’s finally received his new passport. Just for this, I’d marry him.

(The answer, by the way, is Hallelujah.)

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