A Man Refusing to Paint, Brian KershisnikWhen I began this blog I thought I knew me pretty well. Nothing could have prepared me for fairly steady diligence on my part. I could have told you I'd write once, fully intending to be back faithfully the next week but flaking out and only showing up every once in a while, for a month or so, then erratically once a month for about four months and then in a panic of self-loathing and good intentions twice a year, then chuck the blarmed thing on the hoarded heap of failures I aggressively avoid examining. Or even knowing about anymore.
Here are a few things I've learned.
*As my preferred food presentation is saladesque or stir fried and so is my preferred writing style.
*I really like poetry even when that poetry is actually a song lyric. Verse, I suppose I should call that.
*I really really really love to tell stories in which I figure prominently. I really do. A lot.
*I am going to try to be precise, to nail it, even if I need 20,000 words to get there.
*I will edit for a long, long time. I will not get it right.
*Even when I'm talking about my own self in a near-compulsive fashion and spending 20,000 words to get me from A to B, it's surprising how people reading will just go ahead and draw a line sending me on from B on to C (and then phone to tell me so), even if all along I had supposed it perfectly plain if not embarrassingly obvious that I myself would have headed off toward another letter altogether. Or stopped at B.
*Kanosh is not like the rest of the world.
*The rest of the world can be understood by staring at it through memories of my long-gone Kanosh, if I stare long enough. Sometimes people think I'm sleeping during these important times, but I'm really pondering in a staring sort of way.
*If someone tries to interact with me while I'm writing I have to eat them. Regardless of how weak, needy or defenseless they may be. Most especially if they're the painter.
*I misspell the same words over and again and there are more of those than I can rest easy about in my mind.
*Spell check is sort of provincial and needs to get out more into some tougher books.
*And, (brace yourself), life can interfere with writing. Never saw that one coming, did you? I know I didn't. Of course this isn't a surprise, shouldn't be a surprise, but I am SO surprised because I've never regularly, faithfully pursued anything (religion aside) over such a sustained period other than breathing, eating and reading so I sit and gaze in wonder at all the ways I can be prevented and the reasons therefore like I've got a crush on them. I would have bet ready money I'd be prevented simply by the drag of my own laziness and general disinclination to work or to do anything at all hard.
But it turns out that's not what keeps me away. Other stuff, not personal failings, do; and their number is three.
Naturally, I assumed you'd be fascinated, too.
#1 Thing that Makes Me Not Able to Write.
Christmas.
I wrote a Christmas letter, posted it on my blog and envisioned myself taking important me-time thereafter throughout the holidays to post cheery ongoing season's greetings with cute or thoughtful pictures (psyche! early days) and tangy, trenchant but appropriately spiritual observations. I think I do remember excusing myself at the end of the Christmas letter for the rest of December, just to be safe (though I'd have to do dreaded research in order to make sure--so we'll just be content with my guesses) even though I was hyped to tell all ten of you out there what I really think about the tide of Yule and fairly sure you'd want to know. And guess what? Christmas plowed under and chewed up everything that lay before it, leaving plundered chaos sparkling gently under a thin dusting of vintage glitter and tinsel, just as it has every year since I can remember years. That isn't a mixed metaphor, it's what Christmas accomplishes with its varied orifices and appendages, plows, chews and softly dusts with glister.
#2 Thing of Prevention
Vacation
I know, right? Who didn't see that one coming? Me. Duh. Now, you know as well as I do that Manhattan has Internet access. Yeah, we'd be busy all day doing vacation stuff, but we don't do night life so I knew we'd also hang out all evening in our friend Judy's unbelievable apartment and I confidently prognosticated that, as important as I had (recently) decided this blog was to me, I'd for sure be writing about the glories of it all, us all. The City. Us in The City. Or, failing that, the Town. That other one, where I grew up.
But no. I did a little highlights-of-the-day thingy on Facebook and fell over exhausted. From that simple statement we see what actually prevented me from writing. Fatigue. Severe. Also, having to fight for computer time with my middle child who was the only Kershisnik to schlep her laptop to the City. And then acted like she owned it, when in fact I use the word "her," as in "her laptop," in a very broad and inaccurate sense where "her" indicates something that lives in her room but which her parents, in fact, purchased. "Her" room belongs to us, too. Just sayin'. And I'm still thinking about "her" parents.
I will take a tiny moment here (tiny because I'm trying to keep this post short. It's a goal. I make it over and over every time) to share what was for me the highlight of that trip. Whenever we come back from anyplace people say, "What did you like best?" or "What was the highlight?" and we never have an answer. I do think I could tell you if you asked me about every four hours. "So, what stands out since breakfast?" but if the span stretches over two meals that's too much. Overload. However. This time I accidentally spent an afternoon and evening in the Metropolitan Museum of Art alone. It was a high light.
Alone.
I never intended to be alone. I'm not wired that way. I had picked Friday to go to the Met because that night it stays open late and I assumed everyone would be stoked about the extra time (I plan our trips. I don't think this is at all good for anyone but everyone else just lays there and doesn't do it. Also they get lost. Walking across the park. Seriously. Ask the painter about it sometime). We had already had a little private tour in the Met while they were closed on Monday (this is why people are married to the painter) but I assumed no one had had their fill. Also, although the painter had gone on his own two other times while the girls and I went to H&M and Bloomingdale's etc., I knew he'd be up for another visit. Painters are insatiable. But come Friday afternoon, our last hours and, no, the girls were finished, used up, wanted to walk Judy's dogs in Central Park, take pictures of themselves in their new Manhattan clothes and pretend to be somebody. The painter and I went off happy but a little guilty ("You're sure you don't want to spend seven hours looking at (more) art? Really? Do you have a fever? You're OK? Well, alright, then, if you're sure."). Once inside we immediately ran into trouble. I wanted to look worshipfully at the dreamy American Woman clothing exhibit and he felt he had seen it since we had, after all, strolled (rapidly) through on our first trip. He commenced waiting while I looked. Politely. Everyone was being polite.
I (politely) told him he should go ahead and I'd find him later. Convinced him. He went.
And I was alone.
Alone you can spend an hour on Belle Epoque dresses. Alone you can look at Asian sculpture for a super, super long time. You never have to look at armored knights unless you feel driven to it. Alone you can sit for a long time listening to running water in the Moon Garden and you needn't ever listen to the sound of talking people drowning out the sound of running water at the Temple of Dendur. Alone you can look for many minutes at paintings of cherry blossoms and cry over Korean pottery. You can find period rooms in the American Wing you've never seen before and that gorgeous painting of Alexander Hamilton. Alone you can wander in visible storage till they threaten you with closing and turn off lights and then you have to tell the painter, truthfully, that your cell phone doesn't work this deep in visible storage.
#3 Thing
Sickness
Gottcha you again, didn't I? We're all so taken aback we hardly know where to have ourselves.
Here we are at the end of a lovely week in which the Familia Kershisnik has undergone vital and thorough immune system retrofitting. New diseases are available to upgrade your system! Don't show me this again. I thought, oh, good, I'm legitimately lying around, I'll write a hundred essays. Yay! No! I couldn't think. Didn't want to read, couldn't sleep. Did a lot of mending, which, in all honesty, felt sort of good. I believe we are now over most things that people have been telling us, sympathetically, are going around. I see a school year looming off the port bow. All I have to say is, bring it on. Actually, don't. I loathe, I abhor, I abominate school. Not schooling, school.
But that's another story.
While Walking, Brian Kershisnik
Whatever and however you want to do it is fine with me. (I know, you were wondering how I felt about all this.) Just keep writing. It's delightful.
ReplyDeleteSo is that painting with the angels telling you to just keep writing . .. while walking Brian Kershisnik.
right?? no more armored knights. sheesh.
ReplyDeleteFunny how when we are sick we do things that we would (maybe) never do otherwise. Today I worked on Cedric's baby book. Sickness allowed me to. It was great.
ReplyDeletei'm more productive when i'm sick than any other time. i think "i'm just laying around so i might as well get stuff done" often enough that i never actually lay around. so i stay sick. and tired. it's dumb. also, it looks like we might be moving to texas, and i feel sick at the thought of not being in your town. who will understand me?
ReplyDeleteAlso upgrading our immune systems here. Amazing how much work it is.
ReplyDeleteDon't want to think about Christmas yet. Have not broken to #'s 1-3 that they are not getting $$ allowance for gifts, but must create something. Should be fun.
You do this so regularly - raise the hairs on scalp and arm while I read - recognition but more than that. A truth being witnessed to. Yes - being alone in a museum. Fritz and I have finally worked out a system. Alone with loops back to check in. But the way you describe it I wanted to be there - alone but also following along. Yes - your description of the many orifices of Christmas. Yes - Kanosh is your true oculus (I first wrote osculum which didn't look right and wasn't unless the excurrent opening of a sponge is right - surely not - and it is much too late at night for cogent thought) Loved this post though!
ReplyDeleteMy grandmother goes on walks in the neighborhood only after 10:30 p.m. because, she says, she can be anonymous. Today I read this post instead of updating my blog/facebook/whatever-else-the-kids-are-doing-these-days-that-I-feel-mildly-guilty-or-at-least-a-little-left-out-not-participating-in-even-though-I-can't-bring-myself-to-do-it-consistently-anyway-so-it-just-highlights-my-weaknesses-and-what's-the-point-of-that? I haven't even sent out our new contact information to our closest friends as if not updating will keep me anonymous a few days longer. Long enough at least to read this instead of racing back out to the land of -onymity. I used to read this blog anonymously, too, come to think of it. But I guess I have learned too many things about myself from reading this to remain ungratefully in the shadows.
ReplyDeleteThings I have learned:
*I love good writing. I mean Good Writing that throws spell-check under the proverbial yellow Fillmore school bus and makes me periodically catch my breath and/or laugh to tears.
*I thought if left to my own devices (i.e. with no distractions that resemble little people) I would automatically become a breathtakingly amazing writer (and prolific, too!). Sadly, no. But it's nice to know there are people who are.
*I have a latent interest in small towns. Or at least stories about small towns.
*I long for kindred-spirit-sisters, even if they only exist virtually--or is it virtually exist?
*At the same time, I like to please and have to keep myself honest.
*I want to take my children to England and teach them Shakespeare. I wish I had the energy to run an acting company. Oh, and that I had any acting skills. I am a good drama critic, though, it turns out.
*Sometimes reading thwarts my goals of going to sleep earlier.
Which I'll take as my cue. . .
My grandmother goes on walks in the neighborhood only after 10:30 p.m. because, she says, she can be anonymous. Today I read this post instead of updating my blog/facebook/whatever-else-the-kids-are-doing-these-days-that-I-feel-mildly-guilty-or-at-least-a-little-left-out-not-participating-in-even-though-I-can't-bring-myself-to-do-it-consistently-anyway-so-it-just-highlights-my-weaknesses-and-what's-the-point-of-that? I haven't even sent out our new contact information to our closest friends as if not updating will keep me anonymous a few days longer. Long enough at least to read this instead of racing back out to the land of -onymity. I used to read this blog anonymously, too, come to think of it. But I guess I have learned too many things about myself from reading this to remain ungratefully in the shadows.
ReplyDeleteThings I have learned:
*I love good writing. I mean Good Writing that throws spell-check under the proverbial yellow Fillmore school bus and makes me periodically catch my breath and/or laugh to tears.
*I thought if left to my own devices (i.e. with no distractions that resemble little people) I would automatically become a breathtakingly amazing writer (and prolific, too!). Sadly, no. But it's nice to know there are people who are.
*I have a latent interest in small towns. Or at least stories about small towns.
*I long for kindred-spirit-sisters, even if they only exist virtually--or is it virtually exist?
*At the same time, I like to please and have to keep myself honest.
*I want to take my children to England and teach them Shakespeare. I wish I had the energy to run an acting company. Oh, and that I had any acting skills. I am a good drama critic, though, it turns out.
*Sometimes reading thwarts my goals of going to sleep earlier.
Which I'll take as my cue. . .
My grandmother goes on walks in the neighborhood only after 10:30 p.m. because, she says, she can be anonymous. Today I read this post instead of updating my blog/facebook/whatever-else-the-kids-are-doing-these-days-that-I-feel-mildly-guilty-or-at-least-a-little-left-out-not-participating-in-even-though-I-can't-bring-myself-to-do-it-consistently-anyway-so-it-just-highlights-my-weaknesses-and-what's-the-point-of-that? I haven't even sent out our new contact information to our closest friends as if not updating will keep me anonymous a few days longer. Long enough at least to read this instead of racing back out to the land of -onymity. I used to read this blog anonymously, too, come to think of it. But I guess I have learned too many things about myself from reading this to remain ungratefully in the shadows.
ReplyDeleteThings I have learned:
ReplyDelete*I love good writing. I mean Good Writing that throws spell-check under the proverbial yellow Fillmore school bus and makes me periodically catch my breath and/or laugh to tears.
*I thought if left to my own devices (i.e. with no distractions that resemble little people) I would automatically become a breathtakingly amazing writer (and prolific, too!). Sadly, no. But it's nice to know there are people who are.
*I have a latent interest in small towns. Or at least stories about small towns.
*I long for kindred-spirit-sisters, even if they only exist virtually--or is it virtually exist?
*At the same time, I like to please and have to keep myself honest.
*I want to take my children to England and teach them Shakespeare. I wish I had the energy to run an acting company. Oh, and that I had any acting skills. I am a good drama critic, though, it turns out.
*Sometimes reading thwarts my goals of going to sleep earlier.
Which I'll take as my cue. . .
Sorry for the multiple posts! I don't know why that happened.
ReplyDelete