Pastor: He has Risen.
Congregation: He Has Risen, indeed.
I know that, and every line of the Easter service,
-Can tell you every parable, quote you all the verse,
sing you all the lines from the hymns.
I spent Easter Sundays as a child trying to count the lilies on the altar,
but always lost count somewhere after a hundred. Read the rest of this entry
sometimes you write something and put it away… and then two months later it means a whole other thing.
between midnight and
dawn- reveling in the breadth
of impossible.
I have this draft saved. With nothing in it but a blank text box, and the title as above, Ugh. It’s dated August 2nd of this year. If asked by the DA, “Ms. Bernier, do you recall the events of August the 2nd of 2011?” I would have to answer,
“No. No, I do not.” And the DA would be all,
“Should I refresh your memory?” And I would be all,
“Yes, please.”
And then I would be shown an affidavit, as if all of life was just a grown up version of mock trial. ”Oh yes”, I would reply. “Yes. That is the day that I stepped in gum- couldn’t find my meds- had to take a cold shower- was disenchanted by the news of the day- and couldn’t get to sleep. That is why I needed a blog post titled, Ugh. Oh yes, it’s all coming back to me now.
Where’s that handy Law & Order chime when you need it?
listen.
I have a million things to write about, and it turns out, I haven’t written anything in a month. I want to write about Pixar movies, and ghosts, about living wills, and how hard it is to work out on a regular basis. I want to talk about surviving, and dealing with inattentiveness. I want to talk about antidepressants, being happy about Cesarean sections, and the never-ending fight against safe and reliable reproductive choices in this country, but I’ve been silent for a month. I want to call people back, write emails, send notes, I want to stay in touch, but now it’s been four months, and I figure folks think I’m rude anyway, now what? Read the rest of this entry
. . I couldn’t stop reading.
Vonnegut.
I was sixteen or seventeen the first time somebody told me to read him (thanks Mrs. Walsh or Mrs. Dimock — I’m not sure now) — It was summer reading. . . and I read it twice before the first September bell rang. I loved it so much that the cover came off eventually. Cat’s Cradle made me horrified that we could destroy the world, and made me believe that people can really die of a broken heart.
I ate every Vonnegut book in the library that year, and couldn’t believe that the griminess of life could be so beautiful, “I still believe that peace and plenty and happiness can be worked out some way. I am a fool”.
Lately he would show up on late night talk shows, and say something outrageous about our government, about our president, about the horror that is this war, and I would just love him all over again.
Rest in peace you funny, brilliant man –
“Tiger got to hunt,
Bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder why, why, why?
Tiger got to sleep,
Bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand
