A long time ago, a friend and I read John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire...and loved it. Our unnatural love of this bizarre novel was something that we had in common, and our mutual familiarity with Irving's characters, dialogue and imagery became our bond. It became the framework of a lot of our vernacular.
When he went to Ottawa to university, we kept in touch via "snail mail". (Which was of course, the only option, in the 80's.) We prided ourselves on our witty, obscure pop culture references. Each letter outdid the last. We ended every letter with this closer: "Keep passing the open windows!"
In the book, this phrase is used by the family members to remind each other to persevere. As long as you are passing open windows, you have opportunity. (think: falling from a building.... as long as you don't run out of open windows to go into, you aren't out of luck, are you? Once you've stopped passing the open windows, where are you? )
I still use this phrase, but now when I do, I imagine I just seem eccentric, because most of the people I say it to have not read the book. This doesn't really bother me, and I like to think that they can make of it whatever they like. It may mean something entirely different to someone who hasn't read the book. And that's okay with me... it's an evolution.
I have all but lost touch with that friend now. He makes his living as a writer, which makes me proud of him, in my distant, uninvolved way. I hope that he is still passing the open windows, and I really hope that he isn't dancing as fast as he can.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
An Interesting Side-effect
This evening, I had to "take a number" just to get on a computer. In my own home. A home, I might add, that offers four computers for use at any given time. A home which only houses four people, as far as I know.
This actually happens more often than I would like. Teenagers rarely travel singly. Frequently, we have a teenage population that outnumbers our adult population more than two to one. If you know any teenagers, you will know that they are all psychologically dependent on MSN. (At least, the ones that I encounter are.) Hence my inability to get within blogging range of a keyboard until after 9:30 p.m. this evening. (In all honesty, I could have demanded a computer, but not without risking psychological damage to some random teenager. And I figure they have enough problems, what with acne and relational bullying and all.)
As you may know, my blogging marathon challenge clock was ticking. Tomorrow is the end of week two, and I have to come up with something at least two paragraphs long, STAT!
(okay, now you're catching on... this is my cop-out post. A post about a post, and not much else. I have decided to allow myself only one of these, so using it up so early into the six week marathon is probably unwise.)
While I was waiting for someone to relinquish their keyboard, I sat, staring at the back of my husband's head while he played Diablo, and the 3/4 profile of the teenagers as they exchanged their worldly wisdom with the rest of teen aged cyberspace. Not exactly the most inspiring view.
Bored to tears, and with no electronic ability to express myself, I had a retro moment. I picked up a carpenter's pencil and a piece of printer paper, and began to doodle. The doodle turned into a sketch. Not a particularly good sketch, or even a sketch that resembles anyone in particular. It was, however, the first sketch I've done in quite some time.
And THAT is what makes this week's post blog-worthy. In some Bizzarro-world way, Heather's challenge to express myself through the uber-trendy, electronic-dependant medium of blogging resulted in my rediscovery of my original, ancient, "old school" form of expression, drawing.
I'm sure there are ways of explaining this through scientific means. Maybe the synapses responsible for language-based and visually-based creativity are shared. Maybe my boredom threshold triggers my imagination, and that's connected to my visual creativity. Maybe it was the wine I neglected to mention earlier.
Whatever the connection, I'm really glad that I accepted Heather's challenge!
This actually happens more often than I would like. Teenagers rarely travel singly. Frequently, we have a teenage population that outnumbers our adult population more than two to one. If you know any teenagers, you will know that they are all psychologically dependent on MSN. (At least, the ones that I encounter are.) Hence my inability to get within blogging range of a keyboard until after 9:30 p.m. this evening. (In all honesty, I could have demanded a computer, but not without risking psychological damage to some random teenager. And I figure they have enough problems, what with acne and relational bullying and all.)
As you may know, my blogging marathon challenge clock was ticking. Tomorrow is the end of week two, and I have to come up with something at least two paragraphs long, STAT!
(okay, now you're catching on... this is my cop-out post. A post about a post, and not much else. I have decided to allow myself only one of these, so using it up so early into the six week marathon is probably unwise.)
While I was waiting for someone to relinquish their keyboard, I sat, staring at the back of my husband's head while he played Diablo, and the 3/4 profile of the teenagers as they exchanged their worldly wisdom with the rest of teen aged cyberspace. Not exactly the most inspiring view.
Bored to tears, and with no electronic ability to express myself, I had a retro moment. I picked up a carpenter's pencil and a piece of printer paper, and began to doodle. The doodle turned into a sketch. Not a particularly good sketch, or even a sketch that resembles anyone in particular. It was, however, the first sketch I've done in quite some time.
And THAT is what makes this week's post blog-worthy. In some Bizzarro-world way, Heather's challenge to express myself through the uber-trendy, electronic-dependant medium of blogging resulted in my rediscovery of my original, ancient, "old school" form of expression, drawing.
I'm sure there are ways of explaining this through scientific means. Maybe the synapses responsible for language-based and visually-based creativity are shared. Maybe my boredom threshold triggers my imagination, and that's connected to my visual creativity. Maybe it was the wine I neglected to mention earlier.
Whatever the connection, I'm really glad that I accepted Heather's challenge!
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Language of Free Time
Why is it that we "take" vacations? Why don't we have a better verb for that? Come to think of it, we "take" breaks, too. It's as if, somehow, these things don't belong to us, and must be stolen. Wouldn't better verbs be "use" or "enjoy" or even "rock" or "dive into"? As in: "I'm going to rock my break right now.", and "Next week, I dive into my vacation.".
I say that we need to address the language of free time. See? There it is again! Our vacations, (clearly, the most valuable of all times) are called "free time", as though they were worthless. It's all wrong. Are they considered "free time" because they are the only weeks out of the year that we don't sell by the hour to our employers? And what about those of us who are paid for our vacations? We are "taking" something, getting paid for it, and still calling it "free"!
Who has possession of our vacations and breaks in the first place, that we must "take" them for ourselves? Is it the same person from whom we must also "take" our pees/whizzes/leaks? And why is he holding onto them? It seems like a weird collection of things to be withholding, if you ask me.
I say that we need to address the language of free time. See? There it is again! Our vacations, (clearly, the most valuable of all times) are called "free time", as though they were worthless. It's all wrong. Are they considered "free time" because they are the only weeks out of the year that we don't sell by the hour to our employers? And what about those of us who are paid for our vacations? We are "taking" something, getting paid for it, and still calling it "free"!
Who has possession of our vacations and breaks in the first place, that we must "take" them for ourselves? Is it the same person from whom we must also "take" our pees/whizzes/leaks? And why is he holding onto them? It seems like a weird collection of things to be withholding, if you ask me.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Absolutely Lost
Well, four minutes into the blogosphere, (which is apparently the next phase of my quest for catharsis), and I am completely and absolutely lost. Who didn't see this coming?
This therefore, is a test post. A breadcrumb, so that I might follow it back to familiar territory.
And no, I do not expect this to "count" as my first post in the marathon.
This therefore, is a test post. A breadcrumb, so that I might follow it back to familiar territory.
And no, I do not expect this to "count" as my first post in the marathon.
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