I love this so much I had to read it twice. Interesting how it's made. And it all goes together. I guess when everything you write is so good and so you, you can do that 💛
I met my husband at seventeen and thirty seconds later I was in love. I realized later it was because he had what I wanted: confidence and an ease with being alive. Forty years later I have that too. Did his DNA drift over to mix with mine? Maybe.
I love this comment so much, I have read it twice. Please come to a Zoom conversation some time . . . maybe you have! I can't keep track. Becauzse we could talk about how a piece like this gets written. xxL
This is what amazes and interests me about your writing—one of the things—is the way it all fits together so subtly. When I get to the end of a piece, I look back and see it. It’s deceptively casual.
"Retroactive Empathy." Soooo accurate - and such a stinging realization as well. Love this.
And, by the way, we too have a very similar "pattern" here which I absolutely adore and also fear losing. Everything is such a balance at a certain point in life.
It's quite consoling to often see these feelings named and examined here. Thank you!
Your writing is gorgeous. Where have you been all my life? We recently sold our house--for financial reasons, obviously--and are living an apartment in the same town until we find a condo. . . somewhere, anywhere on this planet that is affordable. I'm in mourning for my house the way I would be for a best friend or a family member. Not just the house but the routine, the "walk" we took in the neighborhood everyday. "The pattern and happiness are maybe the same thing, independent of the person living it." As a person who is not adventurous, who doesn't want to spend the last part of my life traveling the world, for whom home is more than a house but a pattern, I have to find a new one. Thank you for validating these feelings for me so eloquently.
I’ve never read any books on happiness and don’t intend to start. I’d rather read this. Of many lines that lightened my mood in a time of heaviness, I particularly liked this: “One of the reasons I’m happy in this moment is I don’t want to hitch my wagon to the next wagon that has pulls up in the driveway and looks more beautiful and alluring than any wagon I have even seen.”
I loved "The Look of Love," Laurie and I understand your husband's feelings perfectly. And I promise not to tell a Jewish joke. Actually I only know one. Should I tell it? Nah! Oy! Now it's going to bother me all day.
“When my dad was getting old and couldn’t cut patterns anymore, I didn’t think about what he was going through, and now I am,” said Richard. And then he sensed his father's DNA in him. That is how I felt about my parents, who lived next door through the forest, as they aged. I didn't at all get what they were going through. They were just supposed to keep on being my parents. It's so complex, and as always you articulate it so well. I feel my female ancestors' DNA in me and I talk with them as I walk in the forest on paths my mother and father made for us when we were toddlers.
"I sometimes feel blurry from the trance of being alive."
"We’re not selling anything but forms of pleasure."
Lovely.
I understand, a little what Richard is going through, as I undergo treatment for prostate cancer. My dad died, in pain, with it. My mom (otherwise healthy) survived uterine cancer surgery. My sis, her kids and cousins are involved in genetic research. I've joined that club. Meanwhile, I've grown closer (literally, also emotionally) to my wife as she recovers from spinal surgery. Taking a brisk walk is healing, esp to a nearby regional park.
"The Story" - how wonderful. Yes, the story. A crew of genius guys came and put in a new electric pole in our back yard. Thet turned off the lights to do it, of course. I'd been dreading being without power - I hate that and it scares me. But they were so good, so organized, and so careful of my yard and my tomato plants, that I was glued to the show. The story! Though I have to say I look forward to being dead. I keep writing stories, that keeps me attached to time for now, and I want to finish writing my stories. But when I'm done (at 110, meaybe?) I'll be ready to sleep. Perchance to dream?
-the house stripped of siding "is standing in underwear with holes"
-being with someone "You start to take on the DNA of their temperament"
-HAL "sings the song, “Daisy,” with more dread and poignancy than has ever been captured in a death scene."
-Your mom's "heart valves were clogged like tubes full of toothpaste"
I too get a kick out of Alan Tudyk's alien, and marvel that I didn't pinpoint that the show does have a Northern Exposure vibe. Though when I think about it, RA doesn't have as much mysticism to hold my attention. (In NE, it was Chris the philosopher-DJ, Ed the wisdom spouting Native lad, and One-Who-Waits the Native Spirit who glued me to the screen each week.)
Do you mind me kvelling about the parts that really grabbed me in your writing? And chatting about what comes up for me? When you write in such a personable way about your thoughts and insights, I want to jump into the 'conversation' too and hang out with you.
That’s a lovely insight that the things that seem simultaneously impossible and true are the things that make us feel less alone. I was thinking earlier in the piece how strange it is—downright weird—that we’re the only species—I think, anyway—that is conscious that it—we—will someday cease to exist. We know it intellectually, but it’s still just impossible to imagine. How can it be that I will cease to exist? It’s not that I’m afraid to die exactly, I just don’t want to. Ever. Reading you always makes me feel that I’m not alone. Thank you, Laurie.
“Then I thought: This is one of the things that happens to people when they stay together long enough. It’s not just you come to look like your dog and your dog comes to look like you. You start to take on the DNA of their temperament. Maybe. Anyway, nice thought.”
I love this. It describes an experience I’ve had with my guy.
Your writing is so rich and wonderful it blows my mind and off starts a chain reaction of peculiar reveries. Retroactive empathy. Now that is a great description, my grandies are teenagers and that’s exactly how I now think of my lonely, widowed, introvert of a grandmother. She would come visit when we were a bunch of obnoxious teenagers and she mostly sat at the dining room table affixing green stamps in little books and doing the mending for us. . There were 8 of us kids, very close in age~2 girls followed by 6 boys. She always waited until it was 5pm so she could start drinking her sherry because imbibing before 5 was not proper. Most evenings she then proceeded to get fairly snockered. We were nice to her but not good companionship. Once I gave her a hug and a pat on the head, she was so grateful that she gave me, in sworn secrecy, five bucks. I probably bought ciggies. Winstons or Salems. I forget.
I love this so much I had to read it twice. Interesting how it's made. And it all goes together. I guess when everything you write is so good and so you, you can do that 💛
I met my husband at seventeen and thirty seconds later I was in love. I realized later it was because he had what I wanted: confidence and an ease with being alive. Forty years later I have that too. Did his DNA drift over to mix with mine? Maybe.
I love this comment so much, I have read it twice. Please come to a Zoom conversation some time . . . maybe you have! I can't keep track. Becauzse we could talk about how a piece like this gets written. xxL
I want to come and will, thanks!
If you would like to come to the one next Saturday, please send me an email, and I will put you on the list. xxL
This is what amazes and interests me about your writing—one of the things—is the way it all fits together so subtly. When I get to the end of a piece, I look back and see it. It’s deceptively casual.
Thanks you. Deceiving is the work.
"Retroactive Empathy." Soooo accurate - and such a stinging realization as well. Love this.
And, by the way, we too have a very similar "pattern" here which I absolutely adore and also fear losing. Everything is such a balance at a certain point in life.
It's quite consoling to often see these feelings named and examined here. Thank you!
xxL
Your writing is gorgeous. Where have you been all my life? We recently sold our house--for financial reasons, obviously--and are living an apartment in the same town until we find a condo. . . somewhere, anywhere on this planet that is affordable. I'm in mourning for my house the way I would be for a best friend or a family member. Not just the house but the routine, the "walk" we took in the neighborhood everyday. "The pattern and happiness are maybe the same thing, independent of the person living it." As a person who is not adventurous, who doesn't want to spend the last part of my life traveling the world, for whom home is more than a house but a pattern, I have to find a new one. Thank you for validating these feelings for me so eloquently.
I hope you find the home you are looking for very soon. I'm glad our paths have crossed. Please come to a zoom conversation some time!
Oh, how I understand all you say here - I truly hope that you will find a suitable house soon. (Perhaps it will find you ...)
I’ve never read any books on happiness and don’t intend to start. I’d rather read this. Of many lines that lightened my mood in a time of heaviness, I particularly liked this: “One of the reasons I’m happy in this moment is I don’t want to hitch my wagon to the next wagon that has pulls up in the driveway and looks more beautiful and alluring than any wagon I have even seen.”
Thanks, love, and I see there is a mistake I need to fix! xxL
I swooned over this sentence.
I wholeheartedly believe it!
I loved "The Look of Love," Laurie and I understand your husband's feelings perfectly. And I promise not to tell a Jewish joke. Actually I only know one. Should I tell it? Nah! Oy! Now it's going to bother me all day.
Yes, thank you. I don’t understand people who don’t understand how much I don’t want to die.
Yes, depressed liars.
Love this and love the photo of your Dad and Sis.
Joy exudes from this post. Wonderful!
“When my dad was getting old and couldn’t cut patterns anymore, I didn’t think about what he was going through, and now I am,” said Richard. And then he sensed his father's DNA in him. That is how I felt about my parents, who lived next door through the forest, as they aged. I didn't at all get what they were going through. They were just supposed to keep on being my parents. It's so complex, and as always you articulate it so well. I feel my female ancestors' DNA in me and I talk with them as I walk in the forest on paths my mother and father made for us when we were toddlers.
"I sometimes feel blurry from the trance of being alive."
"We’re not selling anything but forms of pleasure."
Lovely.
I understand, a little what Richard is going through, as I undergo treatment for prostate cancer. My dad died, in pain, with it. My mom (otherwise healthy) survived uterine cancer surgery. My sis, her kids and cousins are involved in genetic research. I've joined that club. Meanwhile, I've grown closer (literally, also emotionally) to my wife as she recovers from spinal surgery. Taking a brisk walk is healing, esp to a nearby regional park.
Life, so far, is good.
"The Story" - how wonderful. Yes, the story. A crew of genius guys came and put in a new electric pole in our back yard. Thet turned off the lights to do it, of course. I'd been dreading being without power - I hate that and it scares me. But they were so good, so organized, and so careful of my yard and my tomato plants, that I was glued to the show. The story! Though I have to say I look forward to being dead. I keep writing stories, that keeps me attached to time for now, and I want to finish writing my stories. But when I'm done (at 110, meaybe?) I'll be ready to sleep. Perchance to dream?
“What’s so great about living?”
“The Story.”
🗣️💥🗣️
This Story
you wrote
is so strong and good!
🥂🍾🥂
Thanks, love. xxL
Some lines I savor:
-the house stripped of siding "is standing in underwear with holes"
-being with someone "You start to take on the DNA of their temperament"
-HAL "sings the song, “Daisy,” with more dread and poignancy than has ever been captured in a death scene."
-Your mom's "heart valves were clogged like tubes full of toothpaste"
I too get a kick out of Alan Tudyk's alien, and marvel that I didn't pinpoint that the show does have a Northern Exposure vibe. Though when I think about it, RA doesn't have as much mysticism to hold my attention. (In NE, it was Chris the philosopher-DJ, Ed the wisdom spouting Native lad, and One-Who-Waits the Native Spirit who glued me to the screen each week.)
Do you mind me kvelling about the parts that really grabbed me in your writing? And chatting about what comes up for me? When you write in such a personable way about your thoughts and insights, I want to jump into the 'conversation' too and hang out with you.
I love this!
That’s a lovely insight that the things that seem simultaneously impossible and true are the things that make us feel less alone. I was thinking earlier in the piece how strange it is—downright weird—that we’re the only species—I think, anyway—that is conscious that it—we—will someday cease to exist. We know it intellectually, but it’s still just impossible to imagine. How can it be that I will cease to exist? It’s not that I’m afraid to die exactly, I just don’t want to. Ever. Reading you always makes me feel that I’m not alone. Thank you, Laurie.
“Then I thought: This is one of the things that happens to people when they stay together long enough. It’s not just you come to look like your dog and your dog comes to look like you. You start to take on the DNA of their temperament. Maybe. Anyway, nice thought.”
I love this. It describes an experience I’ve had with my guy.
Your writing is so rich and wonderful it blows my mind and off starts a chain reaction of peculiar reveries. Retroactive empathy. Now that is a great description, my grandies are teenagers and that’s exactly how I now think of my lonely, widowed, introvert of a grandmother. She would come visit when we were a bunch of obnoxious teenagers and she mostly sat at the dining room table affixing green stamps in little books and doing the mending for us. . There were 8 of us kids, very close in age~2 girls followed by 6 boys. She always waited until it was 5pm so she could start drinking her sherry because imbibing before 5 was not proper. Most evenings she then proceeded to get fairly snockered. We were nice to her but not good companionship. Once I gave her a hug and a pat on the head, she was so grateful that she gave me, in sworn secrecy, five bucks. I probably bought ciggies. Winstons or Salems. I forget.