Better Than Dead

It’s been a sea change kind of month and I’m looking forward to a fresh start in 2011.

May your new year be healthy, prosperous, exciting, and wise!  And most of all, may it be full of love.

…will be on hiatus at least until January 3.

Happy holidays, everyone.

Reading Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian is sparking all sorts of memories for me. One of her characters takes an autumn train trip from Amsterdam to Brussels. Her descriptions of the Dutch countryside brought back a flood of reminiscence for a trip I made when I was twenty-one: from Brussels to Amsterdam by bus. That was in autumn, too, and my very first view of Europe, the lovely late green of the countryside, the tractors harvesting wheat, the fields of flowers. Everyone else on the bus was unconscious from jet lag by the time we hit Amsterdam, but I was transfixed. I took a year off from college, worked full time to save money for that trip. I wanted to savor every minute.

Later, Kostova talks about the Danube. I never saw it, but it got me to thinking about the rivers I have seen in my life. They made a big impression. I come from a land of minimal rivers, you see. Most of the time the Los Angeles River is not much, a squeak wending through the city in rigidly controlled concrete channels. I cross it every day on my way to and from work but there isn’t always a lot to see. Except when, like now, it rains. Then it becomes raging cataract. Every year someone, sometimes several someones, are swept away and often drowned in rainy season.

And I’ve never seen those iconic American rivers: the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio. I have seen the Hudson, the Delaware, the Schuylkill, the Potomoc. They were big, but I have to say, the first real river I saw back in that autumnal trip at twenty-one made a bigger impression, probably because it was the first time I’d ever seen a real river. That river was the Rhine. We had a hotel room on its banks in Koblenz with a big window. I couldn’t believe the immensity of that waterway. I sat and stared for the longest time. We took a ferry downriver next morning and not all parts were as wide, but it’s impressive, with all the castles lining it, or in some cases in the river. (Somewhere I’ve got my own pictures of this place.) I guess I must have seen the Neckar River, too, since I was at Heidelberg. Beautiful, beautiful city—like whipped cream on gingerbread. We walked across a bridge over the river to another part of the town. A movie house there showed The Exorcist, some years after its Hollywood release. I thought the experience of seeing it in German might be quite an adventure, but couldn’t persuade my friend to go in.

The Arno was especially beautiful, though not a physical beauty so much as the stirring beauty of Tuscan history and the incredible city of Florence that it moves through: the Ponte Vecchio, the Uffizi, the Duomo. Everywhere you turn in Florence is something else from the art books and I was so primed for that. I’d been studying art history intensively just before going on that trip. When were were in Rome at the Sistine Chapel, I was so carried away in my enthusiasm, parroting my professors, describing the interesting bits of Michelangelo’s work to my friends—not loudly, but looking up, pointing out things, pouring out what I’d learned—that when my eyes finally descended back to earth, I was surrounded by a group of tourists listening intently. I hadn’t even known they were there, I’d been so swept away. They smiled and thanked me, but I was actually quite embarrassed. Enthusiasm has always been my curse. I must have seen the Tiber since I was in Rome, but I have no memory of it at all, sad to say.

The Thames was also awesome. I’ve seen it on three different trips now and it always makes an impact. The second trip I took the ferry from London to Kew Gardens. A nice trip. I wish I’d gone the other way down to Greenwich, but there was no time. I hit the road the next day to drive around the West Country, and then up to Montgomery in Wales. I’ve seen a number of British rivers, all of them beautiful, but I’m afraid I don’t know the landscape well enough to name them all. The Avon, certainly. I’ve criss-crossed it many times, although I’ve never been to Stratford-on. Most of those rivers are wending and lovely and green in my memories and dreams, wafting through tree-lined banks with decorative fowl paddling through them. It’s always spring and autumn in my mind’s eye, with occasional mists dancing across the waters, but mostly a dappled green shade playing in motes on the surface. I’m sure they’re quite different in summer and winter, but I’ve never seen them at those times. I love my vernal and autumnal British rivers. They’re a place of peace for me in troubled times—and highly romanticized, I’m sure.

But that’s what memory does. You lose some things, the rough edges mostly, but you gain an internal landscape that never truly goes away. Well, until all memory goes away forever. It’s what makes revisiting places you’ve once been and loved such a precarious thing. Good memories are lovely pieces of crystal packed away in a cloud of dreams. Too much jostling amongst the transit points of reality can have a deleterious effect on dream castles and dream rivers.

Random quote of the day:

“Kafka had this word over his desk: WARTEN (WAIT).  Every writer must learn to do that while the unconscious works and underground forces prevail.  Maybe countries have to do that too.”

—Erica Jong, “Tears and Fears,” The Huffington Post, January 9, 2008

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

And I’m quite enchanted that my Livejournal interests lists generated this rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem:

On the twelfth day of Christmas, pjthompson sent to me…

Twelve ghosts drumming

Eleven spirits publishing

Ten hauntings a-painting

Nine carnivals writing

Eight pellars a-reading

Seven anglo-saxons a-weaving

Six babylonians a-scrying

Five lo-o-o-os angeles

Four earth mysteries

Three eleusinian mysteries

Two witch trials

…and a neuroscience in an astrology.

Get your own Twelve Days:

Random quote of the day:

“For me, music is always the language which permits one to converse with the Beyond.”

—Robert A. Schumann

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

More shadowplay.

Winnie’s last picture:

Shadow Sleeper (Mack):

American Gothic Ollie:

I got my most ardent wish for this weekend: it was uneventful. Reading, sleeping, watching DVR’d shows, excessive tweeting… 20 Dec

Here in Westchester we got an inch and a half [of rain] in 24 hours—rather unprecedented for SoCal. 20 Dec

As predicted, after four straight days of heavy rain, the sound of rain falling is not as charming as it once was. 20 Dec

I want to go to Istanbul. I’ve wanted to for a long time but I really want to go now. 18 Dec

I love listening to the rain fall even after two days. It isn’t supposed to clear until Xmas day. Prolly won’t be as enchanted by then. 18 Dec

The android really wanted to make that the Gate du More. Which is kind of appropriate I guess. 18 Dec

And yes arriving in Paris at the beautiful light-filled Gare du Nord. Like stepping into an Impressionist painting. 18 Dec

The Historian: riding across Dutch countryside from Amsterdam to Bruxelles–YES, a wondrous green journey. My v. 1st view of Europe. 18 Dec

Mom and I are completely disconnected from Xmas this year. The good news: no shopping! 18 Dec

It’s rained steadily for two days. Light yesterday heavy today. 18 Dec

Also still watching ghost shows. I find them obscurely comforting which is just weird. What strange psychology is this? 18 Dec

Still loving Kostova’s Historian. Not reading much but love those stolen moments. 18 Dec

Do you ever wish you could hide out in the Bathroom of Life and hope nobody finds you? No, me neither. Just wonderin’. 17 Dec

Random quote of the day:

“Once your reputation is ruined you can live quite freely.”

—German saying

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

You may have seen Pamplamoose on those Hyundai Christmasy commercials. I love their sound and their sense of fun. Here they are doing “Deck the Halls” and giving away a free Christmas album in order to sponsor a book drive for the Richmond library. Also, check out their other songs on YouTube. “Single Ladies” is especially funny.