oh...just me: May 2007 Archives

There were five candles on my birthday cake. "What's this?" I wondered, "One for each decade?" :-) I decided that the candles symbolized five days of celebration. Truly, this has been one of the sweetest birthdays I recall. (Which is to choose NOT to go into detail about the cows I kept seeing with their tails in the air and certain good luck well wishes if you step in poop.)

We started last Wednesday: dinner with "cricket-playing Indians" and "soccer-playing Romanians." The dishes were palatable (no one got sick!) and the laughter delightful. The spirit of Sam in that salvaged margarita mix imbued us all with good cheer. (It probably didn't hurt that it is also the end of the semester.)

Thursday I felt as if my students were giving me presents, although I doubt the conceived of their final papers as anything other than basic academic obligation. Some days I wonder if the amount of gratification I receive from watching my students grow is disproportionate in comparison with all the things that make life meaningful, but the simple truth is that I am deeply pleased when they do well.

Friday was a surprise. :-) A planned camping trip was cancelled because of inclement weather, leaving me available for a spontaneous evening with a very special person. And Saturday was amazing. Just-in-Time and Very-Private-Person treated me to three-meals-in-one at the Dhaba Cafe in Boston. Food and talk, talk and food. I received phone calls, texts, emails, and thoughts throughout the day. Geez. I could hardly contain my sheepish pleasure while celebrating the Australian legacy for hours and hours Saturday night.

Sunday was sweet and mellow: a day without pressure. I could probably use a few more days like these, but then again, the contrast with the more usual, daily busy-ness of all I am called to do is part of what endows the slow days with such satisfaction.

Five days of stellar human company; you see how it gets to me?! I become more mushily sentimental all the time. :-) The confluence of all these interactions and encounters is the best gift of all: many of you did not even know it was my birthday. Proof-positive I am blessed with friends. (That, or just a damn good moocher.)

Emily-the-Strange's horrorscope changes daily, but note that the "Day of Dissonance" arrives soon!

I picked up a few books at my former landlord's yard sale today, including The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. The title captured my mood, and I know of Milan Kundera, even though I have not read him before.

Perhaps the title captured me because of its resonance with a potential title running through my head the past few days, The Summer of Hate and Love. I do not desire to call such a thing into being, but all the predictive indicators do seem to be in place. :-/

Kundera wastes no time, opening with "all that remains" (p. 3) are memories that have become "implausible, a caricature" (p. 5). "Ultimately," Kundera writes, reciting a list of world events, "everyone lets everything be forgotten" (p. 7).

"I invent stories," says Kundera, "confront one with another, and by this means I ask questions."

I am not so invested in inventing stories; those that occur in the linear living of my picayune life are complicated enough (a nod to my Saturday morning breakfast buddy). It seems to me that putting our own stories (the ones we live) into direct interaction with each other - possibly even interrogating each other? - is a means of approaching conscious evolution. I suppose this is why I study small group (interpersonal/intercultural) communication: how is it that we do make meaning with each other?