It has a been a spell since I last entered a post here. The usual routine was interrupted by a family medical emergency and all the other-worldly trappings of time spent driving to and from, waiting in, planning around hospitals.
Routines are luxuries, really, flowing from the conceit of believing we are in control, we are making the plans, we have choice in all things.
You are creating distinctions- from the poem In Every Life by Alicia Ostriker
that do not exist in reality
where “self” and “not-self” are like salt
in ocean, cloud in sky
oxygen in fire
said the philosophical dog
under the table scratching his balls
Maybe routine and non-routine are a difference without a distinction, just different ways of marking days and hours. Every parent quickly learns that babies don't come with instruction booklets, and even children quickly learn that life isn't predictable. So why do we so often strive to make it so? None of us know the full measure of our hours, so do we treat each hour as precious and worthwhile, or as if each was dependably planned on? If you ever need to be reminded of the fragility of plans, spend an hour in the family waiting room of a critical care unit.
Perishable, it said on the plastic container,- Jane Hirshfield, Perishable, It Said
and below, in different ink,
the date to be used by, the last teaspoon consumed.
I found myself looking:
now at the back of each hand,
now inside the knees,
now turning over each foot to look at the sole.
Routine or otherwise, Thursday has come around again.
Today's full playlist:
- Fountains Of Wayne: It Must Be Summer
- John Mayer: Gravity
- Bob Marley: I Shot the Sheriff
- Jónsi: Animal Arithmetic - Live
- Madeleine Payroux: You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go
- Posted via Hermes.
