Coming to Terms...: Sensory Overload

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Sensory Overload

I posted this photo just because it was what I wanted to look at after a day like today. I only wish I could hear and smell the ocean as well...

Tom DeLay attacks the Supreme Court. Pope Benedict XVI--God's Rottweiler. Newt Gingrich positioning himself for a run at the presidency. Mass murders, car bombs, and kidnappings in Iraq. Bush's anti-UN nominee for UN ambassador shelved. TOO much.

Plus, I spend two hours attending a meeting that I THOUGHT was going to lead to major local contacts for my business. Instead, it was a thoroughly bureaucratic, committee-speak snooze. I never imagined an organization that is supposed to be about promoting the community would be so cliqueish, negative, and caught up in red tape.

What a let down! Felt like I'd been run over by a truck when I got home. And then I had to iron and pack for my weekend event in Astoria. I'll be sallying forth tomorrow morning to attempt the first solo set-up of the booth. I just hope I don't damage myself or any of the equipment... I was given some hope, though, when we were out for Chinese last night. My fortune cookie said something to the effect that I would travel and get a lot of money. Seemed to bode well for the weekend. Wish me luck...

9 comments:

AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 3:03 AM
The picture is great, the day horrible -- good luck making lots of $$$ today!
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 3:42 AM
a heartfelt good luck wish
marti
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 4:19 AM
What a beautiful picture and I wish you the best of luck! ~ Lori
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 5:43 AM
This beautiful photo looks like a painting. And I wish you the best of luck on your solo set-up. Hmm...sensory overload; this is exactly why I try to stay away from news programs. I can't handle the constant bombardment of terrible happenings. I know, it's the old ostrich with its head in the sand approach but it works for me.
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 8:14 AM
Fantastic picture, as usual. I've found that as long as a committee is tied up in red tape and arguments they don't actually have to decide anything. :-)

Jackie
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 8:38 AM
Hope your weekend is fabulous!!! Make lots of money!!!
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 10:27 AM
May your weekend be full of fun and all the money you could imagine for a solo ride! By the way, that is such a restful picture! God's Rottweiler? Can't wait to hear your thoughts on that! Lisa
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AnonymousApril 21, 2005 at 9:27 PM
Hi Lisa-
"God's Rottweiller". man I have to agree with you on that one. I have read so many articles on this man and I have to say my profound disppointment. I am not a Catholic, I am a Christian though and I guess it would have turned out different for all.
Sorry about your disappointing meeting, what a waste of dam time!

Thanks for the kind comment Lisa, I love ya for them!

Gayla
http://journals.aol.com/schoolgal040/SoMuchMore
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AnonymousApril 26, 2005 at 10:20 PM
"My fortune cookie said something to the effect that I would travel and get a lot of money."

Heehheehehee It looks like it came true. I haven't been paying much attention to the news lately. I got tired of hearing about the Pope so I tuned it out for a while. I didn't hear about Newt! That is just laughable! :-) ---Robbie
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Where I'm From

I am from station wagons, from kool-aid and turf-builder.
I am from the three bedroom, one bath ticky-tacky box
with the swath of weedy lawn; from lightning bugs,
June bugs, and mosquitoes the size of small birds.

From nights near as hot as the days,
spread-eagled on sticky sheets
crickets creaking, horns honking,
trains rumbling and whistling in the distance…

I am from snow to the eaves, jewel-studded ice storms
and green-black thunderstorms with sideways rain.
I am from bright red tulips, honeysuckle berries,
and worms on the driveway after a cloudburst;
from daisies, tiny wild strawberries, “Queen Anne’s Lace”
and crashing the kite into power lines.

I am from “Look what followed me home from school”
and never having too many animals. From Taffy and Rusty
and Sunny, the yellow headed parakeet, who could say
“Happy Birthday” but only when he thought
no one was listening…

I am from the women who shuttle the carpool,
punch the clock, scrub the toilet,
then climb into the bottle, the herb
or the fantasy to quiet the noise in their heads
and the men they choose to rescue
or who choose to rescue them.

From “When you meet the right one, you’ll just know”
and “Your dad was a virgin when we were married…”
I am from the dutiful eldest daughter who paired off
home made and pro-created at the appointed time,
and the other four who didn’t.

I am from the tearful Catholic and the stoic agnostic;
the rope stretched taut between belief and unbelief,
pulled one direction, then the other…
the eternal tug of war never won.

I’m from pioneers of urban exile; before the country clubs and the soccer and the Rolls Royces.
I’m from the first McDonald’s and the last Tastee Freez.

I am from the great moldering box in the upstairs closet;
roaring twenties sepias stacked on
shiny square instamatic shots, discoloring with age.
I am from the five stair-steps, the Christmas trees, the campfires,
and the blurred mountains captured from a moving car.

I am from the unlikely union of a country boy and a city girl,
brought together by Hitler and Hirohito;
and the neighborhood of compromise
that kept them both sane…almost.

On Where We're Destined to Go...

As for life, I'm humbled,
I'm without words
sufficient to say
how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond,both of these
and over and over,
and long pale afternoons besides,
and so many mysteries
beautiful as eggs in a nest,
still unhatched though warm and watched over
by something I have never seen
-a tree angel, perhaps,or a ghost of holiness.

Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled,
then to be reflective.
It suffices, it is all comfort -
along with human love,
dog love, water love, little-serpent love,sunburst love,
or love for that smallest of birds
flying among the scarlet flowers.

There is hardly time to think about
stopping, and lying down at last
to the long afterlife, to the tenderness
yet to come, when time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,
and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.

As for death,
I can't wait to be the hummingbird,
can you?

Mary Oliver

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Sensory Overload

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