Saturday, February 10, 2007

Another Saturday Night

Accidental moonings not withstanding, this has turned out to be a really nice week. The sadness that has shadowed me since early summer is finally waning. I realized the other day, that I am (once again) beginning to feel happy, which is far superior to miserable or even just not unhappy. How and when that happened are unclear. I still have strongly mixed love/are-you-fucking-kidding me?!?! feelings about the Swiss (well, one in particular), but this general sense of being okay is a refreshing change. I'm content to just be thankful for it and have no plans of looking any gift horses in the mouth any time soon. Frankly, the chances of my looking even non-gift horses in the mouth are negligible, but I'm not one to quibble.

So, it's another Saturday night (even the Saturday night before Valentine's Day) and I really ain't got nobody, but that's okay. It's one of those relaxing nights when even the dogs seem happy. After a rousing round of the blanket game, Toby (who is not getting old, but is, I have decided, like prematurely grey canine Anderson Cooper - but with more joie de vivre) is snoring in the corner. Baxter is off being Baxter (an occupation that consists mostly of barking and grumbling at the cat, because she has the affrontery to be sleeping in his chair). Suffice it to say the denizens of Chateau Powellhurst are relaxed.

This rainy Oregon dark is perfect for a glass of wine, a little Sam Cooke (how can anyone not love Sam Cooke? I am so looking forward to reading Peter Guralnick's Dream Boogie), and a little reflecting over the past busy week of new dresses, strange dreams, finally completed collages, successful performance reviews, and opportunities to not only sponsor a war protest, but also potentially go to Mississippi this winter to help rebuild homes for victims of Katrina. It's nice to again be in a place where I can appreciate what life has to offer rather than just being sad for what it has taken away.


Chris said...

That was good to read. I'm very not unhappy for you.

The horse doesn't bear the gift, the horse is the gift. You look in its mouth, or not, to examine the teeth, from which you can determine its age and health, about which you then whinge even though the horse was a freebie. Sorry, but you are now scrutinised by librarians, etymologists and pedants the world over.

Martina said...

Thanks for the information. I have the sneaking suspicion that you rather ENJOY pointing out errors. Having all these smarties around keeps me on my toes! Where are the half-wits who could be dazzled by my brilliance? Where, I ask you?

Regarding linguistics, I don't have the patience for a lot of it. Other than Middle High German (which I loved learning, because it sounds so cool and knowing it enabled me to read poetry in its original form), it alternately fascinates and gives me hives. Etymologies and changes in usage are interesting, but all the listening to college lectures on sound shifts and being forced to research things like why "vorhanden" and "abhanden" differ in their evolution in made me want to stab myself with my own pen. I think it all goes back to a phoenetics and phenomonology course wherein an idiot American grad student informed me that the way I say "ich" was "lower class" and that I should work to correct it. All while he was sporting an atrocious American accent and gave his ch's a sound like he was gacking up a furball. Stupid grad student...

Martina said...

p.s. thanks for the "good to read"

Chris said...

<< I have the sneaking suspicion that you rather ENJOY pointing out errors. >>

Well duh! When I know something that your ginormous brain doesn't, what's not to enjoy?