eachword-eachday

Wise Friend.

I have a highly educated friend working in garden maintenance.  He asked me to join him for two weeks. I wanted to do some physical work. I accepted.

We joke with quizzing customers about both us having masters and somehow having become blue-collar workers.

Wow Friend,

How do you cope with the physical work?

Wise Friend,

Gosh! It is hot and hard! At the end of each day, I’m tired and euphoric, intoxicated with feeling great. I love being outside, and I love hard physical work.

Wow Friend,

Shall I envy you?

Wise Friend,

Yes, please do!

We chitchat a lot. My friend mentioned that one little conversation back at home becomes the obsession for a man if he works alone and nobody distracts him. This is the risk of men doing manual work by themselves. He returns home emotionally worked up. Sensitive to extreme he demands assurance to rebuild his trust. The wife resents it.

I attended a book club today. Mainly women. I repeated to them what he told me. You should have heard them. This is what they said:

“Women are extremely good at making an elephant out of a fly inside their heads.”

“It’s a myth that women don’t obsess on small comments and gestures.”

“They speak with all their girlfriends, and they expect full support for the ‘seriousness’ of the issue. If the friend tried to shake them up, to check their priorities, the anger would be endless.”

“Back home, she lashes out emotionally.”

I was speechless. Did you know that? How clueless am I?

Wow Friend,

Somehow, yes. How is it in your home?

Wis Friend,

Sometimes, we both lash out. We take turns. Probably, it depends on who obsessed that very day. You don’t want to be a witness. Thank God, we love each other.

Wise Friend,

I’m looking back at conversations, emails, and turmoils people shared. So much pain due to broken trust.

I elevate trust about love. What’s love without trust?

Good Friend,

It’s NOTHING. No trust, no love.

Lovely Friend,

Your ache is your way to doubt yourself and still attack yourself; knowing that aches me. Right now and for a while you’ll continue to be unfair to yourself, but this is such a complicated pattern to break.

OK, OK, you still want to turn this pain on its many sides. I promise you it will go away.

You seem to refer a lot to the physical part of you: to your looks and weight. I can only tell myself you have an unusual sweet smile. Your voice! Your voice is so pleasant one can drown in it. You are caring, intelligent, giving, with a great sense of humour. You brought so much to my life and to many others who crossed your path. Consider your children and your relationship with them.

Michael didn’t appreciate these in you, and he never had the skills to lavish himself in this generosity. You were the best thing that happened to him, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he chipped at you and proceeded to destroy you. I know you know all that and the pain drags you down.

Each one of us, man or woman, has deep needs one wants the other to fulfil them, even without being aware. It goes both ways, though in many marriages or liaisons, one may give, while the other not.

I don’t understand why partners, who don’t give, destroy. But right now, each time you feel the pain you are hurting yourself. This is tough to unlearn.

Wise Friend,

If I hang my head in shame, what will you think?

Lovely Friend,

I was sure you’ve concocted enough shame. I didn’t imagine there is more room. It seems the container is made of live skin, and it expands.

Take a little plastic bowl and for each shame and anger drop a small pebble inside.

I will continue and risk repeating myself. The way you use the English makes it a song in itself. I always wanted to hear more and more of it. When you called the Offen(s), they both remarked the voice, and they mentioned that. Lana inherited hers from you.

Wise Friend,

This is such a beautiful letter like an arm around me offering love.

By the way, I love getting little musings notes from you. There is so much nice energy, despite your addiction to Latin and “mea culpa.”

In one note you wrote, “Despite his perfect words, Elvis was a bastard.” I like this. Why didn’t I think of this? I would have written “in spite of” instead of “despite”. What’s the difference? It’s “in spite of” and there’s no difference in meaning or use, I suspect. I find “despite” neater.

Going to bed now; I send you my best thoughts and loving fond wishes.

Lovely Friend,

Latin and “Mea culpa”?

(image “Glass Tears” by Man Ray 1932)

Wise Friend,

I went to Houston to meet some new acquaintances. I was there for a week.

Sensitive Friend,

“Acquaintances?” Who, besides the British uses that word? I find people expect me to call them “friends” since calling them “acquaintances” hurts their feelings.

Wise Friend,

I experienced the same. I can afford to be precise with you. Such a relief!

I

I toured Houston in stages.

On my way to meeting them at their office, by the tollway, all areas are flat. I lost my way, and I didn’t like the neighbourhood. I knew I was close, but how close?

I was driving back and forth under the tollways/freeways, faced with concrete strips and poles sustaining those strips. It was a dry image from a movie of cities without souls. I imagined myself living in Houston, and I already felt trapped for years in an unattractive city.

On my way back I drove again by concrete sustaining concrete, concrete running by concrete, concrete running under and above concrete. It wasn’t for me!

Also, I could not find even one classical music radio station or even one with political commentaries.

Sensitive Friend,

I don’t remember Houston being so dreary. Hmmm!

Wise Friend,

Next evening, Jeff, one of the guys, hired a 15-seat van and took us around, showing us Houston’s beautiful suburbs. The city has a lovely downtown, alive in the evenings. A stadium built downtown years ago revived the nightlife.

Its medical centre is humongous, a city inside a city. Hospital near hospital, a place to get lost and treated if needed. “If you want to be sick Houston is the city. It’s at the same level with Boston” (I hope we never would need that.)

Houston has beautiful architecture and stunning mansions on charming streets with wonderful gardens.

Some of their high risers have a very delicate design. The Transco Tower, near the Galleria, is tall and slim with vertical lines created by its relief and attracted me the most. It’s the tallest skyscraper in the USA outside of a downtown area. Whatever this means!

Jeff took us around golf courses, and parks, along jogging allays and walking paths.

I asked Jeff about classical music radio stations. He pressed a button and Voila! 92.1. He pressed another button—political commentaries!

It rains frequently, and therefore Houston is lush. Next day, I looked out of the windows their office. This was my fourth day in that room. This time I saw the greenery of this city—a sea of treetops from grey-green to bottle green and in the distance the elegant skyline of Houston downtown. The things our mind filters based on wants, fears and again those so self-limiting assumptions!!

By now, I warmed towards this city.

Many questions welled up. I concluded that I don’t know how to visit a place, that I need to return again and again, force myself to open my mind and with it, my eyes would open beyond my assumptions.

Sensitive Friend,

The same goes for some books. When I joined the Proust club in my city, I repeatedly remarked I had not read it correctly. I had read it differently. Indeed, I had noticed and interpreted things in a novel way from the others, but we all missed on parts, depending on our interests and background.

When I miss on details, guilt overwhelms me for at least 30 seconds.

Travelling, like fine arts, antiques, and music, requires experience continuous drilling, keeping in touch, and probably some talent.

It can’t be done from home, books or libraries.

(Photo – pixabay)

Sweet Friend,

For the first time, I’m going to Nevada. I dislike gambling, but I’m looking forward to seeing the opulence of the casino. I wonder what changed since those old Hollywood movies and now. How is luxury displayed? How are women or men dressed? I’m looking for my tuxedo.

Wise Friend,

I flew once to Reno Nevada for a conference. During the flight, I sat next to a beautiful American woman from Reno, who told me the Hilton hotel has a great shopping centre under the hotel, a grand casino at the entrance and a great night bar ‘The Garage’ in the lobby. I was so excited! While passing through Los Angeles, I had time to buy a gorgeous blood red woollen dress with a turtleneck.

I entered the hotel, and in the lobby, I saw tens of poker machine, an image I distaste, and I forgot what she told me.

I went to a party of the conference. Those attending were aged hippie-computer-geeks with body postures affected by sitting twenty-three hours a day in front of their computers, and not enough hours dedicated to fitness—movements and behaviours frozen in the sixties, looking sad, trying to catch up with times. I watched them dancing.

There was something so grotesque about their sense of dress and dance. Everybody was keen to pick somebody up for a night of “romance.” I didn’t want to see any of them undressed. Among them, there was one dancer who knew how to move. He looked better and fitter. I watched him and with my passion for dance, I enjoyed the only graceful person on the dancing floor.

Sweet Friend,

Anybody in a tuxedo?

Wise Friend,

No.

By the evening, I understood that the poker machines were the casino (duh!).

Nevertheless, I put my red dress on and was ready to walk through the casino. I was looking very well, but I expected to be the most modestly dressed woman. I expected glamorous women with gorgeous evening dresses, with naked backs, great low cut fronts, and men in tuxedos. Everybody was dressed in jeans, sweatshirts and pants. Some colleagues, who liked me, told me I was looking like a model. The ones who never liked me asked why I dressed up. From modesty, though in red, I was the glamorous one. Disappointed but flattered.

I gave in and gambled $20.00. I won a bit in between, lost it all by the end – my tributes to this world of strange fun.

The next day I visited the shopping centre—a lousy array of cheap shops.

Later, I decided to go the ‘The Garage’, I in red, they in jeans. A colleague of mine joined me. I ordered a virgin Marguerite (which I found out means without alcohol, duh!) and then I had a great time watching the locals. They came in couples and danced ‘western dancing’. I’m not crazy about non-couple dancing such as line dancing. I watched only the couples, and I had such a good time. The western swing is so gracious and requires great skills. I loved it. My colleague left. I didn’t want to go to bed. Imagine, being alone, watching couples dance and being happy. Not bad!

Take your jeans and a t-shirt. Leave the tuxedo at home.

Sweet Friend,

Ruined it for me.

Wise Friend,

I met a few people today, and we talked about how we felt at the turn of the millennium. By now it’s such a non-event. It saddens me a bit.

Sensitive Friend,

Before the turn of the millennium, I met a guy who used to lead regular millennium-related get-togethers. The Millennial Café.

They analysed similarities between theories or conspiracies developed before years 2,000 and 1,000.

I joined that group once, if I remember well. It was what I wanted and was looking for in my peregrinations around the world: interactions with intelligent and fun people and a great theme. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to beep or to be quiet.

Wise Friend,

Yes, there are many such groups in US universities. Are they challenging? Fun, too? Is there a lot of interaction? I wonder.

Sensitive Friend,

It quite surprised me when I entered the small room. I expected a large group of people where I could get lost and listen. I love watching people interact. I took a while to accept that such an eclectic small group can be in the position to influence policy.

Wise Friend,

The strange world of political decisions in a super-power!

Sensitive Friend,

I raised that question, and the group leader told me that at that moment, their impact on policy was fairly circumspect.

How many such amazing little groups sprout in these great universities as ‘secret organisations?’

Wise Friend,

I don’t know, but all those strange voluntary organisations are one of the marvels of the modern world.

I hope you didn’t keep quiet. That would have been a waste of your intelligence as far as I’m concerned. In such groups, you speak when you have something to say or ask. It’s a free for all.

Sensitive Friend,

They wanted to replace the word ‘superstition.’

I was thinking about the tendency of superstitious people to ‘collect’ additional superstitions as their ‘knowledge’ gets richer.  Something like ‘globalisation or integrating the faiths, rites or traditions’.  I became obsessed with finding a word.

I told him. Ouch! “Integrating the faiths” was hardly one of his “superstitions.” Quite the contrary, he didn’t think there was a real tolerance if you can’t accept that the “other” really is “other.” He wanted to take upon the task, to present the group “with an irreducible other, which would drive control freaks crazy.”

Wise Friend,

When you talked about the “integration of faith or ritual”, did you refer to the willingness of people, whose religions are based on many superstitions, to adopt Western habits or rites as part of their superstitious makeup?

Sensitive Friend,

Yes. Had I conveyed it any other way? If yes, Ouch!

I asked a dear friend who had a PhD in linguistics. Clearly, I wanted to impress. She jokingly suggested – “routinised premonitional intuition” – or RPI !!! Quite a mouthful! How are you going to explain such a mouthful expression to non-English speaking superstitious whoever? The intention was not to offend them. This group leader had to use the term in the media and in his communication with people involved in cults or religions.

To my astonishment, he liked the expression. He replied quickly “Why premonitional? Apocalyptic beliefs — the cosmic transformation is happening now — is a condition of heightened (hyperactive) and improvisational premonitional intuition.”

Somehow, I never followed up. What a pity! Life took over my life.

Relentlessly.