good,strong,sweet-smelling detergent

from the mixed up files of mrs. basil e. frankweiler is, perhaps, one of the most influential books that i have ever read. i dont even know how that works, because its not even the best book ive ever read, but it reallyreally is wonderful, just like libraries and hotfudgesundaes and sunday afternoon naps. because those are things that should be had, and i am not even exagurrating. but anyway: this book has really influenced a whole lot of things in my life, and i seem to have managed to memorize whole sections of it, because i have read it that much [because it is very re-readable, and its that nice kind of re-readable where you dont even have to read the whole thing, you can just pick it up from the middle.] but anyway, the part that came to mind this thanksgiving was when claudia was falling asleep in marie antoinette's bed and it says "she, too, was hungry. and she, too, was uncomfortable. how could so elegant and so romantic a bed smell so musty? She would have liked to wash everything in a good, strong, sweet-smelling detergent." i wanted to do that. and sometimes i cant.

* * * * *

i can hardly imagine a childhood not full of baking cookies and mother goose and hurt-but-because-we-love-you spankings and roomcleaning and giggles and exploring.
then i remember that this is not always the case, and i am sad.

[ also, i can hardly even begin to understand about all the differences of people--all the smallest parts of your brain, and all the secrets that are hidden inside, and all the inside jokes and funny things, and sad things and tear-worthy things, and things-to-be-passionate-about and favorites and petpeeves and conversations and everything.
it makes my head hurt to think about that probably, because i dont even know how that works.]

anyway, when i go to tennessee, [which sounds funny to say because, i was already in tennessee, of course, but there it is. i was going to the other side of it anyway,] but anyway, when i am there, i remember--more personally--that people hurt and are not okay. and so often, they arent okay in ways that they dont even know they arent okay because they are so used to not being okay that they think it really is okay, but its not. like for example, margaret, age 8, who is my 2nd cousins daughter, i think [but i may be wrong] and [i think?] her dog had fleas and its losing its fur and its gross and her mom wont get the medicine for it, but she loves it because thats all she has, and her mom has had who knows how many boyfriends, and she has no father present, and everyone around yells at her for no reason, and im sure she struggles in school, and shes growing up in a home where i had to not breathe very much [and breathe through my sleeve] because it smelled like gross. and that makes me sad for margaret, and that she wont know that things arent supposed to be that way.
and then i dont understand about life and things, and it makes me sad.
and i can sit there and sniff my shirt sleve [which did, thankfully, smell like a good strong detergent. but then i get so mad at myself cause im sure a lady wouldnt do that. i need to be so much more gracious. i want to be that.] while im at those smelly places all day [but only while no one is looking], but it wont really do anyone any good. its still there--both the smell and the circumstances.
and then i feel bad because i feel like i should do something about it, but i cant really do anything about it, except for try to be wonderful to margaret while im there and talk to her and maybe even hug her, but nothing else, so why should i even bother? it probably wont make any difference anyway, but, then again, it might [thats mother teresa again for you]. so i dont know.
[i need to know the importance of small.]

* * * * *

i think that it was yesterday when i remembered that i cant draw brackets very well at all. and this is rather unfortunate because i like them muchly better than parenthesis. therefore:
no brackets unless typed [!]
[unless i practice a whole bunch first]

* * * * *

also: its weird to think about all of the things that have happened before i got here. it was weird to stand in williamsburg, for example, and places like that and think that "hey, george washington probably slid his hand down this stairwell just like im doing now." and wondering how many other people had danced on that very same dance floor and where are they now and what are they doing and stuff. and all of the people doing all kinds of things and so much has happened already, and so much more will happen and we're all crazy different and crazy similar and a whole hoo-shaah of other things and it makes me want to run around like a chicken. but only in my head. other things really do make me run around like a chicken for real, and not just in my head, but plenty of things make the running around happen only in my head. and its nice to know that just because sometimes you are running around in one of those places, you are not necessarily running around in the other place.

but whether im running around like a chicken or not: i cant forget to breathe.
and while im breathing, i can do a contented little sigh, probably.
because mostly, life is good. you know. [except if i forget to breathe then it wont be good anymore].

* * * * *

these are pretty things ive been reading today:
i missed this in the beginning of church this morning, which is not unexpected. im usually [always] late for church. bother. but the clever thing about it was, i could look it up later, so i did.

o israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption. he himself will redeem israel from all their sins. i wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word i put my hope.

and this is the 5th poem [well, actually, just part of it] that i read today when i should i have been taking a nap or something else, like homework or something. [when i read poetry, i dont read one all the way through, until i find one that suits me, and then i read it osonicely [10pointfont, deep slow voice] and savor it. and this one was lovely, like sundayafternoon naps, and hotfudgesundaes and a good sunburn, the barely there, but slightly pink and warm and a smidgin painful kind. and that analogy is right, i think.

...famous streets have forgotton
where they were going. only
a fact could be so dreamlike.
they're tearing down the houses
we met and lived in,
soon our two bodies will be all
left standing from that era.

we have, as they say,
certain things in common.
i mean: a view
from a bathroom window
over slate to stiff pigeons
huddled every morning; the way
water tastes from our tap,
which you marvel at, letting
it splash into the glass.
because of you i notice
the taste of water,
a luxury i might
otherwise have missed.

Posted 11/27/2005 8:58 PM -