Men Live on Mars Bars

I am sitting here sipping a nice thermos of coffee, entering data, memorizing a poem, trying to write a new one, and munching on a small package of low calorie cookie crackers. They are a sensible snack choice in many ways: sweet, satisfying but not filling, portable, aerodynamic, and of course trendy. So I'm all for snacking smart and all for companies making it easier for ordinary people to make better choices, but if I have to watch another ad like the recent one of a stampeeding herd of women chasing after, overturning, and ransacking a truck carrying 100 calorie cookie packs, then I might just have to start a boycott. And that would be a shame becuase I like the taste, especailly the little lorna doone ones, oh my. But shouldn't we be offended? Are women (only women remember becuase there wasn't a single man in that mob worried about his dress size) really that obsessive and ravenous and crazy when it comes to food? Well, maybe, in a way. Women are repressed eaters. They are allowed small packages of perfectly portioned food, they are told to indulge in premade desserts served in small plastic bowls. They are told in many advertisements not to feel guilty about eating such and such nutritiuos product, which of course implies that women do feel guilty and should feel guilty about everything else they eat. Meanwhile men are still to eat like men and this too is a disservice if it encourages them to eat more than is healthy. But these marketers know what they are doing clearly by tapping into the seemingly ancient ideas of the ways men and women should eat. I'd like to think that as the organic natural health food craze slowly takes over ideas about food will level off, but I fear that the indulgence of sweet things like chocolate will become shameful and thus secret and only done in miniature sized cubes made from a sugar free coco like powder. I think it would be better if both men and women were allowed to realize there is a balance to everything and that bad greasy food stuffed with peanut butter ripples can be off-set and deserved when paired with fruits and vegetables.

In Sunlight

Oh the beauty of the world! It's Monday and maybe too early in the week for exclaimation points, but at about seven o'clock this morning I got to take a moment at work, take a breath, a sip of coffee and look out the window at the street. I saw a tree just breaking into bloom illuminated by the low early golden sun that only comes at seven o'clock and only on certain mornings. The light streamed down the street so bright that I actually thought it was a spotlight or a searchlight or a silently hovering helicopter. Later, I saw that smae tree from the terrace of a neighboring building and the sunlight was gone, but the white blossoms stood out against the grey sky and that's almost too much inspiration for one day.

Fear of Death and Apricots Before Bed

I was having trouble sleeping last night when a sudden terrible fear gripped me, the way they always tend to do when I stare at the fridge too long or catch a rain drop lose its light against a window pane or whenever I settle into a comfortable memory of late afternoon sun. It was that old death fear again. That wave of panic that is always ebbing and flowing, chasing at my heels. Never mind that I'm too young to worry about it (here I am overlooking that fact that age has absolutely nothing to do with it) because last night the fear was specific and driven by age. You see, like many young girls, young women, ladies, I have worked very hard to attain what I consider my optimal level of achievable attractiveness, the level that nature allows me, and I have spent a long time doing this. I went through bowl haircuts and purple hair dye and chunky sweaters and sweatpants and blue eyeshadow smeared across my face. I have earned whatever look it is I have now and then last night I remembered the slow decline of it all. I am now saddled with the job of maintenance. Of wrinkle cream and olive oils, fish oils, apricots and mangoes and avocados applied to my skin in some sort of theatrical arrangement best suited to block out the effects of a fluorescent bulb. But because I understand the inevitable, I shufled off the fear as I do with all those great big elephant fears and decided I'd have to keep cultivating the inside. The soil there lasts so much longer.

Bodies in Motion

It wasn't the prettiest thing you'd ever see, but I did finish the Shamrock 8k run in Virginia Beach. Not only did I finish, but I ran the whole thing, which is more than I thought I could do. And ran it in a respectable 50 minutes. I really enjoyed the run, especially when I realized how many ordinary people participated in it and the half marathon the following day. I watched as people of all ages and sizes and abilities and speeds made their way across the finish line and I don't know that I have seen many things as encouraging as that. I was worried that I would embarrass myswlf, that I would be caught in a swell of very serious runners leaving my lumbering and chugging away behind, but it just wasn't the case. And if it had been, if I had struggled, as some did, the crowd was gracious and encouraging. It's pretty nice to feel that a group of total strnagers want you to succeed, want you to push yourself, want you to just make it across the finish line. What is it about applause that feels so good? How is it that two hands clapping together suddenly make the impossible seem possible? I can't say that I'll ever be dedicated and determined enough to make running a true hobby, but I think I'd like to work my way up to a half marathon. You see I misjuged the body. I forgot that there is glory in the strength of the body and that accomplishments aren't only made through thought, but through action. There is something, more than something poetic about a body moving.

The Epistolarian

I take great pleasure in very simple things. Today I sat underneath my bedroom window, on the floor with the light streaming in and the sun shining and though generally the sun and I are at odds, it was a late day sun and so brassy and orange and that color I always fall in love with. I wrote a letter to a friend and wondered why I don't write more letters. I mean, frankly in comparison to most people my age, I write and receive quite a few letters, but imagine writing them everyday. My hand gets too tired for that. But I do have this box full of correspondence that I've saved over the last five years or so and wow how beautiful a worn envelope feels. Sometimes I spread all the letters out in front of me, I flip through, I feel the paper and the ink, I look at the dates, at the signatures, I think I would give up everything I own for those letters. I would sell everything I own for the pages and pages of words written down just for me. Why is it gold is so popular?

Every Breath You Take

Here she comes here she comes. I am back and it is one week exactly, less a few hours, that I will be in Virginia Beach running an 8k. I am not a runner, I am a plodder. I can walk, and walk pretty briskly, brisker than plod implies, for miles and miles. I'm all about walking. But running involves breathing and I've never thought I've been a particularly good breather. Is it possible I have very small lungs? Restricted bronchial tubes? In any case I'm more than nervous about this run mostly because there will be people around me. I'm not a graceful runner. But I do remember, long ago when I was in second grade, before the year that I vomited in gym class after the presidential fitness two minute drill run, I do remember that I used to race against kids in my class and win. I do remember that I wanted to be an Olympic sprinter.

Call Me Kermit the Hermit

Hello my baby, hello my darling. I have been away for a while, haven't I? I've discovered, or myabe I always knew it and simply realize it more and more, but I am something of a hermit. I frequently go off the grid. I'm not good about answering emails, or returning phone calls, and as a penpal I am subpar. I usually blame it on a lack of time, but really I always have plenty of time, I just spend it in the wrong way. And it isn't that I want to ignore people either, but maybe I can again blame my introverted nature here and claim that for me communicating is somteimes exhausting. That's exaggerating it a bit, but I have to be in the right mood. That and I can never finishe what I start. Friends of mine have piles of letters addressed to them with only an opening paragraph completed. I hit reply to emails only to change my mind and say I'll do that later. I've tried to get better at these things, but as of yet I am unsuccessful. And it isn't as though I mean to make excuses, but simply explain or try to figure out for myself why I am the way I am.

If we're lucky Ill be back again tomorrow.

LW