Blog Cream

Right in front of you, there is a bowl. In this bowl is your favorite flavor of ice cream.

Perfectly soft. Perfectly silky. Perfectly smooth.

You look closer, only to discover that drizzled on top of this perfection is your favorite ice cream topper (mine is caramel). The silver spoon is in your hand. All you have to do is dip it into that bit of delicious.

Take a moment.

You’ve been anticipating that first bite.

Not just anticipating. . . . but actually putting off this first bite--knowing that to wait. . .well

You thought about ice cream earlier in the week, but decided to wait because waiting only makes you want it more—only makes that moment of the first bite that much more exhilarating. There’s been a lot of thought put into this bite. . .

The flavor, the toppings (did I mention caramel), the surroundings. . .

Now, there it is right in front of you. Ready for the taking.

The stars have aligned.

The time is now.

Your favorite ice cream, and favorite topping (hello, caramel), is there. . .in front of you.

Your spoon dips, turns, and scoops up the perfect morsel, the caramel drips, a bit lands on your finger. Your heart accelerates as this delectable delicious decadence touches your bottom lip, and. . .

Oh my god. . .it passes on to the tongue, and. . .and. . .and. . .

Yep, it’s ice cream. Just as you expected.

And that moment becomes much like your first sexual experience. It was the foreplay on your mind’s part that made it exciting. . .the actual moment. . .

Meh.

**Note: I equate most everything about life with food. We could get all philosophical on this and pretend that it’s because food gives me life, and in essence by loving food I am loving life. . .but whatever. . . .

Food. Delicious. There are no ifs ands or buts about that. . .I love food. I love life. I love sex. This is probably why I run. In order to enjoy all three of these things. . .you should be athletic. (Also, my family and I take food extremely serious)

Moving on. . .

Back to ice cream. . .

You enjoy your bowl of ice cream. It is sweet and succulent, and well worth the wait. You make your way through. It. . .savoring it. Thankful for its presence. . .but you find yourself reaching the end. You are saddened by this prospect, but know it is inevitable. . .However. . .

Suddenly. .

You scrape the bowl for those last bits. . .the leftovers. Not much to them. . .just (what you think will be) some cold milky ice cream and topping (caramel) mixed together. . .you fill your spoon with these icy bits. . .then bring it to your mouth. . .

And behold. . .

Your heart stops. . .

You have just experienced the best bite of the entire bowl of ice cream.

Sure the first bite was wanted and anticipated. . .

But this last bite. . .this last moment of delicious. . .all the flavors combined into one special specific moment. . .well, that. . .

That. . . .

Was unexpected.

And that made the walk to the convenience store in the bitter cold to get the ice cream. . .the walk to three (THREE!) grocery stores to find the (perhaps I've mentioned this) the caramel. . .the getting home. . . the scooping. . .the drizzling. . .all these efforts were well worth that very last bite. Not the first, but the last. That last glorious bite that combined your efforts and your flavors into one final perfection of a moment.

And truly, my life is that bowl of ice cream. It’s not a box of chocolates. . .it’s ice cream. It is a scattering of bits. . .the moments that I think will be gorgeous turn out to be “meh”. . .and the moments that I think will be the end. . .turn out to be extraordinary. As I scrape that bowl, things I don’t even remember being there end up on that spoon. . .

Just as that ice cream becomes more delicious and more desirable than I remember. . .

So does life. . .

We all have our life metaphors. . .I have a lot. . just think for a moment. . .Your favorite painting--how many colors does it have in it?

You favorite song---how many instruments?

You favorite story—how many words?

Your favorite food—how many ingredients?

All the best moments are really a collage aren’t they? That first kiss. . .there were a lot of elements mixed with it right?

And the best kiss, was when that person, you and the surrounding elements mixed perfectly. . .maybe it didn’t look pretty (like that caramel mixed with ice cream) but it felt and tasted perfect.

I am a theatre practitioner who hates reading plays. There, I said it out loud. I think a play should be combined with all the intended elements. Just like a song. . .Yes, the words are great, but filling them in with guitar and bass, and oh my, drums. . .well, I’ve just blushed. . .

The same goes with food, love, and life.

The more ingredients, the more mixing, the more you combine those experiences, the greater it all becomes.

You are alone right now. . .or you are with someone. . .you are planning your next move, or you are in the middle of your next big thing. . .all these things are little moments. . .all of them mixing together. . .no matter. Because in between all of them you will have several lone moments. . . where you sit on your couch (or perhaps in a bar or on a bench in a park or on a sidewalk in a bustling city), and your thoughts will wander and all of these moments will come into the foreground, and you will find yourself smiling because your wandering thoughts have allowed you to taste the best bite of your life. . .

And you know what??

That’s only the end of one bowl.

You have countless more waiting to be filled with your efforts (three stores for caramel!) and hard work.

At least I do.

I am a lucky person. I have a family and friends who love me. They love me.

They actually do. And I am sure of it.

Wow.

(taking a moment)

So, I spent my night watching a silly FX show called Archer, which I adore. . .and then I trampled out into the cold for said ice cream, and this blog was the result.

Not bad for a night in Korea.

And now a quote, as I wander on. . .to my next thought. . .

"One cannot think well, loved well, or sleep well, if one has not dined well." --Virginia Woolf

and even kings understood the importance of a good pun. . .

"For its merit, I will knight it, and then it will be Sir-Loin." --Charles II

my furry friends, be well.

a blog-gent

Forgive me cyberspace, it has been a while since my last confession, and alas. . .

It was an interesting day. Actually, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. I've done nothing extraordinary--nothing to change the world or my place in it. But I've come to recognize some nuances, some tidbits that make my life worth pondering to, well, me. . .and I suppose that's something.

First, let me properly blog about current events. I say "properly blog" because I suppose that is what a blog is. . .telling of one's life events. If you are an avid reader of the 'flibbertygibbit', you must know I never follow protocol. I simply just do. Not saying it is better. . .just explaining. uh-oh. . .found myself in a tangled tangent. Let's right this. . .

deep breaths.

. . . . . .

okay now I have no thoughts. . .

wait, re-reading. . .

ah yes! back again!

So recently, I found myself amidst a flurry of art in all forms. These arts consisted of music, paintings, and bathing. (Yes, there is an art to bathing.) I was bewitched by the talented Cocorosie on a tiny stage in Seoul. They combined their lyrics and chords with the beats of Tez, a man who has the ability to make all sounds ever conceived with his voice. He was actually able to vocalize the bass, the drums, the guitar and lyrics of Prince's You Don't Have to Be Rich. And it was a dead-on impression of the purple man's voice.

**Note: Whenever I think of Prince, I think of him being this tiny purple man, so I call him the purple man. . .there is no justification here, just explanation.

We should move on. I feel myself getting lost in another tangent. . .

Tangents! They are like a plague discoloring the perfection of my memory.

So, Cocorosie was simply extraordinary. Everything about the night was excellent. We got to eat burritos (said in an uber-texan voice: 'real mexican-american burritos!'), we drank vodka, we saw schnauzers, and we were enveloped by a delicious performance that involved melodious voices, body beats, and a harp. It was delicious both physically and mentally.

The next day we saw Chagall's works, in all their glory displayed at the National Museum. Leading up to this spectacular moment was snow and some misdirection, but so it goes when you travel. In all, wandering around a museum surrounded by the 'Magician of Color' was like being lost in someone else's dream--which I must say is fascinating, and worry free.

I must depart from this thought for a moment to say this. . .I like watching people look at art. I like watching couples and singles and families. The reactions are all so different. I have to admit, I found myself watching the people more than the paintings at some points. Have you ever watched people look at art?? I used to do it on my days off in NYC. . .I would go to the Met, and just linger. . .and since then, I find myself doing the same at all museums. I do take in the art! After all it was the Chicago Art Institute that introduced me to the Old Guitarist by Picasso, which is now my favorite painting of all time. . .(hence the picture on the blog)--

creeping tangent. . .divert the eyes!!. . .

People are so great to watch at museums. They all view art differently (of course!). . .There are the people who linger at each painting. . .sometimes you can see it in their faces that they are forcing themselves because that is what they are supposed to do. . but if you keep with those same people, you can see the change when they linger on a painting they want to. . .wow, that's beautiful! Then there are the people who skim over each painting. . .and suddenly, get mesmerized by a painting. . .then there are the people who just talk the entire time--staying for the appropriate amount of time at each painting--professionals. Of course, in my Aristotle categorization of these museum patrons. . .I ask myself the question. . .which one am I?? Are you asking yourself the same question?? Let's ponder together. . .

hmmmmm. . . .

yes. . .well. . there's that. . .

but, there's also that. . .

hmmm. . .

okay, well. . .

have you assessed your museum personality?? I have mine. . .

and truth be told. . .I am not sure. Each experience is different for me. It depends on the artist, the company, and the situation. . .and hands down (where did that saying come from??). . .that's true for everyone. The people I've had the privilege to witness at any exhibit are having their own personal experience in that moment, as am I.

But, isn't it interesting, that all those moments are simultaneous across the globe with different artists in different museums?? I think it is. . .but that's just me.

The same goes with concerts and theatre. . .but these two things are so much more personal for me, that I don't find myself stepping out of the performance to evaluate the audience--because I am entranced in my own personal experience. I certainly look around before and after a concert or a play. . .but during. . .I just can't. I am always thoroughly involved in my experience of the performers and the performances--perhaps that is the manipulation of education.

Other than that adventure. . .most things have been the same. I venture downtown from time to time, get exceedingly wasted, stumble home, and laugh. Perhaps it sounds like a sad and confused way to live. . .I like it all the same. People fascinate me. . .they always have. I fascinate myself. . .I always have. Yes, I have moments where I wish the people I connect with totally on this planet were in the same room as me, so we can share a look from across the way, or a laugh, or a stumble home. . .

And this thought brings me into a tangent I want to explore. . .I've been traveling for the better part of 10 years. . .and the parts I always forget are the lonely parts. I am in the midst of one of those right now. The thing is. . .travel is amazing. I will never stop being a traveler. Yes, I will settle into a home base. . .but I will always venture into the world--which I hope will involve a husband and children. As of now, however, the problem with travel, is it can be lonely, and travelers forget that. We always remember the extraordinary moments--the hikes to waterfalls, temples, the the sleeps in hammocks and at old people's cottages. . .we forget the times when we are sitting in a bar alone with no one to talk to--I liken it to a woman forgetting labor, all she remembers is the pregnancy, and the beautiful baby in her arms. . .not the pushing, and the blood, and excruciating pain. I think of travel that way. . .we forget the excruciating moments--and I'm not talking about the uncomfortable moments when a man annoyingly feels you up on a bus in the middle of Panama (cuz that's a funny story!)--no, what I am talking about is when you find yourself in a moment all by yourself and all you want is someone to look at across the room who instantly (without words) can laugh/cry with you in that moment.

I miss that.

So, I find myself in a state of longing. I long for family.

My sisters.

My mother.

My father.

My friends.

My travel buddies.

Remember, family comes in all forms. Especially for me.

And I miss the hell out of you! Those of you who aren't here.

I think that is why I have this silly blog, so I can share my thoughts with my family. It is such a strong part of who I am--to share my ramblings.

When I lived in New York. I couldn't share anything with anyone. I was all by myself. I was doing this amazing job, having these amazing experiences, and there was no facebook, no cellphone, no nothing. There's this one story, where I was completely lost, and I was scared to death. . .only 19 mind you. . .and I had no idea what to do. Wandering around Bleeker Street, trying to figure out what to do. I didn't have a cellphone, and all I wanted to do was talk about what had happened. I knew that would make it better, and I had no one. So, in the middle of the night I hunted down a pay phone and I called my parents. And my narcoleptic mother picked up. And I told her and my dad about the ridiculousness that is their daughter. . .

I've done it on many occasions. . .from Ireland, from Turkey, from New Zealand. And they have always laughed with me, and comforted me, and sometimes, they've just sighed.

My point is. . .travel is so much better with someone who gets it. My parents are conditioned to get it over the phone. . .so that's something.

And I've called them every Sunday, since I was 23. That's a lot of Sundays and a lot of funny conversations.

With that. . .and it being Sunday, I must depart. . .but I must leave you with a quote. An inspiring quote. . .

"Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who'd never looked at real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man looks at and says, 'No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.' Nevertheless it was beautiful." --Terry Pratchett

And that is a truly an inspiring quote.

Be well my fury friends.