Covid Times . Introspection . Top Ten Lists
Top Ten List of Small Things
On January 30, 2021 by Speranza
This is not intended to be yet another gust of Pollyanna-overload – I only seek to catalogue a few of the things that have helped even a little during these endless days of sad news. I think it was Stephen Colbert, (himself one of these helpful things) who commented recently that he was really looking forward to not hearing the words “another grim milestone” every.single.day. I am also acutely aware how lucky we are to be able to plan and discuss coping strategies – because after all, the luxury of time, companionship and good food are all such individual gifts.
And I get that.
Covid Times . Introspection . My Brothers . Sadness
Happy New Year, try not to laugh …
On January 8, 2021 by Speranza
Hard to write about anything today without commenting on the endlessly distressing news (er, and Happy New Year everyone) but I will now try to do that very thing. Those who know me, will testify that I have always been about savouring and appreciating The Small Things (even before it became fashionable to do so and we all had to read about the technique in someone’s bestselling book).
But truly, it really is all that we have.
Introspection
Pandemic
On April 16, 2020 by Speranza
When I was a young child my mind had – and still has – an uncanny but undesirable ability to remember scary, dreadful things just as I was trying to fall asleep. Literally, as I felt myself start to loosen, I would be snapped awake by the image of a grinning, menacing rocking horse that was moving independently (when I was five) or a collage of swirling, terrifying news bytes which happen to be true (last night).
Introspection . Nostalgia . Reading
Reading Matters
On November 19, 2017 by Speranza
I have been between books for a while now partly because I have a new job which has required a massive learning curve (and I’ve been steadying myself of an evening with the cozy perfection of Nigel Slater’s food writing) and partly, because I recently completed (she said, not without some pride) the entire series of Karl Ove Knausgaard’s non-fictional “novel” series.
Fortified, I then pressed onward with the entire Neapolitan volumes written by the hauntingly hard-to-read, hard-to-put-down, hard-to forget Elena Ferrante whose work I now admire immensely.
These books are like opulent, rich meals – with dessert – and beg to be savored not gorged, since they are certainly not easily digested afterwards. With Knausgaard particularly, it was troubling to decide if I applauded what he was doing (writing frankly about his life without any filter and thus exhibiting a total disregard for anyone else’s feelings) or despised it; however, what intrigued me most were his descriptions of the everyday and the banal which he chronicles from childhood to the present day; the expression of a cashier he might never see again; the certain feel of a day; the outside weather echoing what he felt within himself; his documentation of a parent’s sharp, throwaway, put-down which crushes him.
Buddhism . Divorce . Introspection
Judgement Day
On July 10, 2017 by Speranza
It’s always strange to me how certain moments in your life are especially memorable even it they have no reason to be and can be recalled again and again with complete clarity. I remember parking on a free-lined street nearly nine years ago now and since I was early for an appointment decided to just wait in the car till it was closer to the time. It was mid-morning, someone was cutting their grass so the air was filled with that luscious green smell of fresh earth and sweetness. I was sleep-deprived and close to tears (again) as it was not long after my husband had left. As I watched, I saw a pewter Subaru pull into the driveway of a well-maintained home with a tangled English garden in front and fat bumblebees were lowering themselves into hooded flowers. A woman with a blondish-grey ponytail pulled sleekly through the back of a navy baseball hat got out of the car and carefully balancing a Starbucks cup, frisked up the steps in form-fitting running gear before absent-mindedly pointing the car keys over her shoulder to chook-chook the lock. Then the house door clicked shut and she was gone from my view.