A record, a friend once said had been played so much that it had worn thinly down. When he said this I imagined the record itself thinly worn down. A delicacy found in a worn down record played over and over in his younger years. Stimulating his developing mind. Just as I have read books that I can't even remember reading nor the details but somehow the pages have been torn and paled yellow from being handled and moved time and time again.
My uncle George, a delicacy himself, was always determined to find the most obscure abandoned houses. And with crowbar in hand, we would get into them and explore their mysteries. I remember one two story with an old dresser turned over. It wasn't the safest idea. Exploring unknown territories where you feel eerie and fascinated. The creaks in the wooden planks beneath your feet, the hanging pieces of wood with cracks that let light through along with stairwells. My father or an uncle would always lead the way making sure the structure was stable enough for us to enter or climb. There would be scraps of newspaper torn and yellowed or books mixed in with dirt on the floors. My uncle George had the eyes of a hawk and if there was some antique or piece of crap, rest assured, he would find it.
Not only would the crap be found - it would be neatly tucked away by George's hands and taken back to the cabin (a family vacation enigma in itself) as an additional unnecessary knick knack added to an already overwhelming collection. Along with his consistent nailing of nails for him to hang his hat or jacket on. After George's death, there must have been hundreds of rusted nails pulled from the knotty pine walls during my parent's renovation period. George was the true Buddha master. Without any knowledge or spiritual enlightenment - he simply was a Baltimorian reincarnation of an Italian Irish Buddha. How this happened is beyond me. But he would give his time and his patience and his smile unconditionally. George would always arrive on a late Friday night. Most of the family was already asleep either on two bunk beds or sprawled out on mattresses scattered along the floors. Like floating soft white boats underneath the cool breeze of ceiling fans. He would come in quietly at two am and turn on the lights and say in his mega phone mouth way, "Alright, wake the fuck up everybody!" And we woke up and the cabin stirred and the kitchen was declared open.
My uncle Allen, who looked like Buddha with his big gut and shirtless torso called George "Chef Boy R Dee," because along with George, came thawed out pizza dough balls, fresh Italian cheese and yellow cans of tomato sauce. And pizza would be made. You would think the man would pass out in exhaustion after working a ten hour factory shift and driving the three hour trip down route 301 in the middle of the night.
But as I age, I am discovering more and more about the absolutes. The absolute possibility of what humans are truly capable of. If we just listen close enough we can hear such - even in the most unimaginable ways.
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written 09/26/2010 12:55 am est
Monday, September 27, 2010
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Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
At what point did we let such monstrosities as cheese food take over our daily lives?
I'm awake with the window open behind me. It's cool out and the traffic is starting to get louder as the morning bustle hits the streets. I feel energy in the air. It is officially that time of year where mornings are crisp and they remind me of high-school days spent in Virginia suburbs. It is about this time of day where I would get up, high school started early. Too early. I would never get enough sleep. Soon the time will change or we will change time, or adjust something we call time. It will roll back and for a short period, a few days were spent waiting for the bus to arrive just before sunrise.
My father always said, "A Sunrise is a sunset and in between is all we get." Some might call that beautiful as they imagine what a wonderful concept; a blessing, the gift of a day. But my father says, "no, it means we get nothing." What does this mean that we get nothing? It means we get nothing, for a sunrise is a sunset - all the same. There is nothing in between, the earth simply rotates around the sun. There is only motion, perpetual motion of this earth rotating around the sun. I call this beautiful. This motion.
I also call a sunrise and a sunset - magic time. Magic time - something my parents always celebrated and still do to this day. Over the miraculous moment where the sun rises and lowers itself upon the horizon. Reminding me of the insignificance of my tiny self standing in awe at the colors reflected before me in the sky.
Only magic time wasn't so magical on the school bus and the sun would quickly rise as we all removed sleep from our eyes. And in our hormone energized embodiment we would have to deal with the day ahead. Always challenging. Especially for a girl, like me, who felt isolated even then. I think such feelings are common among all humans. My isolation is no different than that of another. Still challenging. I'm still waking up with fear sitting on one shoulder and bliss on the other. And in the moment of waking; I wish I wasn't so emotionally sensitive. But if I wasn't I would be mowing myself into little pieces. Mowing and mowing mindlessly. In thick humidity as a dead programmed soul. But is that soul so dead? Or just easily adaptable to a society already set in motion. And to help alleviate his own isolation, he can mow and manicure his grass and chat with Joe right next door. They share the same indoctrinated smiles and mow complacently side by side.
Sitting on that school bus, I was raised under the same indoctrination, only a few generations later. Fed on instant gratification and unmentionables like flattened pieces of fruit a foot length long rolled up in neat colors. No different than the mower raised on preserved cans of salty soup and sqaure pieces of cheese food singly wrapped in pieces of plastic. Cheese food. What is cheese food? I thought cheese was cheese. Churned and curdled and aged into beautiful wheels with red wax covers. At what point did cheese become cheese food? Personally and sadly I don't know the answer. Was it the industrial revolution? At what point did we let such monstrosities as cheese food take over our daily lives? And who sells us these foods? Cigarette industries disguised under other unmentionable names? Only to be re-packaged and re-sold to another unmentionable. Again, I don't know. The depths and private crevices of such selling and re-selling is foreign to me. And I sadly question, why is it so foreign?
My saving grace pre-high school, my appreciation of cheese as cheese began on a mountain top. When my grandma would cut large slices of sharp cheddar and serve them on round pieces of unmentionable crackers. For it is impossible to keep out all unmentionables in a society owned by other unmentionables. But it is possible to gain a sincere appreciation of cheese on a mountain top over looking a view of tall pines and redwoods.
The very same redwoods cut and dragged up the hillside by my grandparents - true pioneers still existing to this day. When my son wants dominoes, the very next day my son will receive dominoes cut out with love and patience from a wood saw by the hand of his great grandpa. And he won't receive 24 neatly packaged dominoes, he will receive 100 dominoes in an old box kept around just for such purposes. My grandpa also cut larger pieces of redwood and milled his own lumber to build a redwood house on a mountain top, where I developed love for a large slice of sharp cheddar.
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
Written 09/15/2010
I'm awake with the window open behind me. It's cool out and the traffic is starting to get louder as the morning bustle hits the streets. I feel energy in the air. It is officially that time of year where mornings are crisp and they remind me of high-school days spent in Virginia suburbs. It is about this time of day where I would get up, high school started early. Too early. I would never get enough sleep. Soon the time will change or we will change time, or adjust something we call time. It will roll back and for a short period, a few days were spent waiting for the bus to arrive just before sunrise.
My father always said, "A Sunrise is a sunset and in between is all we get." Some might call that beautiful as they imagine what a wonderful concept; a blessing, the gift of a day. But my father says, "no, it means we get nothing." What does this mean that we get nothing? It means we get nothing, for a sunrise is a sunset - all the same. There is nothing in between, the earth simply rotates around the sun. There is only motion, perpetual motion of this earth rotating around the sun. I call this beautiful. This motion.
I also call a sunrise and a sunset - magic time. Magic time - something my parents always celebrated and still do to this day. Over the miraculous moment where the sun rises and lowers itself upon the horizon. Reminding me of the insignificance of my tiny self standing in awe at the colors reflected before me in the sky.
Only magic time wasn't so magical on the school bus and the sun would quickly rise as we all removed sleep from our eyes. And in our hormone energized embodiment we would have to deal with the day ahead. Always challenging. Especially for a girl, like me, who felt isolated even then. I think such feelings are common among all humans. My isolation is no different than that of another. Still challenging. I'm still waking up with fear sitting on one shoulder and bliss on the other. And in the moment of waking; I wish I wasn't so emotionally sensitive. But if I wasn't I would be mowing myself into little pieces. Mowing and mowing mindlessly. In thick humidity as a dead programmed soul. But is that soul so dead? Or just easily adaptable to a society already set in motion. And to help alleviate his own isolation, he can mow and manicure his grass and chat with Joe right next door. They share the same indoctrinated smiles and mow complacently side by side.
Sitting on that school bus, I was raised under the same indoctrination, only a few generations later. Fed on instant gratification and unmentionables like flattened pieces of fruit a foot length long rolled up in neat colors. No different than the mower raised on preserved cans of salty soup and sqaure pieces of cheese food singly wrapped in pieces of plastic. Cheese food. What is cheese food? I thought cheese was cheese. Churned and curdled and aged into beautiful wheels with red wax covers. At what point did cheese become cheese food? Personally and sadly I don't know the answer. Was it the industrial revolution? At what point did we let such monstrosities as cheese food take over our daily lives? And who sells us these foods? Cigarette industries disguised under other unmentionable names? Only to be re-packaged and re-sold to another unmentionable. Again, I don't know. The depths and private crevices of such selling and re-selling is foreign to me. And I sadly question, why is it so foreign?
My saving grace pre-high school, my appreciation of cheese as cheese began on a mountain top. When my grandma would cut large slices of sharp cheddar and serve them on round pieces of unmentionable crackers. For it is impossible to keep out all unmentionables in a society owned by other unmentionables. But it is possible to gain a sincere appreciation of cheese on a mountain top over looking a view of tall pines and redwoods.
The very same redwoods cut and dragged up the hillside by my grandparents - true pioneers still existing to this day. When my son wants dominoes, the very next day my son will receive dominoes cut out with love and patience from a wood saw by the hand of his great grandpa. And he won't receive 24 neatly packaged dominoes, he will receive 100 dominoes in an old box kept around just for such purposes. My grandpa also cut larger pieces of redwood and milled his own lumber to build a redwood house on a mountain top, where I developed love for a large slice of sharp cheddar.
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
Written 09/15/2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
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