Lilly and the elmo couch

OK, I know I am her mom and all, but my daughter is the cutest, most outgoing and sweetest little person I have ever met. If this be love, I know now what it must feel like. My Lilly is amazing.

Also, more music I picked up yesterday (mostly older stuff):

Gillian Welch: Soul Journey 2003
Beck: Guero 2005 and Mellow Gold (1994)
Luna: Bewitched 1994
Son Volt: Trace 1995

I saw Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and loved it. I don't care what any critic says, I thought it was well done--the spectacle was brilliant. Johnny Depp (who hails from Kentucky) had quite a task and he performed beautifully. Go see it.

Also, I just finished Watership Down
and up next, Jean de Florette.

I ate at a fairly new restaurant in town--Turkish--called Anatolia and got to spend some time with perhaps the owner--a fine specimen of a man. Unfortunately, I didn't get his name. Can this be true? All the more reason to return to his delightful restaurant. Ahh....

And I will have the answer to this idea/rhetorical question come Friday: "Men fall in love with an actual woman. Women fall in love with their idea of a man." As if you had to ask this question...
If you know anything about women or men you know the answer as well. But it seems the world needs studies and proof to back their answer--and so I will find the truth and will share my findings.

Touche. Good night.

Tides of the Moon

TO WHOM I CAN BELONG MORE THAN ONCE

I can tell you how it rains on a summer day
and make you feel it fall on your window pane--
I--your woman, a poet--have such powers.

I can make you unbolt your door, wait for me
when I say I have finished my day’s work, I need rest--
I -- your woman, a poet -- a thousand miles apart.

I can give you heaven on an average day, even
when I talk to you about the life that doesn’t love us--
I -- your woman, a poet -- calm you in your nights.

I can write for you alone, on a wordless universe
and make you feel my god, to whom I can belong more than once--
I -- your woman, a poet -- can make you immortal with a song.

Lekshmy Sujathan Kerala, India 2003

that one's for you, Blue.

Finally, a break in the rain, if only briefly. I woke early to bright blinds and faint sunshine, refreshed and smiling. The lull of summer has taken root and I am contented with unstructured activities. Still, something in me longs for productivity. I slip back into evil thought patterns of guilt and self deprication when I consider a day, or a long stretch of days, doing absolutely nothing.

I spent quite a bit of time thinking about my show for this week, and although most of the listening audience had no idea, I was happy with the songs--not so much the delivery on my end. Only a few technical glitches and dead air, but good music.
I sometimes fantasize that someone will call in and start a dialogue similar to Minnie Driver and John Cusack in Grosse Point Blank. Wishful Thinking.

The summer has been full of music and movies for me, but little else. I have tabled the idea of meeting someone to spend time, at least for awhile. I'm still trying to repair an old wound--it just seems to split open just when I think I am healed. It will be easier come the first of August, I hope.

It's funny what you fail to recognize about yourself. It's important to have others to point out the positives, especially if you tend to dismiss good qualities as quirky or insignificant.
Two examples:
After visiting a fossil store with my sister, upon leaving my sister said to me,

"That guy was totally checking you out!" She blurted, pushing me out the door.

"What guy?"

"The one you were talking to about the petrified wood. Didn't you notice? You had a conversation with him. He was watching you the entire time we were in the store."

"..Um...was there a guy in the store?"

"Oh my God, Catharine, you are hopeless."

Hopeless? Maybe. Oblivious, yes.

Example 2:

I recently got back in touch with a fellow teacher from Alabama that I met on the Japan trip last summer. I was missing the country and its kind people--since we were over there on July 4th I was reminded again how much I felt at home there.

John's words were soothing and smart, thoughtful, articulate and kind, just as I remebered them to be a year prior. Again, he reminded me of things about myself that I tend to gloss over. A short excerpt from his recent email read:
You remain one of the most genuine, spontaneous, and honest people I have met in a long life spent in a lot of places, and you are one of the select few who instantly
spring to my mind as the epitome of the spirit of the trip.

I recently read (I am embarassed to tell the source--but let's just say it was YMCA material..) that the best present you can give to a woman is your undivided attention. I don't know many men in my past that were willing or able to do that. But John's emails to me were more attentive than any man I have encountered in the past four years--easily. So thanks John.

New Music that is pretty good (a real mix of stuff here...):
Daniel Lanois-Belledonna
Erin McGeown--We've become like birds
STARS- set yourself on fire
Feist -let it die
Moaners- dark snack
Odawas-Aether Eater
String Cheese Incident- One Step Closer
Bruce Springstein- Dogs and Devils
The Hold Steady (don't know the album title)
Willie Nelson: Countrymen
and a new album that I cannot rememer the artist but the album is called
Iron Flowers.

Movies I have recently seen:

Chopin: love and passion
The Station Agent
Flaming Lips: Fearless Freaks
Being Julia
Zelig (woody allen)
Alice (woody allen)
The Life Aquatic

Hoping to see:
ENRON: the smartest guys in the room
Willie Nelson at the Vogue


That's all for now. Ciao.

in a manner of speaking

In a manner of speaking I just want to say
That I could never forget the way
You told me everything
By saying nothing
In a manner of speaking I don’t understand
How love in silence becomes reprimand
But the way I feel about you is beyond words
Oh give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me nothing
Oh give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me everything

In a manner of speaking Semantics won't do
In this life that we live we only make do
And the way that we feel might have to be sacrificed

So in a manner of speaking
I just want to say
That like you I should find a way
To tell you everything
By saying nothing
Oh give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me nothing
Oh give me the words

(this part of the post was added after a glass of wine at one of my favorite restaurants in town..so I am feeling a little better.)

ON Sundays Bombay is closed, so I meander over to Shanti, where the servers greet me kindly and know what I want before I sit down. The smell on the street reminds me of the place I would visit when in London, just down the street from my flat. I hope everyone there is okay but Bayswater was not one of the tubes hit...still, King's Crossing was a big one for me...


"Where is your little one?" someone usually asks, since Lilly is now to the point where sitting quietly with me is rare..

I drove home (I was crying) and entered my complex to see two sets of rainbows and a hot air balloon's silouette north of here. It made all my furrowed brow stuff disappear.

Besides, I have The Life Aquatic with Steve Zisso to keep me company.
Also, just saw The Station Agent, and was reminded of an old friend(but he would not call me his friend) who not only looks-- but acts like Finbar. It was a good movie.

Ok, back to the angst-ridden blog of earlier..



"So, what dujewdo this weekend," he asked, trying to be all cool and swanky. It wasn't working for me. I held my daughter's hand. I looked at him, head cocked to one side, as if he didn't know my reply.

"Give me a single latte to go, please," avoiding the question. Avoiding him all together. He knew better than to ask. I stopped looking in his eyes. I usually wear my sunglasses upon entering. I never linger more than a second. I rarely smile. I hate going in there now. (soma see and be seen..)


People seem to move so quickly and I am standing holding the door, wiping the dust from my eyes, picking up their trash, apologizing to the parents, patiently waiting my turn, calmly explaining the noise to the neighbors, giving all of myself, sharing with someone I thought was different than the rest, trusting, being vulnerable, being nice...blah blah blah, inside asking myself why I was such a sucker, hating everyone--every woman for being female, every man for being male. You would think someone would learn after years and years of the same old treatment and heartbreak. (me below..)

While cleaning up her coffee-making mess he was complimenting a young twenty-something girl on her looks only after 4 hours of sleep, I dragged my girl out of there to my car.
I wonder how I looked after 4 hours of sleep--different circumstances--not at all comparible. He will never understand that. Too bad--too bad all of you.