The Cold Room – Lowry Pei

Lowry Pei – Birthday?? – Grew up in the 50s.

I venture into my own cold room quite a bit.

Sometimes I think that I spend too much time there.

My cold room isn’t necessarily filled with the corpses of memories. I think that they are just in hibernation and each time I visit them, they return to life and I am able to spend some time with them again.

Then again, I’m happy to have the ability to still pull those memories from the recesses of my mind. Who knows how long they will remain. I know as I age, I’ll loose the ability to find them in their normal resting places.

When I crack the door of the cold room and step inside, I think about my days in high school. Friendships…girlfriends.

I think about my college years. Again, all the good friends I had …the couple of girlfriends I had.

I think about my time after college.

My years adrift before my time in Romania.

I think about the “friends” I had in Romania. I think about M and how we met. I think about out time together in RO. I think about our first years in this country together. I think about the innocent first couple of years we spent together…as we really grew to know each other.

I’m happy when I revisit these corpses.

But, deep in the back corner of the cold room, on a shelf, in a box are the really “dead” memories.

I know they are there, and from time to time I will lift the lid to that box and look inside and see them there. Naturally, I don’t spend too much time with them….but I respect the space they occupy on their shelf.

Rosa – Cynthia Ozick

Cynthia Ozick born April 17, 1928

If I had not read ‘The Shawl” in the BASS 1981, I don’t think that I would have had the connection to this story that the story enabled.

Having that story in my head through the time I read this really added some depth and body to the story.

Rosa is a rather long story…but worth it.

I always seem to enjoy stories that have a character who is…touched in the head.

I think if written with skill, the effect is wonderful.

Ozick certainly knows how to pull it off.

I think that part of my fascination with this particular trait in a character is my own fear or thought that I may suffer this fate someday.

I already question little mannerisms that I have and wonder how others perceive me. Little gestures, statements, behaviors and quirks. I think looking at myself from the outside, parts of who I am are a bit – well – weird…if not a little odd already. I ask myself – “why did I make that weird noise?” or “why did I screw my face up like that?”.

I have told M about these thoughts I have and she assures me that these are just traits that make us who we are. They are part of our personality.

I suppose she is correct, but I can’t seem to shake that I’m already a bit off center.

My father (in his “normal” days- Pre Alz), had an odd personality. You don’t have to stretch your thoughts too far to draw a connection between the two of us.

I just wish I wouldn’t look back on a scene in my life and be so critical of my behavior in these particular scenes.

I’m too into my own head sometimes. If the normal biological processes of my brain chemicals altering my everyday behavior as I grow older don’t push me into the looney bin – then me fretting over those brain chemicals is going to push me there quicker.

-Screwed huh?

Nairobi – Joyce Carol Oates

Joyce Carol Oates - born June 16, 1938

I haven’t yet narrowed down my inability to finish this volume of the BASS. Sure I’ve been distracted by the pregnancy but I’ve had plenty of time to read and write.

It’s not like I don’t have more years of the anthology to plow through…

Perhaps it’s my lack of disciple showing again.

I don’t understand what is so difficult about spending ½ an hour with a story and then writing something about it the next day.

So…Nairobi.

Oates.

A pleasant enough story. Nothing spectacular – standard fare from Oates (which means that the writing is superior to other authors).

What did it give me?

Well, this was a tough one.

One that caused me to stare hopelessly at the computer screen for awhile.

The first word that popped into my head was illusions.

I feel that the story had to do with the perception of those illusions. Is it even possible to perceive illusions or are illusions something that are stable and cannot be subjected to a certain perception? They either are something or they are not.

Hummmm…

This story caused me to think about the world around me and my existence in it.

How much of the time that I spend in this world is an honest existence?

Reality vs. fantasy.

I’ve written in the past quite a bit about perception and how I am working at how I deal with my own.

It seems, and this may be just because I am hyper aware of it, that there is an awful lot of discussion out there in the world now about the “reality” that we are living in. Was the life we lead before this economic crisis a “real” world or was it a world based on a fantasy?

Was it this illusion that got us into the trouble that we are in now?

Was what happened after 9/11, America’s reaction, based on a realistic plan to fight our enemies? Afghanistan? Iraq?

The internet, TV, the movies, the entertainment and information industries…infotainment…are they reality?

Do we see Nairobi on the other side of the screen and believe that we are there because we have been conditioned to believe that we are there because we are told that we are there?

Illusions and reality – something to be explored and considered.

Glimpse into Another Country – Wright Morris

Wright Morris - January 6, 1910 – April 25, 1998

It’s not that often that we sit back in our little world(s) and attempt to grasp how big the world really is.

We go through our day and focus on our frustrations and convince ourselves that the problems and pains we are suffering are to be our own to bear and that there can’t possibly be anyone out there suffering as much as we are.

I think DFW in his famous commencement speech brought our self-centeredness right to us and helped us realize what silly creatures we are.

Only recently, well, within the past 8 years or so, have I really attempted to grasp the enormity of the world. Even after my trips, life and time abroad, I still failed to realize the scale of this place – planet - until recently.

I think it has only been through the education I have gained over these past years both through my day to day work and in my reading that has allowed my mind to open and to see what is really going on in this world...taking a Glimpse into Another Country.

I think that it’s the mental filters kicking in once again that only allow so much information to pass through into our minds preventing an overload of sorts.

The filters prevent the weight of the world from crushing us. Sometimes those filters malfunction...and well, you can guess what happens when the weight of the world lands on you.

How many times do you glimpse into another country?

Step off that cliff?

Run that extra mile?

Cheat death?

Walk around naked?

I thought that doing so would be difficult given my line of work. I have found this not to be the case.

It all has to do with a shift in your mental state. Knock it off a couple of degrees – (you can choose how to do that) and your everyday can become glimpses into other countries.

I have to remind myself to skew my angle of thought. Not daily...but hourly.

I have to think about how others think.

Think about what others see.

Think about what others feel.

Think about what others do.

Then – I think about what I think and see and feel and do.

And I think about other ways of thinking and seeing and feeling and doing until I know that my next step may or may not be the right one...but it will definitely be interesting.

It’s a big world.

Let your mind take you out there. It’s easier than you think.