Quiet Reparations

Archive for December, 2004

December 01 2004, 06:03 PM This Is What Comes Of Paying Attention

I was to lunch recently with Mr. Containment; we had chosen to eat up in the balcony area, he with his various things, me with my tapioca and a single, slender spoon. We spent time, as we are wont to do, snatching moments of contemplation between ongoing discussions of cabbages and kings. To be more accurate, we were instead discussing kerberos and fountain pens. It was in the middle of this that he turned the conversation to the table and said:

The nice thing about chocolate pudding is that you don't need to stir it. But there is something calming about stirring pudding.

...and I immediately needed to borrow a fountain pen to write it down.

December 16 2004, 11:15 PM The Bit About The Dog

When the hard drive dies, it's a signal. It's a signal that says: make backups.

December 20 2004, 08:36 PM It's Cold

It is very cold here. It is the kind of cold immortalized in paintings, picturesque, spread with sharp shadows under the low sun and mantles of snow. The streets are empty. Through the window, one can search for the chimney pots on other houses, thinly smudging the sky like one's own. The fire in the hearth is close but warm, and pleasures taken turn inward, toward the wine and the cheese.

Pressed against the window, the breath makes clouds to be wiped at with sleeves. The obstruction is cumulative: soon the rime will crisp up so that the world outside is netted by the winter on the window. The children run to get napkins to fight it off, but they will be going to bed soon.

It is a clean cold, here, a punctuation on living that calls one out the door to spite the risks. In the day under the cold the skies were lonely and blue, fearfully empty of cloud. At night, the cold marshals the air to make it stand clear and crisp. It is so clear that on tip toe one could touch the moon to crack it. The stars mute their laughter, but shine the brighter. The dogs keep still.

It is very cold.

December 22 2004, 03:39 PM How The Trains Move

When the Western train first starts, it is imperceptible. Motion takes over smoothly. There is a brief moment where the mind is caught with the notion that the whole world has been spun backwards (Mach would raise his glass to that) but none to soon more common sense takes over (Mach shakes his head and smiles) and one knows one is moving.

At speed, the Western train develops a gentle Brownian motion in its own space. Slight jostles tremor the cup of water upon the tray, and occasionally papers spill from the adjoining seat. Under braking, the Western train sets up a subtle shudder along its length, the only motion of perceptible violence.

(I am on the Eastern train, now, clawing its way up the poor, battled track of the northeast corridor. We shake and jitter, the rails sing, we bounce along. Through the window in the door ahead of me, I can see a small part of the next car, leaping like an angry puppet.)

At low speed and high speed, the Western train sets up in a smooth rhythm of rocking, a multi-ton cradle swinging back and for by small slow arcs to put us to sleep. I imagine the sway as a wiggle that creeps down the train, turning our silver cars into the segments of a great snake, twisting through the pre-dawn, shaking a knowing tail at the surrendering darkness.

The traveler next to me is War Railing: hello, Bill.

December 22 2004, 03:45 PM All Is Full of Dang

One problem with the train being so happy on the rails is that my power adapter keeps falling out.

December 26 2004, 07:30 PM Vacation

The land is gentled, here. It all began as higher land, carved up by ice and stream. The telling difference of the land here is the heaving jumbles of rocks that poke up through the soil here and there. They are all kinds of color, these rocks, from the mahogany of earth's clay to the dark night of wet slate.

On the road to the beach is a turning, a lazy left hander onto Roast Meat Hill Road. I did not turn, but instead went to the beach. The beach was cold, cold, and with wind coming off the land. The water was calm and level, and the seagulls sat in it, nearly embarrassed by the lack of movement. It was cold, and I sat on driftwood and watched legends move about at sea.

I had received word that Reggie White had died, but I had forgotten who he was. I only learned that I had misremembered later.

There is a fire in the fireplace, now, a slow consumption of wood and fuel in a dance of heat and light. Sparks burst free with a crack of a log in little puffs, clouds of dancing cinders that float for a moment in the heat and then fall darkening. We are drinking a red wine, a deep and sweet red wine from Anaheim brought by my brother. We are drinking it out of little glasses with our feet warmed by the fire.

Outside, it is snowing.

December 28 2004, 10:07 AM Last Trick Sweeps

December 30 2004, 10:53 AM Standing At The Corner Watching You Watch Cars Go By

It is good to be home.

December 30 2004, 11:53 AM It's A Trick

Mr. Containment and I have come to similar conclusions about shaving apparatus. I have a very good electric razor, and I like it very much, but I mostly use it for the trimmer attachment. I would rather a blade. Through the annoying but most valuable method of actually trying the damn things, Mr. Containment and I have both landed on one particular blade(s) with a handle on solution as superior (Mr. Containment has actually gone farther than me on this point: his optimal solution is blade(s) with a non-matching handle on, but I digress somewhat).

I bring this up because I am out of that stuff, and in an effort to peel away a week's worth of travel grunge I have been forced to deal with the stash of cheap disposable razors that have languished in the back of the drawer these many years. The experience moves me to offer two advices:

• Stick with what works well, and
• Don't try some new method on the morning of your wedding (dumbass)

The nice thing about some types of disposable razors, though, is that they come with a little clear plastic coverlet that is just about the size of the razor head, and is very difficult to see from a distance. This lets one turn to a roommate, say "Hey! Watch this!", and proceed to shave one's tongue. It's a trick; the knack is to press convincingly. The other trick is to make sure the little plastic coverlet is on.