miles and time

can souls speak to each other
in silence
can we believe the
voices we hear
are really each other's thoughts?

like after a dream
when you wake up and believe
the person you were dreaming about
had the same dream as you
or that it really wasn't a dream.
that the two of you were there
together

miles and time mean nothing
when souls can speak
because the truth
is in our minds anyway

we were soldiers

watching ken burns' the war, i hook into a collective remembrance, a moment in history when america was strong and beautiful. i think of my father and the america he believed in. simply because that's how it was. my father was a jewish boy from a small town in pennsylvania. his parents had fled persecution in russia. and now he was fighting the war in france. an easygoing Gary Cooper type who loved kids and always had gum and candy in his pockets.

he saw the faces of the young boys leaving home for the first time. eyes wide open, hope in their pockets, and duffle bags in hand as they left for the train stations, the bus terminals, the darkened streets at the crack of dawn. he saw the soldiers who risked their lives for people they had never met. he saw bodies herded away in body bags by the thousands--ready to be transported back home to mothers and wives, children who didn't quite understand what it meant that daddy wouldn't be coming home again. he saw all that. and he came back.

there is a beauty in the boys who went over. no, i'm not painting pictures of invincible heroes, but they were heroes. scared as hell some of them, and they were heroes. every last one of them. they gave something of themselves to be over there. those who never came back gave all they had.

and there was a spirit of america. a beautiful spirit. as a country we all pulled together. we had a mutual goal. we knew what we were doing. we were fighting a war that needed to be fought, a war that meant something. we knew we had to win.

people pitched in for the war effort. businessmen, farmers, salesgirls, and secretaries. we worked in factories, managed with less of everything. so we could send more over there. because it was something to believe in. we watched the newsreels and read the reports from war correspondents and letters home. gut-wrenching images of the world at war. when for a time, the devil walked the battlegrounds. because the axis was winning.

but that changed. once our boys were able to let go of what they'd been taught in small towns across america--that killing was wrong. that's what it took. because at large, we were innocents. children with shining eyes and smiling faces, some of us shaking in our boots, but still smiling--headed across the sea. to fight wrong with right. it was a war we could win. and we did.

things are very different now.

klimt--going in circles

i was looking forward to this film. the trailer held the promise of a fascinating, visually rich voyage into the mind and life of the painter gustav klimt, an Austrian Symbolist painter and one of the most prominent members of the Vienna Art Nouveau. the scenes previewed in the trailer give us brief, but tantalizing glimpses into the substance of his art--an image as reflected in the shards of a broken mirror, a beautiful woman who slams the door and leaves kimpt in a room swirling with little bits of gold leaf. but the promise was far better than the realization.

in a very early scene of the film the camera moves in a continuous circle as it pans a group of men and women at an elegant turn-of-the century gathering where klimt is being honored. we see bearded and mustached gents pontificating in stuffy sentences about what is art: what is beautiful, what is not, what is necessary, and what is not. klimt roams through the lot as if in some kind of parallel universe. and we, the audience, are subjected to the annoying circling of the camera. as if we are standing on the outer edge of a carousel watching the world from that perspective as it spins.

we're under siege. finally, long after it should have happened, the camera stops its roundabout movement and stays on klimt as he takes a piece of cake and presses it against the face of one of the pontificators. at last.

but unfortunately that was not a turning point in what had been such a tedious and annoying display of characters, most of whom behave in a way that is stagy, unreal, almost mad. eventually we understand the device. we are supposedly viewing the world from inside klimt's head, as he lies immobile in the asylum, uttering and repeating short phrases now and then, as if in a dream. consumed by syphilis, klimt awaits his death. and the visions we see are his.

what could have been a remarkable film about an artist whose work is sumptuous, with all the gilded elegance of the turn of the century in austria at the time (he even used small pieces of gold leaf in some of his paintings), is not. we see his models, the beautiful lithe creatures perched nude and unabashed on swings, willing participants in klimt's erotic fantasties. but such is not the case. it's a self-indulgent piece. a very good idea gone bad. if we could have seen some semblance of real events and situations, interspersed with klimt's ravings, the effect would have worked. as it was, we are annoyed, impatient, wanting the actors who seem to be acting that they are acting finally seqguey into some kind of truth. it never happens.

directed by raoul ruiz and starring john malkovich, klimt, the movie, is an utter disappointment, made more so by the astonishing beauty of the work of the artist and the romantic image most of us have of the time and place in which he lived.

check out more reviews on my movie review blog, Slick's Flicks

pnf

it stands for proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation (PNF), which involves both the stretching and contraction of the muscle group being targeted. my yoga teacher discussed it with us in class this morning as an alternative to the "pushing it" mentality that has been in vogue for quite some time--particularly in high-adrenalin sports like bicycle racing, running, etc. but interestingly enough--that desire to push beyond your limits has also been the cause of many injuries in what is presumed to be a far more benign mind/body activity--yoga. apparently many injuries that involve the separation of muscle from bone, tendon tears, sprains, etc. occur in yoga classes. provoked by an all too enthusiastic teacher making "an adjustment" (i.e. pushing the person's body more into position) or by the yoga student herself pushing her own body beyond what is her current limit. so the lesson here is clear: listen to your body.

back to pnf. the idea here is that all the muscles in the body, including the heart, are happier with warm up stretches, followed by a pause (relaxation), followed by activity, then pause, and the pattern continues. it's only logical when you think about it. if the heart is beating madly to keep up with your demands, it only stands to reason that it could "pop." and as a matter of fact, reports of heart attacks while jogging are not uncommon -even among people who have been running 20 or more miles a week for years. the idea of 'less is more' seems to apply. recent medical findings are telling us that the heart as well as the rest of the body appreciate the pattern described above.

my teacher (lynn) reported hearing about private sessions in NYC for pnf going for an impressive $250/hour. and what it's really about is "don't push it. relax." for now i'll give myself my own private sessions and continue my group yoga classes with lynn.

freedom of speech

i just read that president bush condemned MoveOn yesterday, calling the organization "disgusting." And why exactly? Because it's a consolidated voice of america screaming for the return of our soldiers? Screaming in frustration, sadness, and anger because the war our soldiers are fighting and their very presence on those foreign fields are based on a false melange of fact and fiction engineered for a supposed truth.

Who is disgusting, Mr. President?

sadie chronicles

she's a dog, a gargoyle, a goat, a newborn calf, a dragon, and undoubtedly one of the most adorable creatures on the planet. when i first spotted her at the marin humane society, she weighed a trembling 9 pounds. it was clear she wanted to go home with me right then and there, but i wanted to make sure i wasn't making TOO much of a hasty, impulsive decision (i'm no stranger to that). so i went home and spoke with the voice of reason--my daughter. her eyes lit up and she smiled in that certain way that made me know precisely where this would take us. but we went through the motions of sane, logical thinking and went to the humane society together this time.

sadie (she was scruffy then) took to the ball immediately. it's as if the two were made for each other. after my daughter saw her frolicking in the autumn leaves--retrieving her beloved tennis ball, she answered my question with, "mom, how can we not?"so there's the story in a nutshell.

she's gained nearly 10 pounds since then. still puppy size and is usually mistaken for one. she's a determined little thing who believes that other dogs are trespassing in her world. they are of course. and it's magnanimous of her to allow them there. she curls herself up on my bed in a little ball--easily mistaken for a black and white pillow. or she'll wedge herself lengthwise along the narrow space between the upholstered seats of my sofa.

the name sadie came to us in a flash the day we brought her home. she was such a slim little thing, and we thought of eminem's 'slim shady' and that turned into 'slim sadie' and then of course later the 'slim' was dropped. but it wasn't long before my daughter gave her the name that really fits--satan.

because in spite of being adorable (and she's a GREAT dog who understands a slew of commands and will kiss you incessantly and put her little face so close to yours as you snuggle on the couch together that it's almost obscene), there is a strong streak in her that is quite demonic. if a new person comes to our front door, for instance, and reaches out to pet the "cute little dog" (particularly if the person is wearing big clunky shoes), she is not beyond giving the hapless individual a very clear warning in the form of angry, loud, and incessant barking as well as the occassional "nip" on the shoe itself or even the back of the ankle. she doesn't like the sound of motorcyles and tries to outdo them with sustained verbal messages of her own. and even if her tail is wagging while a stranger is petting her, her patience (and trust) can wear thin and she'll snap angrily in defense. she used to chase after bicycles, but that has mostly stopped. she's still not fond of skateboards or little kids on tricylcles, but she can "deal."

there are ways around some of this behavior. one of the obvious ones is to tell strangers not to pet the "cute little puppy" who is wagging her tail and looking at this new potential ball thrower with those adorable saucer eyes (she sometimes looks like a baby gorilla). another one, saved mostly for people who come to the house the first or second time, is to throw a ball or one of her fluffy toys to her immediately upon entrance (being careful to avoid eye contact--apparantly, according to an animal behaviorist--this can "incite" her).'

whatever works' indeed.

the twig

The leafy field
Where I found you
Wrapped in winter’s arms
Eyes as cold as the twig
wedged between your fingers
Is where i remembered my name

the sades

book review--the road

finding the words to describe the experience of reading Cormac McCarthy's the road is challenging, to say the least. because i find myself wanting to get into the same kind of rhythmic/hypnotic movement that captures you on the first page of the book and takes you through the story. you're a willing traveler, because it's more than a story; it's a vision. an astonishing vision of a world that is potentially and dangerously close. when the earth has died, when the few remaining people are scavengers with no taboos. when everything is grey and black. bleakness, smoke, decay for as far as the eye can see. and the characters--the man and the boy--are unnamed. it is only 'the man' and 'the boy.' they walk, trying desperately to walk faster than the oppression of death and surrender that pursues them. the love that is felt between the man and the boy is the purest of loves. they speak simply. so much of what they say is left unsaid, but understood nevertheless. there are no quotation marks throughout the book. and yet the reader always knows who is talking. 'okay.' 'okay.' and you know who said it first.

axis of aspartame

so it seems that mr. rumsfeld has been involved in more than just world politics, although what i am about to say could be considered world politics--but just not the kind that involves the military. aspartame, known by the names NutraSweet, Equal, Spoonful, and Equal-Measure has been shown to be linked with as many as 92 negative symptoms exhibited by the human body. i can only imagine what appeared in rats. interesting to note that according to one source, the amount of aspartame deemed as safe is as much as 20 times SMALLER than what the FDA in the US has established as safe levels. a recent european report is now claiming that aspartame does NOT pose a threat, even in levels higher than the daily recommended dose. so what do we believe. here's a little tidbit that may sway you one way or the other: the guy who was at searle (the company that produces aspartame; in fact he was CEO) when aspartame was pushed through the FDA and was proclaimed as "safe" was noneother than our buddy donald rumsfeld. still listening? now what does that tell you? let's say you arch an eyebrow. let's even say you don't.

read these facts:

• you'll find aspartame in any number of items you consume that are labelled, "sugar-free"--cookies, yogurt, chewing gum, soft drinks, candy, to name only a few.
• a sampling of the 92 health risks associated with aspartame include blindness, tinnitus and hearing impairment, migraines, severe depression, insomnia, personality changes, asthma, hypoglycemia, severe PMS, brain damae, suicidal tendencies, and even death.
• according to consumer advocate attorney jim turner, who was instrumental in the 1969 banning of cyclamate in the US for its link to cancer, Rumsfeld was hired by Searle specifically to obtain FDA approval for aspartame. there have been calls for the reversal of that approval ever since.

My feeling is this: I'll have my little piece of poison in the form of one stick of chewing gum here and there, knowing that it contains aspartame. When it comes to sodas, I'll skip it altogether. As for sweetening my cereal--as long as I am not diagnosed with diabetes, Ill choose agave nectar because it's delicious (and you can use less because it is actually sweeter tasting than any other natural sweetener), along with maple syrup, honey, and yes--a little bit of sugar.

A votre sante.