Monday, November 14, 2016

today unfinished.

TODAY UNFINISHED

Field trip this morning to see a play wherein
Tobias Turkey learns the value of determination.
To get fat.

Then lean again.

Lean in.

Line out.

On the bus a conversation with a Muslim
about the new Pres. Elect's idea of deporting three million
immigrants. He was all for it. Because it was only
to be the criminal element that were sent.

Vent.

Then he talked about how
Islam, Judaism and Christianity all came from Abraham.
That we are all one religion with three books.

Crooks.

I remembered the song:

Father Abraham had many sons
Many sons had father Abraham

I am one of them and so are you
So let's just praise the lord.

Right arm, left arm, right leg, left leg
turn around, sit down.

Lord.

That song's subversive
Because the subtext is that
we all come from the same place
have the same origin
which, no matter what you believe
is very likely true
and therefore let's just praise
the origin of said origin.

And praise basically means dance.

Encouraging.

This got me thinking about all the other children's songs.

Row row row your boat (do your work)
merrily merrily merrily merrily, (do it with joy)
life is but a dream (but no need to take it so seriously)

And I once wrote a whole essay on Do Re Mi.

See me after class.

Ack, I'm not in teacher mode am I?

Sorry. Still.

After the field trip, the park.

Chatting up an au pair.

Ugh, did I just say chatting up?

Was I doing that? Tell me I wasn't.

I was just having a conversation!

Wasn't I?

Paola. From Spain.

Where they pronounce it Powla.

I said her name packed a pow.

I told her about my daughter Lucia,

the way I prounounce her name with an S sound.

But her mother pronounces with a ch.

Lucia means light, so onomatopoically "s"

is lighter, and therefore more transparent to light

Ch is like film on the window pain.

But it gives the name strength too, hardness

so I still find it beautiful either way.

Paola pronouced Lucia's name with a soft th.

And that was somewhere in between.

And in her lips sublime.

I wanted to tell her the whole story of Analucia

the way I'm about to tell you now

you lucky so and so

hearing the best story I know

Analucia comes out of Andalucia

Because my friend had a dream he was King there

this beautiful place, something about the art, but what?

I was drawn to Andalucia, and so the name arose for my daughter.

But, alas, when she was born, my mother said

"Please don't call her Andalucia!"

Why mama? Why?

"Because my friend dreamed

(her friend dreamed?)

that an evil spirit inhabited Andalucia."

Mom, what? That's absurd.f
We're talking about a whole region.

And she said, "Nevertheless."

And I was pissed.

Yes, this whole region a mess,
infidels on both sides, two thousand years
of distress over beliefs, from one father
to two tribes, coming together and then
killing each other en masse,

Inquisition style.

Inquisitive much y'all?

So yes, there's an evil spirit, of sorts, mom.

It's called murder in the name of belief.

I grew up with it.

With the idea that I'd be as good as dead

to you if I didn't believe as you did.

That sounds dramatic,
but I ratchet it up to make a point
because there was a heavy sense
that you would mourn my loss;

that if I wasn't a child of Christ
didn't share your beliefs
that I was banished from your heaven.

I think that's why I yelled so hard at you
on the phone the next day
for putting your evil spirit hex
on the chosen name of my daughter.

One day old. We still hadn't named her yet by then.

Tired of my ranting you said shouted back at me,
"What do you want to do?"

And I practically screamed,

"I want you to love Muslims!"

Meaning I want you to love me.

And anyone else who believes differently.

I want you to love, which doesn't mean pity,

but merely accept, like the basic animal

you are, like any barnyard cow or pig

accepts their own unconditionally,

without original sin, or any sin,

with only love.

Can you even do that?

I'm wondering now.

Or do your beliefs get in the way?

That's the question, the meditation

the "prayer," if you will.

So here's what happened with the name.

I did a little research and get this.

The southern part of spain, Andalucia
 was originally called Vandalusia,
Arabic for "land of the Vandals,"
named by the conquering Muslim Moors
200 years after an earlier captor of the region
 the Vandals, conquered the area in 100AD.

The Vandals were cruel brutes,
 thus the current meaning of the word vandal.

So imagine the implicit insult of one ruthless invading overlords
calling a people by the name of the last ruthless invading overlords.

But then something happens, something conciliatory, over time.

Something I discovered in the very process of naming my child.

Something remarkable.

Eventually la lengua drops V from Vandalusia,

softening the violence of that hard vee sound

and opening the word up to it's vowel, it's air,

the ahhhh sound. Ahhndalusia.

This happened from within
seemingly from the unconscious will of the people.

And then there was another evolutionary mutation
to the name. It began, rather recently too,
to be known as Andalucia.

The latin "lucia" (light) instead of the arabic "lusia" (land.)

Light over land.

(Sounds like some kind of Robert Smithson piece.)

Light over land.

Which is shorthand here for love over possession.

So now that you have "lucia" for "light,"

then "Anda" takes on the meaning of the verb "andar."

The name now contains the sentence, "You, walk light."

This is where the words stemming from the heart

takes us. The language of the heart

softens (like the French and Italians,

with their love of vowels,) goes

from the ooze of "Lusia," of land,

to the clear ssss of "Lucia," light.

That's what the word itself does over time,

it walks into light.  Walks

from Vandalusia to Andalucia.


So, you go with it, with the word,

and the whole country does too,

because now she blends what is beautiful

in both the Muslim and Christian world

into something rich beyond compare.


And so we named our daughter Analucia Grace,

(took out the "d", which softens the word even more)

and named her what she is; walking light,

a daughter of Abraham and Sarah,

and the reconciliation of the sons,

from infidels to idylls,

the flesh made word.


If not too prosaic, after that
here's how I ended the night:

There was a cross school G&T seat fight
at the CEC tonight about the DOE,
A101 was the ruling, local school politics,
3 hours worth of sound and fury. Right?

And then I finally ended up, exhausted, brain dead
around a fire pit with some neighborhood dads
drinking Aperol and lemonade
and arguing about politics.




TODAY UNFINISHED

Fieldtrip this morning with Lucia to see a play wherein
Tobias Turkey learns the value of determination.

To get fat.

Then lean again!

Lean in.

On the bus a conversation with a Muslim dad
about the Pres. Elect's desire to deport three million
immigrants. He was all for it. Because he thinks
it will only be the criminal element that are sent.

Then he talked about how
Islam, Judaism and Christianity all came from Abraham.
That we are all one religion with three books.

I remembered this song from church:

"Father Abraham had many sons
Many sons had father Abraham

I am one of them and so are you
So let's just praise the lord.

Right arm, left arm, right leg, left leg
turn around, sit down."

That song's subversive for a church song
Because the subtext is that
we all come from the same place
have the same origin
and therefore let's just praise
the origin of said origin...
Wherein praise basically means dance.

Encouraging.

This got me thinking about all the other children's songs.

Row row row your boat (do your work)
merrily merrily merrily merrily, (do it with joy)
life is but a dream (but no need to take it so seriously)

And I once wrote a whole essay on Do Re Mi.

See me after class.

Ack, I'm not in teacher mode am I?

Sorry. Still.

After the field trip, the park.

Talking with Lucia's friend Ada's au pair.

Paola. From Spain, 
where they pronounce it, Powla.

I said her name packed a pow.

I told her about my daughter Lucia's name,

the way I pronounce her name with an S sound,

but her mother pronounces with a "ch."

Lucia means light, so onomatopoetically,
 "ess" is lighter, and therefore more transparent to light
whereas the "ch" sound is like a film on the window pain.

But "ch" gives the name strength too, toughness,
so I still find it beautiful either way.

Paola pronounced Lucia's name with a soft th,
and that was somewhere in between.

I told her the story of Lucia's name
just like I'm about to tell you now

Lucia's full first name is Analucia.

"Analucia" comes out of "Andalucia"
because my friend had a dream he was the king
of this beautiful place, something about the art, but what?

I was drawn to Andalucia after that,
and so the name arose for my daughter.

But, alas, the day she was born, my mother said,

"I have one request, please don't call her Andalucia!"

Why, Mom?

"Because my friend dreamed
(her friend dreamed?)
that an evil spirit inhabited Andalucia."

Mom, what?! That's absurd,
we're talking about a whole region here.

And she said, "Nevertheless."

And I was pissed.

Yes, it was true, this whole region was a mess,
infidels on both sides, two thousand years
of distress over beliefs, from one father
came two tribes, coming together and
killing each other en masse,

Inquisition style.

So yes, I'd say there's an evil spirit, of sorts, mom!

It's called murder in the name of belief.

I grew up with it, in my own way,
with the subtle idea that I'd be as good as dead
if I didn't believe as she did.

That sounds dramatic,
but I ratchet it up to make a point,
because there was an underlying sense
that if I wasn't a "child of Christ,"
didn't share her belief,
I was banished from her heaven.

I think that's why I yelled at her
on the phone the next day
for putting her "evil spirit" hex
on the chosen name of my daughter.

She was one day old
and we still hadn't named her yet.

Tired of my ranting she said shouted back,
"What is it you want me to do?"

And I screamed,
"I want you to love Muslims!"

Meaning, mostly, I want you to love me,
but also anyone else who may believe differently.

I want you to love, which doesn't mean pity,
but merely accept, like the basic animal
you are, like any barnyard cow or pig
accepts their own unconditionally,
without original sin, or any sin,
with only love, me.

Can you even do that?

I'm wondering now.

Or do your beliefs get in your way?

That's the question, the meditation
the "prayer," if you will.

So here's what happened with the name.

I did a little research and get this.

The southern part of spain, Andalucia,
was originally called Vandalusia,
Arabic for "land of the Vandals,"
named by the conquering Muslim Moors
200 years after an earlier captor of the region
 the Vandals, conquered the area in 100AD.

The Vandals were brutes,
thus the current meaning of the word vandal.
So imagine the implicit insult of one ruthless invading overlords
calling a people by the name of the last ruthless invading overlords.

But then something happens, something conciliatory, over time.
Something I discovered in the very process of naming my child.
Something remarkable.

Eventually La Lengua drops V from Vandalusia,
softening the violence of that hard vee sound
and opening the word up to it's vowel, it's air,
the ahhhh sound. Ahhndalusia.

This happened from within
seemingly from the unconscious will of the people.

And then there was another evolutionary mutation
to the name. It began, rather recently too,
to be known as Andalucia instead of lusia

The latin "lucia" (light) instead of the arabic "lusia" (land.)

Light over land.

Which is shorthand here for: love over possession.

So now you have "lucia" for "light," which enables
"Anda" to take on the meaning of the verb "andar."

The name now contains the sentence, "Walk (toward) light."

This is where the words stemming from the heart
eventually take us. The language of the heart softens.
It goes from the oozy sound of "Lusia," of land,
to the clear ess of "Lucia," light.

That's what the word itself does over time,
it walks into light.  Walks
from Vandalusia to Andalucia.

So, you go with it, with the word,
and the whole country does too,
because now she blends what is beautiful
in both the Muslim and Christian world
into something rich beyond compare.


And so we named our daughter Analucia Grace,
(took out the "d", which softens the word even more)
and named her what she actually is; walking light,

Father Abraham had many daughters...

If not too prosaic, after all that
here's how I ended the night:

There was a cross school G&T seat fight
at the CEC tonight about the DOE
A101 ruling, local school politics,
3 hours worth of sound and fury. Right?

And then I finally ended up, exhausted, brain dead
around a fire pit with some neighborhood dads
drinking Aperol and lemonade
and arguing about politics.
Then this.













Peeps


Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Good answer



" maybe he wants to sell his caps because he doesn't have any money and he's hungry?"