i have resolved to float along until i feel like swimming
the joys of documentaries, forgetting useful notes, and delicious descriptions.
hello friend[s],
welcome to february, i hope it has been an easy transition. i have spent most evenings of this month watching various documentaries on just about anything. so far i’ve learned about irish salmon, vietnamese cooking, environmental art, and nature sculptures. specifically, i’ve been rewatching anthony bourdain parts unknown. an awfully nostalgic show that makes me feel like it’s past my bedtime.
i’ve been wanting to make sure i still like to learn things, without the pressure of school. i am very happy to report, i still do. i realize how important it is for me to give myself my evenings to rest. ironically, i realized this while doing homework. for a german assignment, we had to do a video project with a few options. i decided to do giving myself advice as if i’m from ten years in the future. most of what i could come up with were to slow down [time will wait], to sleep more [i don’t lead a very sustainable lifestyle for a sustainability major], and to keep casually speaking german [you don’t want to forget all your hard work].
so now, i do my best to stop working around 9:30, to put on a documentary i don’t have to take notes on, and let myself get sleepy.
i’m back in my bed {previously doing homework} and it’s 8:58 pm. i spent most of the afternoon and evening in a panicked state because of an anti-mask [not very peaceful] protest that has arrived right by my house. so i cooked for the second part of my day. now i have two small and one big shepherd’s pie. i’ll save it for later.
life can be a bit funny, can’t it? i wasn’t sure what to say today so i went looking for notes i might’ve left for myself.
on january 23, 2022 i put in my notes app “The dark hedges are short, free of charge and prove that you don’t need to spend big bucks or seek major sites to have a memorable and meaningful holiday. I always love places like the dark hedges because they show that if someone writes about it, people will come. I believe it proves my point that just because you haven’t heard of it, doesn’t mean it isn’t just as important. Start your own dark hedges and the world will discover your special neck of the woods.”
on march 10th, 2021 i put in my notes app “I always love places like the dark hedges because they show that if someone writes about it, people will come. I believe it proves my point that just because you haven’t heard of it, doesn’t mean it isn’t just as important. Start your own dark hedges and the world will discover your special neck of the woods”
the same lines, ten months apart, felt special to me. i have no recollection of the march 10th entry. the entries are from a blog post my mom made in 2015. it’s funny, how time works.
i’ve been feeling out of touch with things i enjoy, finding myself needing to confirm simple things. then i remember it’s the middle of the winter, i’m not even 20 yet, and i have the ability to keep going without making any waves. i have resolved to float along until i feel like swimming.
i’ve been rereading the anne of green gables series. did you know almost every anne book is an audiobook on spotify? it’s a lovely thing to know.
i like anne because she describes the world in ways i can only dream to. i don’t think i can pick a favourite book, but in one that i love [annes house of dreams] she says:
It was a shore that knew the magic and mystery of storm and star. There is a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery—we may only wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only—a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.
isn’t that just delicious? i relisten to this book in my attempt to relove our frozen earth and forgive my heart. i also watch childhood shows, go for walks and stop to chat with the birds, and do my laundry just so i can bury myself in it after it dries. if you have any good earth loving methods, please tell me [ i want to fill myself with love so one day i can become heart shaped ].
it’s 10:21 and i’ve done it: i have made myself sleepy. early to bed and hopefully hopefully, early to rise. i’ll see you just before valentine’s day. i love you. i hope you read a good book this month.
xx delphi
i found this lovely poem today [last summer], I hope you enjoy it as much as I did... {found in see and taste edited by david lee garrison and terry hermsen}
ode to tomatoes by pablo neruda
The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of sumer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
or fiery color
and cool completeness.
we must have a parts unknown/documentary viewing party soon my friend, i loved this entry