Skip to main content

A Quick Trip to Texas

Texans are a kind and helpful people. Everything is big, yes. And sprawling. But there is diversity, there is beauty, and there are kindred spirits.

Many things happen over four years, but it is possible to hug a friend and know, in a matter of minutes, that nothing significant has changed.

And then you begin to talk and laugh together, and you play Bananagrams, and eat scones with clotted cream (so very Texan of us), and then you make the experience more authentic with Tex-Mex and a hearty breakfast, some Persian food (fun for all to try) and of course, BBQ.

You eat enough meat to feed a small family and you walk around the town where you can't see businesses from the road (bylaws say they have to be behind a row of trees), and you see quinceañera parties in a park in Houston.

There are conversations about life, dreams, cycling and writing. You sing along to The Beatles' Paperback Writer with the windows down. You listen to the country music station and discuss the difference between orange tree thorns and lime tree thorns.

There is a beautiful quilt on the bed.

Walking along a creek leaves you soaked by heavy rainfall, full-up with more laughter, and startled at the sudden roll of thunder overhead. And then there are hugs goodbye and the promise to do this again in less than four years.


At the airport, you watch the sunset and think about what a beautiful sky this is, and what a beautiful life you have.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...