I talked to two cop friends today.

Asked them to help me understand what’s going on — to help me with the cop lingo/mumbo jumbo Elliot was giving me to go on this “break.”

They both said Elliot is a liar.

“Probably already has a wife or a girlfriend.”

“What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense… if he’s only been a cop for this long, they can’t be promoting him like that… I don’t trust this guy.”

“I’ve heard these excuses before…”

“Cop or not, remember that all guys are dogs.”

I want to trust him… I really do. But at this point all I can do is move on. If everything he said was true and he is going to call me in February… then it’ll just be a bonus.

But now I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and what is left at the bottom of it? Is it Hope?

Or is it Cynicism?

Age: 28

Hair: Red

Height 5′4

Method: Wearing Her Down

Advancement:  The Sitcom Shoot down

Me and D have one of the weirdest friends/non-relationships/love/hate kind of things. It all boils down to the simple fact that we could/will never remotely get our shit together. Either I have a girlfriend, she has a girlfriend, I’m not looking for a relationship, she’s a basket case, or we spend all our time on the phone together, it’s a revolving relationship. It’s been this way for years, and I get a little sick of it every few months. It also works out that our schedules never mesh, so we go through these fits without actually having to see each other.  Last night, in a fit of drunken spontaneity, she randomly calls and asks me if she can come over, just to get a bottle of wine. Luckily, I don’t live in a place where such a feat is impossible at 10pm at night.

So she comes over, and I haven’t seen her in well over a year, and it was just weird. It was awkward as hell, so she immediately asks to crack open the wine. We also decide that we are gonna watch some Scrubs, because she likes to joke that we are like JD/Elliot in the on/off again kind of stuff. So we are sitting there on the couch with a pretty decent mutual buzz going on, she’s cuddled against my chest, and I just decide to go for it. I turn, kiss her, and immediately she pulls away. And this freaks me the fuck out, because I’d never seem to misread a situation more. She tells me that we should wait, but I become paranoid, that I did something wrong, and I don’t think she likes me at all and seeing me in person has completely complicated the situation.

But she then proceeds to keep cuddling with me, holding my hand, putting her head in my chest, until she falls asleep. Eventually I wake her up, because I know she had to get home, and I walk her to her car. It’s that slow kind of walk where we are just chatting and being flirty, and out of nowhere she goes, “I swear to God if you try and kiss me, I’ll kick your ass”. And this screamed of the kind of time where a girl would say the exact opposite of what she means, but it rattled me enough to not bother going for it, even still wanting to.

For five days I was patient. Elliot told me that I would not hear from him for five days since he worked a holiday shift. For me, it was worth it since I had Monday to look forward to: our trip to Disneyland together alone. I tried not to fantasize about our hours alone together, but I couldn’t help it. I was so excited to be able to spend an extended amount of time together at a place I loved so much. Last week when I went with friends I refrained from watching fireworks and marveling at the lights of the castle so I could bask in the moment with him.

Today was the day we would figure out the logistics of where we were going to meet and what time. I waited patiently for him to get off work at 10pm. At 10:30pm, he called me.

I was ecstatic when he asked me how my day was, how my week was, and when he shared about his. Inside I was bracing myself for disappointment, and for a good solid 10 minutes, I wasn’t disappointed.

However, after the small talk he finally said, “So I have some good news and some bad news… which do you want first?” I said I wanted the bad news first. He then said that the bad news wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t give me the good news first.

I went outside of the restaurant I was in to hear it. To cut to the chase, the good news was, he was offered a promotion. The bad news was, he would have to go through intensive training and a very unpredictable schedule until February. They even asked him if he had a family he had to tend to. Obviously he said, “no.” He explained to me that the first 5-10 years of what he does with his career will determine the next 35 and that this was an offer he could not refuse. So because of the unpredictability of his day to day life and out-of-state trainings, he told me that he wanted to take a break from dating altogether for the next two months.

The news hit me like a ton of bricks. This was NOT was I was expecting to talk about. To understand him better, I asked, “So you’re saying that we’re done? You don’t want to talk to me anymore?”

“No, no that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied.

“Well… then I’m really confused again.”

“I’m saying that I cannot maintain any kind of relationship for the next two months while I’m going through this. I would be lying to myself and being very unfair to you if I say that I can. After the two months are over, if you are still available, I would like to pick up where we left off. In the meantime, we can still text and catch up from time to time, but I don’t think I’m at a point where I can carry on what we’re doing during the two month period.”

“But in two months we only saw each other twice.”

“And it’ll be even worse than that the next two.”

I had to ask, “Do you see potential with us?” I needed to know if I was just one person he just happen to be dating that he wanted to tell, “Hold on.”

“If I didn’t think there was I would have told you a long time ago. I have no problem with telling someone that I don’t think things are working out.”

“So this isn’t your way of saying that you don’t want to date me?” I inquired.

“No, it’s not. I would still like to get to know you better, but this isn’t the right time right now.” The sense I got from him though was that he wanted me to keep my options open and not wait for him.

I asked him if this would be a preview of what would be to come if we were to get married. Just today a friend had told me that cops tend to have a problem with putting work before their family.

He told me that this decision is for his future family and that things WOULD be different once he had one. He said that this is definitely not a preview… he’s only capable of doing this now since he is single.

I don’t really want to talk about this anymore so I’ll cut it now.

The rest of the time he thanked me for understanding. He said things would get better in February, but he said that about December… and January.

It was a healthy, mature conversation and I understand what he needs to do.

But I still can’t help but be really sad… and really disappointed. I’ve been learning the art of delayed gratification, but since I’m not receiving the gratification I was waiting for, it just feels like a tease. A really mean tease.

I said I was patient for the past five days, but I take it back now.

I have been patient for the past two and a half months with Elliot.

Can I be patient for two more?

La journée sans achat ou Buy Nothing Day (BND) aux États-Unis est une manifestation non-violente de boycott des achats, pour protester contre l’excès de consommation. Reprise internationalement par Adbusters, l’opération fut lancée en 1992 par le canadien Ted Dave avec le slogan enough is enough ! (assez c’est assez). La première fois elle s’appelait No shop day puis cela fut transformé en Buy nothing day.

La Journée sans achats a lieu le dernier vendredi (Amérique du nord) ou samedi (Europe) de novembre. C’est la journée où, aux États-Unis, les chiffres de ventes sont les moins élevés de l’année.

•source: wikipédia

C’est donc ce phénomène qu’a voulu représenter les gars de chez Elliot en illustrant une mascotte tentant d’attirer la clientèle, dans un espace de stationnement vide.

On a bien rit pendant ce shooting puisque des gens arrivaient avec leur voiture, curieux de la promotion que nous offrions cette journée…

**Teaser** La photo Elliot du mois de décembre va frapper fort…elle sera en ligne dès le 1er décembre!

This Halloween was starkly different than the last few years. I got to get out, have a good time, make a little money and let my hair down. I went downtown for a while and painted faces for tips. I saw at least a dozen honeybees reminiscent of Blind Mellon from little toddler girls all the way up to grown women. I made a failed attempt at dressing up as a certain graphic novel character, but my glasses were busted and no one could really tell, so I wore my trench coat.

I had to take some promotional items to a party that night and got hassled at the door due to my lack of ID. After I found the promoter and handed off the stuff he introduced me to the staff of the sponsor and they invited me to tag along. I talked with one of the guys as we walked the streets to another venue. Elliot was a writer for a small town newspaper. He was a little taller than I was, smelled incredible, shared similar politics and pastimes. We pretty much held one anothers attention all night, talking (ad agreeing) on everything from women’s rights to religion and back again. We sat so very close on the car ride back to the original venue and walking back there he invited me to share some herb with him in his car. We sat in the cab of his truck sharing the most quiet of moments while everyone was inside the club.

I met up with my ride after that and had to leave, and when he wanted my number I felt compelled to be honest. I hate that honesty entails pulling someone into the complicated mess that is my life. I had to hell him that I was married at the moment, but that divorce was imminent. We chatted a couple of times via Facebook, but I would love to see him again. I want to kiss him.

This is what Elliot has been up to:

- Opening the trash and flinging coffee grounds across the kitchen (and eating a handful).

- Opening the cabinet and pulling out baking soda, sticking his hand in it and licking it off (while gagging between licks).

- Bouncing his sippy cup on the couch so it sprays all over the cushions and then wiping his hands in the juice.

- Reaching up to the table and grabbing my coffee mug and pouring it out all over the floor.

And this was all just this morning.

Needless to say, I have found myself doing a lot of cleaning lately. The worst part is that he does all of this while smiling. It makes it so hard to be mad. But I am pretty sure I know why people shake their children.

We are going to get out Christmas tree later this evening. We’ll see how that goes… I have a feeling we may have to tether it to the wall.

Almost to the end . . . .  Keep reading . . . . .  This journal entry isn’t dated, but probably is a day or so before Zach was born.

We have started talking about names for the babies.  Even though we have no idea if they will be boys or girls, we have envisioned adopting a boy and being pregnant with a girl.  We’ll see in a few months.

Funny that we are picking two names at the same time.  At present we like Sophie Annette for a girl and Zack Anthony or Quincy Aaron for a boy.  We have others that we like, too, but these are our favorites.

Certainly we are doing better this time than when we went to the hospital with a list of 12 or so names for Elliot!  Ha!

Funny that we sorta knew we were adopting a boy and were pregnant with a girl.  And we kept pretty close to the chosen names.  We ended up with Chloe Annette and Zachary Aaron.

A name is a very important thing, isn’t it?

Besides making sure the name sounds nice and trying to ensure we are not setting our child up for some terrible nickname, Paul and I also took care to choose names with meanings that we could claim for our children.

Elliot Alan.  Elliot means “My God is the Lord.”  Wow.  That is a strong name.  And we gave him the middle name of Alan because that’s Paul’s middle name.  Alan means rock or little rock or handsome.  I like all of those for Elliot.  I certainly think he’s handsome.  And I pray that he is always a strong rock, standing firm in his faith and in his character.

Zachary Aaron.  Zachary means The Lord Remembers.  Yes, it’s a perfect name.  The Lord certainly remembered Zachary — in his birthmother’s womb . . . in the NICU after he was born . . . three weeks later when we picked him up and brought him home . . .  and still today the Lord remembers Zachary!  We decided to stick with middle names starting with A.  Aaron means mountain and enlightened.  Wow.  I like those, too.  The two words make me think of wisdom and confidence — two things I pray for Zach.

Chloe Annette.  Chloe means blooming and verdant and growing.  Oooo.  I like that.  We have watched that little girl slowly blooming right before our eyes!  And the growing and verdant (green) part makes me think of alive and fresh, which she totally is!  Neat!  Annette means grace and favor and full of grace.  Wow!  That makes me want to holler!  She is so full of the favor and grace of God!  It is just all over her.  I can’t even express what a perfect name that is for her. . . .  Now, I must admit if you were to see her walking down the hallway, you would not say she is very graceful!!  Ha!  No, it’s not that kind of grace.  But it’s a more beautiful kind of grace that radiates off of her and touches and blesses everyone she knows.  Graceful, indeed!

Well, now that I’m all touched and emotional and covered with chills reminding myself of the meanings of my kids’ names, I would love to hear about your kids’ names.  Why did you name them what you named them?  What do they mean?  What does it mean to you?

Missy Elliot – Work it

Précurseur ce son de 2002, le beat est AMAZING

Elliot has been obsessed lately with having a little brother. Two little brothers, actually. DO NOT TAKE THIS TO MEAN ANYTHING. I am not pregnant, nor do I have any plan to be pregnant in the foreseeable future.
I think it’s more because all of his friends now have brothers and sisters (the last of his only-child friends has a sibling due pretty soon). That, and I’m not that into playing chess, and he wants someone to play chess with.

Tonight he was asking me why I couldn’t make him a brother (or two) now.

“I’m not married,” I told him.

“Then get married.”

“I’m sure I will someday, but not now.”

“Oh yeah, and there’s another reason, too,” he told me.

“What’s that?”

“We don’t have enough money for a baby.”

“Well, I’m not married.”

“Yeah, and we don’t have any diapers here. We would need some diapers. And we don’t have any.”

Here are some of the things that he has told me to encourage me to make his brothers:

“When I watch Attack of the Clones, I will not let those babies watch Attack of the Clones, because it’s too violent. I might be seven when those babies are born, so I’ll be able to watch it, but you know what? It’s violent. It’s way too violent for an instant.”
(It took me a while to realize that instant means “infant”)

“My brothers are really important to me. When they grow up, I want my brothers to grow up to be a nice man. Like, when I grow up to be a nice man. I want them to be the same thing. I want them to be a nice man.”

“I can share my Halloween candy with them. Because there’s enough for two kids in that bowl. Or three kids. Three kids could eat that candy.”

“I know something else. The baby brothers need a name. It can be pretty similar to my name, because I would be like a giant thing compared to the little baby. The baby would be a little instant compared to me. I’m even taller than this couch. And that baby is, like, not even as tall as my legs.”

I did a Google search today: “being a cop’s wife”

The pages of articles written by deputies and their wives were very eye opening for me. It showed me that what I was going through with the series of canceled appointments and several disappointments were actually normal.

All this time I felt like the cop “didn’t like me enough” or sacrifice enough to just go out or call me. Promise me a date with conditions? He obviously “isn’t into me,” I thought.

But as Elliot had told me before that it will take a “special person” to be with a cop, I read it countless times on my computer screen. Here are one of the blurbs I read (emphases mine):

Not many people realize it but it takes a special kind of woman to be A Cops Wife. We have to make a lot of sacrifices that most of the time involve the time we spend with our spouses. Not only do we have to be willing to share our husbands with the community but we have to learn to manage the household completely on our own. There are so many things that we have adjusted to doing alone. Like getting together with the family on holidays, kids birthday parties, anniversaries, eating and a lot of times sleeping. And the biggest thing that we have to deal with is the worry when he begins his tour of duty. But personally I have learned that I can’t deal with this on my own. I have learned to turn my worry over to God. Because I know that God will watch over Nathan while he is out serving and protecting the community and I trust that He will bring him home safely to me and our children. And when the day comes when he ends his tour of duty for the last time; I know that God will give me the strength and the courage to go on and continue to give our children the best lives I can possibly give them.

Here is another article…

WHAT IS A COP’S WIFE?

A cop’s wife is a woman who is married to a man who is “married” to his job, his partner and his badge. A cop’s wife can usually be found cooking breakfast at midnight, picking up his uniforms at the cleaners and spending nights alone.

A cop’s wife must be a good listener, not questioning him. She must be understanding when he goes out for a beer with his buddies, doesn’t feel like taking her to the movies, or has an exam to study for.

A cop’s wife must live with shift work, lonely holidays, bad jokes, ulcers and alcohol, bulletproof vests and fixed incomes. She is used to words like rape, robbery, assault and child abuse. She is familiar with night school, stakeouts, overtime and being on her own.

Most women are not born or raised to be a cop’s wife; it is something that they have chosen to do. Some can and others cannot. She will spend each day learning, listening to and loving a man that few people respect and most others often hate.

A cop’s wife makes beds, breakfasts and love to a man who spends more time with junkies, hookers, informants, pimps and partners than he does with her. She attends dinners, meetings and sometimes funerals.

A cop’s wife watches the man she loves grow old before his time, watches him become cold and unfeeling, but she will remain his friend, wife and lover. She will always be these things to him, but she also knows that he will always be first, A Cop.

When a cop’s wife kisses him as he leaves for work, she will make a silent wish that he will return to her. And every time there is a knock at the door, she will pray that it is not the Chief of Police and her husband’s partner coming to say kind things about her husband, how brave he was, how dedicated he was.

Being a cop’s wife means lots of trust, love and worry, but when he says “I love you”, it makes it all worthwhile.

When I read these and other articles, it actually didn’t deter me…

Honestly, it actually gave me a second wind to try again.  But… is he “special enough” for me to sacrifice all this for?

There really isn’t much to update. For the readers who were eager to read about how Disneyland went with Elliot… it didn’t happen. He had another reason for not going. He really tried to make it happen, but I don’t want to get into it.

The bright side is that we’re going to go to Disneyland alone together on Monday. I asked him to promise me this time he would be able to go with me. He promised with the condition that he may get called in to work at any given notice.

I was disappointed, however, that he didn’t wish me “Happy Birthday” yesterday… I told him about so many birthday events that he probably forgot when the actual day was. I woke up this morning looking through my texts and saw that I wrote this really weird cryptic text message to him in my crankiness of sickness and drunkenness from Theraflu last night.

Honestly, I’m still a bit disappointed… and it’s sad that I’m expecting him to disappoint me again.

bork bork bork bork

Good thing today is Friday. It looks like we’re getting a little punchy in here.

Sometimes you can almost see the wings on them and just know that they want to fly

“Hungry Man”

November 22nd, 2009

There is no question that I have been highly critical of Dexter this season, which isn’t to suggest that I wasn’t also critical of season two (where the conclusion fizzled) or season three (where things felt as if they wrapped up too neatly): this is a show that I have always felt struggled in the balance between the parts and the whole, and this has been especially clear this season. While I’ve enjoyed the majority of the story surrounding the Trinity Killer, and Michael C. Hall is delivering as compelling a performance as ever, I’ve found myself watching episodes out of obligation more than interest, and fastforwarding through anything not involving Trinity, Dexter, or Deb.

If we follow that strategy, “Hungry Man” contains perhaps the best connection yet between Dexter and Trinity, offering glimpses of two theoretically similar Thanksgiving dinners that in reality tell two very different story or, more problematically for Dexter, two very different stages of the same tale. The problem is that this isn’t actually a new theme, having effectively been the purpose of the Trinity story since we meant “Arthur,” and despite some really fantastic execution throughout it (like seasons before it) feels a bit too on the nose, thematically.

However, when you have a show that likes to meander about as it does and (in my opinion) waste our time with storylines that are irrelevant until the show decides to deliver a bombshell like at the end of this episode, I’ll take compelling contrivance over mundane mind games any day.

What bugs me about showing the dangerous side of the Mitchell family is that it was so inevitable. The storyline has always been an extravagant excuse to investigate Dexter’s family more carefully, a conveniently Miami-based serial killer who happens to also have a family. Over the past number of episodes, the show has created excuses for Dexter to see what Arthur is made of, discovering last week that he’s not even close to stable and discovering this week that his family has consequently suffered. And in those scenes the show has created a lot of legitimate dramatic tension, as Arthur/Trinity is unpredictable in a way that Dexter simply isn’t. We know how Dexter responds to situations, and we’re so far inside his head that the show has felt the need to more consistently use Harry as a second voice in order to diversify his inner monologues. To have a new character who is similarly complex to be able to investigate is both useful for Dexter (who loves self-inflicting psychoanalysis) and for the show, and Lithgow has been a great addition as a result.

However, my problem is that this episode goes too far to vilify Arthur, to take him so far away from Dexter’s current position that he becomes simply a cautionary tale rather than a complex individual to be dissected by Dexter and by the audience. It’s one thing to shatter his image of the perfect family by suggesting that his son resents him for the emergence of his violent tendencies, or to suggest that he is over-protective of his daughter to the point where he locks her in her room and has effectively turned her into both a creepily sexual 15-year old and a replacement for his dead sister. I think those cracks in the perfect family were both really interesting (especially with the daughter, who until this episode seemed a waste of the acting talents Vanessa Marano showed on Six Feet Under or Gilmore Girls), and they created consequences that wouldn’t be visible from behind a tree in his front yard, Dexter’s first vantage point into this family.

And yet, when Jonah went off during Thanksgiving dinner and Arthur went on a murderous rampage choking out his son and throwing his daughter across the room, the scene went too far. Yes, the scene was an enormously compelling piece of drama, and we’re conditioned to gasp when Dexter reveals the Dark Passenger to Arthur in that moment, but it makes things far too easy, which is the same thing that has happened in every past season. In Season Two, Lyla was a lifeline for Dexter, someone that he was able to talk to about his problem (albeit veiled in the context of Narcotics Anonymous), and killing someone who offers him solace would have been an intriguing moral dilemma; of course, she turned into a kidnapping arsonist psychopath, so all questions of morality disappeared. The same happened in Season Three when Dexter found Miguel Prado, someone who could be a friend and confidante who knew about his problems but understood and even assisted with it; however, he was revealed to be a corrupt attorney who was using Dexter to kill innocent victims, which made Dexter’s decision to kill him less morally complicated and more “satisfying.” It was a “Hell yeah” moment on a show that, late in each season, loves shifting into that mode.

For once, I’d like to see one of Dexter’s foils actually remain complicated to the point where Dexter doesn’t know if he should kill them. I’m aware that Trinity doesn’t make a great candidate for this considering the fact that he has murdered nearly 100 people in his lifetime, but having Dexter witness it first hand in such vivid detail creates too simple a trajectory. Dexter is at its best when it is investigating moral complexities, in particular within Dexter, and that ship has officially sailed: from now on, we’ve switched from being compelled by the intricacies of this friendship to a sort of bloodlust, hopeful that Dexter “gets another kill” (a common complaint amongst some fans is that they aren’t satisfied unless Dexter draws blood). The scene was enormously compelling, don’t get me wrong, but it also signals that the compelling series of episodes more carefully investigating Arthur have passed, and a serial killer is effectively all that’s left.

I thought that this hour was one of the best so far this season in terms of connecting Trinity and Dexter’s experiences, and Harry’s observation that Rita was, at one point, also just a cover for his true identity is spot on. Dexter has been holding onto hope that Arthur somehow figured it out, but in this episode any sense that Arthur has anything under control was eliminated as soon as his family was revealed as so tragically flawed. While it involved one of the subplots I fastforwarded through (Elliot and Rita’s transgression), it was interesting to see how Dexter returns to his family and sees what he believes to be happiness (Cody volunteering thanks for Dexter, the same thanks that had to be coerced out of the Millers) when in reality Elliot has whispered in Rita’s ear that Dexter isn’t around as much as a real father should be. It allows Dexter to believe his family is different when, based on what we know (and what Dexter should know, considering Rita’s less than stable past) there is every chance that ten years down the line they could be just the same.

But, unfortunately for the season as a whole, this is as far as this investigation is really going to get, if we follow the traditional patterns of the season structures (which, as noted, to this point have been almost slavishly adhered to). While we learn that Christine is Trinity’s daughter, and Deb puts together that she was likely the person who shot her and killed Lundy, we’re entering into the part of the season that completely demystifies the villains in an effort to allow Dexter to be a hero. Now, killing Trinity is avenging the thirty years of murders, protecting against future murders, protecting the Miller family, and protecting himself (now that Arthur knows his inner demon); there’s nothing complex about that, an inevitability tied as much to Lithgow’s guest star status as it is to the show’s ongoing pattern.

And if this was all surrounded by a more compelling set of ancillary storylines, I’d probably be less likely to complain about it, but forgive me if Batista/LaGuerta and Quinn/Reporter aren’t doing it for me.

Cultural Observations

• I do think that Jennifer Carpenter deserves a lot of credit this season. She was really solid in her scenes with Cody/Astor tonight, and more importantly did a good job of various revelatory moments that wouldn’t have worked without a good performance (as she’s basically acting with herself).
• However, I thought Masuka at Thanksgiving dinner was a huge disappointment: instead of letting him loose comically, they tied him up in Rita and Elliot’s drama, which could potentially lead to long-term hilarity but actually makes me less likely to care about the character moving forward. Did Masuka really need to be connected to that storyline?
• I’m going to presume that the title is as much a reference to the TV Dinners (which defined Deb and Dexter’s post-Mrs. Morgan Thanksgiving traditions) as it does to Dexter/Arthur’s hunger to kill.
• I thought Deb’s realization that the killer is working on a school pattern makes sense, but wouldn’t the bludgeoning have taken place during the school year, thus making Deb realize that he’s Miami-based? I know that she was at Thanksgiving Dinner and not in front of the board, but it was just something that she didn’t get to follow through on.

Elliot ont récemment travaillé fort à produire et à mettre en ligne ce dernier vidéo qui, à mon avis, regroupe plusieurs éléments le rendant très actuel. Du travail rafraîchissant de la part des jeunes cervelles de chez Elliot.

Elliot and I never communicate at the “right” time.

So after four days of waiting, he finally called me…

… the moment I picked up my cat’s cremated remains.

I was in tears crying on a friend’s shoulder when my phone vibrated in my hand.  Seeing that it was him who was calling didn’t bring me any kind of comfort.

I silenced the ringer and told myself that this wasn’t the time.

After dinner and two hours since he called, I sulked home and decided that I’d call him.  If he didn’t answer, the ball was in his court.

I was a bit surprised to hear him answer.

He was merry and light-hearted as he asked me how my Vegas trip was.  He asked what we did and where we went.

I cordially responded and acted normally.

Then he brought up the texts.  He said that after his “Have a great trip” text, he went to take a shower.  From there, he did some chores around the house and didn’t get back to his phone until later.

When he saw my “nevermind” text, he thought, she either has plans already or she’s angry.  When he read the last one about how I felt ignored, he knew I was frustrated.

“So in a sense I did ignore you,” he said, “I didn’t want to call you that moment.  I knew you were on your way to have fun, and I didn’t want to ruin that with a phone call.  I also know you’re going through an emotional time with losing your cat, so I wanted to call you once you got back. I didn’t think it was the right time.”

I told him that he made the right decision not to call me.  It would have ruined my trip and I was emotional.

He told me, “I called not knowing if you would be mad.  I’m glad we talked it out.”

“I am, too.”

“I just want to let you know that I don’t even like telling people what I do for a living.  It will take a special person — and I’m not saying you’re not that special person — to put up with a schedule like mine.  A lot of times I can’t be by a phone while I’m at work.

“Is this communication thing a deal breaker for you?” he asked.

I told him that it wasn’t.  I just wanted him to answer my questions.

“I feel like I’ve been really flexible with you,” I said.

“You have.”

The rest of the conversation was full of laughs again and he told me that he would be going to Disneyland with me on Monday.  We’ll see how that goes.

De seneste skud af tykkebassen. Et hvor han stener, et i et øjebliks kækhed og et hvor han er alvorlig

I går grinte Elliot sådan rigtigt, med lyd og det hele. Og igen i dag var samme leg næsten ligeså sjov. Fedt.
done

During our visit to Calcutta, I have dragged Elliot to several sites commemorating the lives of two of my favorite human beings: Rabindranath Tagore and Sri Ramakrishna. We have traveled hours out of our way to visit the locations where these two amazing men lived their lives. Let me tell you a bit about each of them.

Rabindranath Tagore is often referred to as “the poet laureate of India”. He was the scion of a legendary Bengali family. His grandfather Dwarkanath was one of the founders of the religious movement Brahmo Samaj, which believes in the inherent equality of all religions and focuses on one all-encompassing deity. It’s basically the Unitarianism of India. Dwarkanath was so respected, he was referred to as “Prince Dwarkanath” and was awarded his own coat-of-arms by Her Majesty the Queen of England.

Rabindranath’s father was Debendranath, who was a famous leader of the Bengali Rennaisance movement. Like his father before him, he preached against archaic Hindu practices such as suttee (where a widow will self-immolate at the funeral pyre of her deceased husband). He was so respected, he was given his own title, “Maharshi”.

Rabindranath, however, is the most famous of them all. He became a prized poet and writer, and won the Nobel Prize for his poetic collection “Gitanjali” (Gitanjali can be translated into “Song Offerings”). Gitanjali happens to be one of the best poetic collections of all time, by the way. Fun fact.

Tagore was also knighted, but forfeited his knighthood in reaction to the massacre at Amritsar, when the British fired upon unarmed Indians. While believing that the West had much to offer the East, Tagore was an ardent patriot who counted Ghandi among his close friends. Ghandi referred to Tagore as “Gurudev”, making Rabindranath the third linear generation of his family to be so famous as to have his own unique title.

Rabi also founded his own university and ashram at Shantiniketan (Shanti = Peace, Niketan = Abode, hence “Abode of Peace) called Visvabharata. His students include very famous artists, and Indira Ghandi (PM of India) studied at Visvabharata.

We visited Shantiniketan on Monday, and walked through the same buildings in which Tagore had taught his own students. Ambling through the university, we marveled at the various works of art which had been installed on campus as expressions of the students’ artistic expression. I spied a young student drawing a sketch of a small banyan tree, and was so moved by the intellectual and artistic thirst inherent in this simple action that I felt obliged to compliment her on her drawing. She smiled shyly, and we moved away.

The classrooms at Visvabharata are all outdoors, with concrete semi-circles installed in a sweeping arborous landscape. We sat down for a moment and stared out at the dormitories, then continued on.

At the Bolpur train station nearby, we saw the actual carriage car upon which Tagore took his last trip, from Shantiniketan to his home in Calcutta. A day later, we visited Tagore’s home, with exhibitions showing Tagore in his travels. Towards the end of his life, Tagore traveled to several countries a year, giving speeches and sharing his thoughts on life, culture, and India’s spiritual heritage. I teared up when standing in the room where Tagore died; he happens to be one of my favorite poets.

Tagore’s writing is distinctly anchored in Indian society; it is arguably quite difficult to understand much of his mystical poetry without having a basic understanding of Hinduism, and the tranenscendentalist beliefs of Brahmo Samaj and Eastern mysticism more specifically. But at the same time, Tagore’s poetry is profoundly universal.

Since I cannot possibly do justice to Tagore through mere description, allow me to provide you with one of my favorite of Tagore’s poems. This is often referred to as “My Prayer” (Tagore often would not name his poems) from his Nobel Prize-winning collection, Gitanjali:

This is my prayer to thee, my Lord — strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.

Later I’ll try to write a little something about Sri Ramakrishna.

Until then,

J&E

Alice, Arabella, Bedelia, Clementine, Clover, Cordelia, Daisy, Esme, Eleanor, Flora, Fern, Hazel, Hannah, Imogen, Ida, Iris, Josephine, Jemima, Juniper, Lucinda, Madeleine, Margaret, Nola, Olive, Poppy, Pippa, Polly, Penelope, Primrose, Rose, Sally, Stella, Shiloh, Matilda, Tallulah, Theodora, Thomasina, Violet, Zipporah, Amelia, Annora, Maude, Clara.

Arthur, Bertram, Bartholomew, Baxter, Bruno, Bramwell, Chester, Cassius, Cato, Dexter, Dominic, Emerson, Emmett, Elliot, Fergus, Felix, Gregor, Gulliver, Isidore, Jasper, Ned, Orlando, Quentin, Rupert, Rafferty, Samson, Toby, Thomas, Theodore.

Thoughts? Suggestions?