April 25th, 2010

dusty face

public radio Sunday night

I took a nap this rainy afternoon. A long, CPAPped nap, no alarm. When I awoke I didn't know the day. There was a little light, and the clock said 7:57, and my first thought was it was Sunday, but I remembered I'd been to brunch on Sunday, so it must be Monday, but that didn't quite seem right. I pushed the button for the radio, and on came the same last few minutes of "On the Media" I'd heard early Saturday morning. Soon enough I gathered up where I was in day time.

Next up on that station on Sunday night is "Speaking of Faith," so I thought I might groggily lay with kitty cat through the news but not much more. I think Krista Tippett's probably an alright woman, I really do. Get that feeling. But I'm often not up for the show, its tone. Its reverence, if you will. Reverence broadcast is --well, there's something in the broadcast/show part that can easily feel, to me, contradictory to a sense of the -- I don't know that I can use "sacred" or "holy" and mean what I mean, so I'll just give up here. Cuz what I'm out to say is that I kept on lollygagging right into and then right through this week's show, which was "Alzheimer's, Memory, and Being." It was good.

Theology came into play only in overarching/general, or sideways, ways. The stuff about writing spoke to me. And there were some wonderful moments, literally wonderful. The beach moment. The fig moment. And a reference to a theologist that made me want to know more about him---"You know, in this A.J. Heschel sense of prayer, this sense of wonder, this sense of place between knowing and not knowing and the mystery of things." The one spiritual psychologist throwing out his name as a quick gloss for the theological broadcaster, and by extension, us.

Maybe I wouldn't have found something sweet about that moment if I'd not been in that slowly-coming-to from sleep, along with the tenderly offered tender moments from the acutely poignant nuggets of recollection those two had been talking about, in the air in my bedroom, for many minutes. It was a funny way of their connecting in an allusion to shared scholarship.

That kinda reminds me of Olja facebook-comment chatting today with academics about a petty scandal around a historian and fake Amazon reviews.

I'm also somehow reminded of how I was thinking recently, when not given the option not to report, for some webpage, what "industry" it is I work in, that I could just as well (as what I chose, "Publications") have written in "Academic Support Services," cuz, though I don't know that our mathematicians would dig the idea, that's basically what we do. Which is basically what I have usually done for money, in one way or another. When not doing arts support services. And which (academic support) is also sort of what my family of origin organized around, too, albeit with a skewed definition of the academic.

So it's taken most of the time I've been typing here for my iPhone to get backed up and installed with an update, so I could conceivably take it to the kitchen and listen to the "On the Media" and the "Wait Wait" I caught only bits of this weekend. I was aiming to do that, after tending to the litterbox and trash, and work, while I listened, on cooking some supper and cleaning up the kitchen, particularly the stovetop that will make it okay to try to make it okay to use my new tea kettle. When you take a long afternoon-to-evening nap like I did today, it can be like you get an extra day, with the reboot, and the hours of awake before needing to lie down again so's to be able to go to the office again. Now that it's almost 10, though, I figure I'll do a truncated version of my plans, prioritizing the litterbox and the supper making, and that stovetop will be bumped forward yet again.

And thus I'll put off the pleasure because of the pain, again, again, again. But I'll enjoy the TV I'll sit down for. And unlike Cally in the kitchen store, I won't be saying I don't even want to try. At least right now I'm not feeling as if I won't ever again want to try.