I want to sleep with John Wayne on television - that is.
Usually when I sleep w/ the TV on - it's TNT. Because there's nothing terribly interesting on at that hour that will keep me awake. I can't sleep listening to CNN. I want to hear it all and watch it all and what not. Infomercials bother me so just about every other channel is out. So this morning, I'll search AMC and hope there's a John Wayne movie on for me to sleep to. There must be. There's nothing more American than John Wayne.
It occurs to me tonight that I have been rather sporadic with my posting. I'm not posting much at all lately. I haven't had much to say. Not that I haven't been pondering quite a bit. Just not interested in writing it all down. Or typing it all out - as it were.
I'm not sure what it is - but I go through these periods of time when I just observe and soak up and mull over everything. Okay - so I always do that - but there are periods where I don't really feel like discussing it. That's all I can think up for the reason why I haven't been posting much.
Today, I saw the mother of an ex-coworker of mine. She is a 70 year old Jamaican woman - who doesn't look 70. As I stood in Kim's kitchen talking to her, I found myself soothed a bit by her voice. While she spoke, in a deep, melodic voice, I searched my brain for meaning in everything she said. That is a problem of mine. I'm pathological when it comes to searching for meaning. I search for it even in small talk. Sometimes, the meaning is only in...not searching. But I do it anyway. Habitual, if you will.
So I stared into this woman's eyes, which were as dark as espresso beans. Her skin looked like baker's chocolate. I say baker's chocolate because it wasn't all glossy and polished, but soft around the edges. Her hands were slightly wrinkled and there were tiny wrinkles by her eyes and mouth. So often Rachel and I talk about the horror of finding those lines on our own faces but I couldn't help but think - they are signs of a long life. I don't mind the old age - it's the getting there that bothers me.
And so she talks about coming to Michigan from Jamaica in the late 60's. And pictures of my Grandma and Grandpa and my mom and all of her brothers and sisters standing with mounds of luggage, on their way to Israel in the 70's flip through my mind. Her voice takes me to anywhere but here. Anywhere but where words fall flat where there is no accent to accompany them.
But you know me - there are always contradictions. As she tells her stories, I float through mine. If I could, I'd splice them all together with a killer soundtrack. There'd just be moments. Sitting on porches, front steps, back decks, in front seats and back seats. There'd be snippets of uncontrollable laughter, uncontrollable tears, heads resting on shoulders, hands holding one another...
Then, when she asked me if I travel, my answer being "not enough", I began to remember how fierce I used to be. Fierce about dreams and plans and ambitions. I wanted to see Peru. Argentina. India. Israel. Ireland. Kenya. Greece. Italy. Countries that I didn't even know existed. I wanted to see them.
I suppose there are times when everyone becomes...unfocused. As extended as this period of time has been...it has been one of those times for me. I don't feel focused. I am not on point. My head isn't in the game, I'm nowhere near the game.
As this completely inspiring, 70 year old woman spoke to me, advised me to save money, to travel, I found myself begging my mind to be inspired. Begging my mind to just do something. Click back over. Click back over to when you felt unstoppable.
So...as sporadic and discombobulated as this post is. There you have it. Tonight, I'll hope to sleep with John Wayne. Then I'll wake up early - prepare what I need to before heading over to Rachel's for the 4th. I'll stare, wide-eyed and mouth open at all the fireworks. Take comfort in friends close by...
And keep looking for inspiration - wherever I can find it.