Ponds, Rowboats and Staying Out of the Tule

"It was as if she righted herself continually against some current that never ceased to pull" -- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson

My uncle and aunt have a lovely, minuscule pond in front of their home.  It just enough for a rowboat and that rowboat can make it across the entire pond in one or two really good pulls.  It is a quiet pond with a giant fish named Submarine Bob and a few ducks.  I remember sneaking away to the pond during a family event (I don't really do people all that well) with a book. Not only are books my favorite entertainment and hobby, but also, they are my connection to staying sane and my hiding place in times of anxiety.   I can say, both literally and figuratively, books have saved my life.  That said, it was in one of those times that I grabbed any book I could get my hands on, carefully lowered myself into the boat, and pushed myself out into the middle of the pond.

My plan was to get to the middle of the pond where I could pretend that I didn't hear anyone and get fully engrossed in reading and actively avoiding humans.  It's a still pond, it was a still day, I thought my plan was golden.  I rowed my one good row and got to the center of the pond.  I opened the book to page one and started reading.  By the end of page one, the tule reeds that line the shore were tickling my nose.  The boat had drifted to the edge of the pond in the time it took me to read one page and I am a fast reader.  I picked up the oars again, got myself back into position and started page two.  Tule reed.  Row. Read. Tule reed in my face.  Row, Read.  Tule reed in my nose.  I couldn't relax long enough to read more than one page at a time before having to stop, pick up the oars, and get back into the place I wanted to be.

Story of my life.  I want to be centered, in the middle of the pond, doing what I love and feeling safe. As soon as I get there, I get pulled to the edges, get stuck in the tall grasses and have to put down whatever I am doing in order to get back out to the center again.  Not only is it an imposition, but it takes so much damn effort.  The pushing, the rowing, the picking up and setting down of the oars, the steadying of the boat in the water.  Staying centered requires work.  Endless amounts of work.

Frozen

I'm still working my way through The Left Hand of Darkness.   Set in a frigid climate, the plot is moving as slowly as the main character's journey across the frozen terrain.  Seems appropriate that another big snowstorm is headed my way this weekend.

I've never lived in a place where it snows before.  Not going to lie, I'm slightly enchanted when I look out of my kitchen window and see the white, unmarked carpet of snow covering our property.  The frosty branches of the cedar trees outside of my bedroom window are damn magical.  I am fully aware that I am in the honeymoon phase of my winter domesticity, no denying that.  I haven't yet been snowed in.  I haven't had to shovel out my car in order to go grocery shopping.  I haven't slid off an icy road.  So far its been all freaking Elsa/Anna and I'm all in.

My first steps into the world of science fiction, however, are purely Han Solo frozen in Carbonite.  Slow moving.

System Overload

Danger, danger, Will Robinson!

I'm going to be real honest, my foray into science fiction has left my brain a little tired.  Learning a new language, entirely by context, is exhausting.  I find myself skipping over whole chunks of narrative, jumping back in when I see something familiar or when I catch myself doing it and feel embarrassed for not reading every word, worrying that I might have missed something important.

But this is only a book.  About a made up world in an imagined time with a completely fictional language.  Whether or not I read or understand every word doesn't matter a whit.  It won't effect my life one way or another.

It makes me mindful of those who move to new countries where the language is different than the one they already speak.  How draining it must be to walk where the whole world swirls around you, catching only a few words at a time, trying to keep up and make a life without ever making a mistake. Mistakes when one is a stranger in a strange land can be dangerous.  Just thinking these things humbles me.  How fortunate I am to live in a place where the common language is my native tongue.  How courageous it is to live a new life and to learn a new language all in the real world.  I'm only brave in books.

Sci-Fi?

I’ve committed to expanding my genre horizons this year and I’m starting with some Science Fiction. The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, specifically.  It’s not starting off well.  I’ll keep you posted.  I might need a glossary and more whiskey.

Remember That Last Post?

Well, guess that didn’t work out the way I thought it was going to.