New art. I know. Me either. But it's growing on me.
It was a surprise to wake up to find it raining. A light rain, it wasn't apparent until I walked out of the garage into the back yard, Lucky sprinting as he routinely does, counter-clockwise in defense of our property, keeping squirrels at bay. At the same time, Scottie rides shotgun to my stride, held aloft from below atop my right arm. The musty scent of fresh rain and the sound of drops sporadically striking the leaves of the mulberry tree as I set the dog down was when I realized this change in the weather had occurred. I was still half-asleep, having rushed slightly to secure a drop-off at Leigh to get the car. I'd heard Tommy getting ready to leave and figured I'd leverage the opportunity for convenience, not to avoid the walk or drizzle I knew nothing of in that waking state. I am glad I did, yet now see an opportunity to walk and align with my day lost to the impulse for ease and, admittedly, the parallel fantasy of returning home with and crawling back beneath the covers. Instead, though, having thoroughly woken and been as conscious and present with the somewhat romantic aspects of sitting by the window with a fresh cup of my self-proclaimed "Fucking awesome" roast, a "rainy day Jazz" playlist streaming in the background, and my writing tablet in hand. In parallel, I have been trying to coordinate my upcoming trip to LA with my brother, where I hope to revisit the childhood home Iso vividly recall last seeing at the age of 9, fading into the distance through our station wagon's rear widow, slightly distorted by teary eyes, when our family moved to the east coast. It would be rewarding to share that experience with him. I geeked out a bit yesterday while working on an automation shortcut to quickly calculate the charge completion time for the Tesla, including setting an alarm. It's a function I believe should be a part of their app, but it is not, so it was DIY time. Speaking of time, the time aspect was unexpectedly complicated. Why we cling to antiquated models of measurement never ceases to amaze me. How did the concept of measuring a lunar cycle result in dividing that by 29. 5, then 24, and then 60, to begin with? It complicates the math. I got it done all the same, and it was gratifying to work it out. Our tour with some Jikoji folks of the Anderson Collection at Stanford gave Jen and me a chance to explore a few pieces in greater depth than last week. One of the three chosen, "The Ring of Distant Events" by Emil Lukas, was particularly impactful. I'd seen and admired it last week without realizing exactly how it was created. What it was made from. I will return soon to explore it and the Cantor more. Last night was the final night of the Film Noir Festival at The Stanford Theater. Of course, we went. We caught the latter half of "The Postman Always Rings Twice," which was fine; I was more interested in seeing "Criss Cross" with Burt Lanchester and Yvonne DeCarlo. It was great to have had this opportunity to see favorites and discover new films in a venue so befitting the experience.
Insights: When I am not obsessing over or distracted by things beyond my control or a sense of being wronged by the inherent chaos of random circumstances, I see so many simple moments as being worthy of gratitude and even reverence.
