Tableau (2005, text on screen, 12 in. by 14 in.)
So we--mama_k, Maya and me-woke up at 10 pm after having slept for the last four hours.
What this means, in objective terms, is that we have finally conformed to Maya’s sleep schedule. For the first time we all managed to sleep in the afternoon, while she’s out, and were inordinately happy to wake up in pretty much the middle of the night for nursing, sandwiches, Shrek and burping.
This schedule is, of course, completely intractable. It wouldn’t work except on a day off, and for any one of us to get used to it would be a bad idea. But it sure was nice for everything to click in unison.
The result: one happy baby, and two parents who will for one night be okay with going back to bed at 2 (or 3) and rising at 7.
Two things of note took place to inspire an impromptu post. But first: how could I have forgotten that Shrek features a scene with Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” on top of it? How strange is that?
The first thing: in my homeopathically-allergy-medicated state I dreamt of an abandoned theatre. It was one of those grand old theatres with the balconies and the velvet seats and the sweeping proscenium. It had been taken over by what I can only describe as a band of guerrilla bloggers. Solitarily or in tight, suspicious circles, these radical journalers scratched away on notebooks or tapped on laptops (presumably this squat had Wi-Fi) and posted their forbidden truths from this darkened and besieged sanctuary.
Along the way in the dream, I came across a tattered paperback that looked to be of 60s or 70s vintage. The book was pocket sized and its crude, lurid cover painting depicted an Earth emblazoned with a burning pentagram. It was a tract laying out the doctrine of a Scientology-style cult of apocalyptic Pagans; its central tenet was that bringing about the extinction of the human race was the only way to save Mother Nature.
(By the way, I have had to use the “z” twice so far (okay, now three times) and apparently our “z” key (there’s four) is sticking egregiously. The second time I actually had to use the Insert menu to put it in. Such are the things I reveal at this strange hour.)
So then I woke to phone’s final ring before the answering machine snorted to life. I couldn’t make anything out from the brief, faint message, but mama_k said, “Isn’t that Gretchin?” I discovered that this was, in fact, the second time she had called from the front door of our apartment building. We had been sleeping the whole time.
I flailed around for clothing and was about to run downstairs, well after she would have reasonably given up and left, when there was a knock on the door.
Gretchin and Sven had slipped in with our nice Unitarian neighbor, and were in the process of dropping off not only a homemade cheesecake [edit: it's a key lime pie!] topped with raspberries from their backyard, but also the June issue of The Believer, the music issue that includes a CD of some of my favorite artists covering songs by some of their (and my) favorite other artists-the prize (that’s five) for me is Spoon doing Yo La Tengo, but there are a lot of good people out there who will want to buy it for The Shins doing Postal Service-and for which I had spent the last two weeks combing the city, completely unbeknownst to gl. and sv.
What a couple of angels.
What a blessed life I lead.
What a lot of phlegm in my bean.
Goodnight.
What this means, in objective terms, is that we have finally conformed to Maya’s sleep schedule. For the first time we all managed to sleep in the afternoon, while she’s out, and were inordinately happy to wake up in pretty much the middle of the night for nursing, sandwiches, Shrek and burping.
This schedule is, of course, completely intractable. It wouldn’t work except on a day off, and for any one of us to get used to it would be a bad idea. But it sure was nice for everything to click in unison.
The result: one happy baby, and two parents who will for one night be okay with going back to bed at 2 (or 3) and rising at 7.
Two things of note took place to inspire an impromptu post. But first: how could I have forgotten that Shrek features a scene with Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” on top of it? How strange is that?
The first thing: in my homeopathically-allergy-medicated state I dreamt of an abandoned theatre. It was one of those grand old theatres with the balconies and the velvet seats and the sweeping proscenium. It had been taken over by what I can only describe as a band of guerrilla bloggers. Solitarily or in tight, suspicious circles, these radical journalers scratched away on notebooks or tapped on laptops (presumably this squat had Wi-Fi) and posted their forbidden truths from this darkened and besieged sanctuary.
Along the way in the dream, I came across a tattered paperback that looked to be of 60s or 70s vintage. The book was pocket sized and its crude, lurid cover painting depicted an Earth emblazoned with a burning pentagram. It was a tract laying out the doctrine of a Scientology-style cult of apocalyptic Pagans; its central tenet was that bringing about the extinction of the human race was the only way to save Mother Nature.
(By the way, I have had to use the “z” twice so far (okay, now three times) and apparently our “z” key (there’s four) is sticking egregiously. The second time I actually had to use the Insert menu to put it in. Such are the things I reveal at this strange hour.)
So then I woke to phone’s final ring before the answering machine snorted to life. I couldn’t make anything out from the brief, faint message, but mama_k said, “Isn’t that Gretchin?” I discovered that this was, in fact, the second time she had called from the front door of our apartment building. We had been sleeping the whole time.
I flailed around for clothing and was about to run downstairs, well after she would have reasonably given up and left, when there was a knock on the door.
Gretchin and Sven had slipped in with our nice Unitarian neighbor, and were in the process of dropping off not only a homemade cheesecake [edit: it's a key lime pie!] topped with raspberries from their backyard, but also the June issue of The Believer, the music issue that includes a CD of some of my favorite artists covering songs by some of their (and my) favorite other artists-the prize (that’s five) for me is Spoon doing Yo La Tengo, but there are a lot of good people out there who will want to buy it for The Shins doing Postal Service-and for which I had spent the last two weeks combing the city, completely unbeknownst to gl. and sv.
What a couple of angels.
What a blessed life I lead.
What a lot of phlegm in my bean.
Goodnight.