a weekend of rain and thunder and out-door gloominess. it’s not fair, i spend all week in my little cube, doing my “rabbit,” as they would say in a clockwork orange, while sun shines outside (all i can really see of it is the glow on the ceiling tiles), thinking about going out with my camera on the weekend – only to have it be not photographically conducive weather. well, there must be a cosmic message there somewhere.
i’ve been thinking about mourning a lot recently, perhaps because of my revisiting all the genealogy stuff – reading about all of those people who’ve died, especially the ones who didn’t make it past heir first year – or perhaps because of the recent loss of my mother in law. or all those people in places like zimbabwe or missouri or china who’s lives have been lost or at the very least permanently altered. and yesterday (during a brief break in the rain) i heard the roar of a chainsaw out in the woods, and smelled the familiar scent of the exhaust fumes (ah, sweet saw gas!) and thought (selfishly?) of my own losses, wishing it could have been me out there with a chain saw. talking with friends the other night about skiing, and how, gee, if you don’t ski, it sure makes for a long boring winter here in maine. thinking about those things i have lost, and how to mourn them. there is one school of thought that tells me to get over it and get on with it, the stuff in the ms magazines – oh, celebrate the things you still are able to do, and don’t think about the things you can’t do – and i do – i can still walk pretty well, i can drive, i can work, etc. another school of thought tells me to delve into the mourning process and really explore it, dig into the pain and find room to cry and wail and shout in anger.
i don’t know which school i subscribe to. probably the latter. tho i don’t know where that mourning ends.