Being Old #2 - The Musicians

Chapter 2 - The Musicians

Joan Baez



Ray Manzarek

Being Old #1 - The Feminists

I've been writing down a series of names on a mental list of people that got old in a great way. And by this I do not mean the "age gracefully" thing of popular fashion magazines or the "dress appropriately" doctrine form the hairdresser salon down the street. I mean people that when you compare them across 2 or 3 decades look as beautiful in both times.

Why? good question. It's not that they didn't get wrinkles, grey hair, that their bodies didn't chnage. They did, and you can notice. But somehow, these people look great. I guess because they, in a deeper level, look themselves. Time or convetion has not tied them down and they have not wither away. They are vibrant and look passionate as always. I think that may be the thing: they look the same in a deeper sense.

So, here are a couple of people that model the way in which I would like to age.
Chapter 1 - The Feminists

Gloria Steinem



Simone de Beauvoir

Winter - an unfinished manifesto

Many have said that there is nothing like a good snowy winter. Those temperate climates, like that of my own Mediterranean origins, are just “boring” or “not real winter”. Happy faces, “Christmas is almost here”. Ah… how good and cozy is it to be home, by the fire, in our warm house. And then to go skiing, snowboarding and to play in the snow. Who wouldn’t like snow? It’s winter: rejoice!

And this is when I conclude we are living in the end of civilization. For me, all this enthusiasm, this unconditional love of the cold days is a symptom, one more symptom, of the decadence of our society. We have become so disconnected from the world outside our cheaply-over-heated pods that we do not remember what winter is all about. I’ll tell what it is all about, what it is been all about. Winter is about struggle, fight to stay alive. Winter, the winter with snowy and negative temperatures, is the time when food is scarce, animals dig in for roots and grass under the white. Winter is about eating all you saved up, is about making it through. Winter is about stillness, death. Winter is small days, fighting for light, for breath, and long nights of quietness, of waiting. Waiting to move and live again. Wait for colour to return.

And, so what? you say. Has our society not given us great progress, art, leisure, why should we not take advantage, reap the fruit of our labour and be happy with harsh winters, insulated in our synthetic suits, warmed by cheap gas in our elaborate houses?

And this is when we should remember that not everyone has a house. That the same wonderful magical society that gave us the skiis, and the lamp and the electricity and the heath, gave some of us nothing. Gave some of us struggle for life on the streets of our cement forest. A struggle harsher than of any other medieval farmer. Because it is a lonely struggle, a fight to combat what others love.

Next time you are happy they say it will be cold. Think of them. All of them that cannot afford the lamp, the heath, the house, the insulation from the harshness of nature. Don’t dismiss it, don’t act childish. Think of what winter is all about.

And find beauty in it. There is always beauty, even in winter.

Autumnn Flowers Throw

[My first decently complex project in crochet, done without supervision (yes, I was working unsupervised with a crochet hook.... be scared...very scared... =) ]

This small throw materializes what Fall is all about for me.

Its colors remind me of the leaves turning hot-chocolate brown and into warm shades of red, of greens getting dry and of the myterious grey skies. The throw looks perfect over a bed or a sofa when the warm weather leaves and cozy evenings by the fireside arrive. The fact that it is made of leftovers and scraps from previous summer projects also means a lot to me, because Fall is about getting back home and weaving together all the bright beautiful memories from summertime. This throw is about calm, peacefulness and that sense of satisfaction with small things that I always associated with Fall.

Inspired by a Phildar model (specially the flowers) in Phildar No. 805, Mode & Crochet.

Soundtrack

Some of what I listened to when I was crocheting this - I think crochet I better done listening music. Knitting requires a movie or a tv series. Someone should find out why. Or maybe not.


In the morning:


In the evening:

I call it "Joni Mitchell psychology"

I should be in bed.

But I was just thinking.

When you are a Joni Mitchell fan, you know you are doing fine when you compulsively listen to "Song to a Seagull" instead of "Blue". The domestic bliss motif applies better than the sad break-up album: you're fine.

I' m fine.










"She was somewhere being free"

It was beautiful. It still is.

Convocation is murder

Convocation? Who came up with this? It is a most bizarre mixture of ceremonies that might just be the most uncomfortable thing to sit through ever invented.

First, there are people in silence with tears in their eyes, standing… it all reminds of church: mass or a funeral maybe? Then the gowns: somewhere between the priests’ gowns and the bad costumes you make for Carnival in school (always turn out oversized and shapeless). And then there is the pipe band…. Oh, not what you’re thinking about. It is not like the Celtic stuff I go to hear in the summer. It’s like a military pipe band, neat and appropriate, regulated and disciplined. I love bag pipes, and I hate the pipe band. It’s not music: they are marching sounds of boots hitting the floors. It makes it look like a military parade.

And then the wedding-like profusion of pictures being taken. If people could come out of their bodies and see what they’re doing…. It’s a picture that is there just to stand on a wall, and not just 1. Oh, no, tons of pictures…. Seriously.

And the congratulations. Congratulations for what? For having made it this far? Please… it is so artificial.

And why is it artificial? And here we get to what essentially is wrong with this funny procession of hats and gowns and uniforms and “everyone rise”. It minimizes the work everyone does during years. It minimizes learning. It implies the degree, the symbolic framed paper, is what everyone is working for every day. And it cannot be, it should not be. More than that, when you say congratulations to someone because they are finishing their degree, you are missing the congratulations you should have yelled each time they achieved something more, they wrote a beautiful essay, they answered an exam thoughtfully or came home exited because they just understood something.

Yes, convocation is like a wedding and a funeral. It is a wedding because it is the unnecessary celebration of what cannot be celebrated, of what must lived and valued every minute – knowledge and the pursuit of understanding. It is a funeral because, in displacing value from the ordinary achievements of everyday life to this ceremony we must be killing in ourselves all the thirst for comprehension that used to drive our daily lives as students. We are killing the student, the learner, the thirst.

Convocation is not even a funeral. It is murder.

On dancing

Everyone should dance like The Housemartins. At least that's my take on it. Imagine how much more fun life would be




(I know, this is a post about pretty much nothing other than pure enjoyment. Right now, there is nothing else to talk about. All my creativity has been exclusively redirected to my assignments which are awesome, but could come one at the time please!)