drown, brother, drown

A new year, a new face for the blog. It needed a makeover. Plus, I think Edward Hopper makes me look marginally more intelligent. And if not that, at least more artistically savvy. He's great; Grace approves of my choice for Selections' art mascot.

I feel very honored; I am now a character in Angela Tchou's cartoon universe. She also posted a bunch of great new stuff. I especially like these two. I delight in my talented friends.

Two people miss the 366 Project: my mom and J.Hecht. I think they're the only ones. From my impressions, everyone else is very thankful I've put my camera away for a time. I'll admit, it's kind of nice to live without the challenge of taking a photo every day. But, qui sait? I might take it up again one of these days. In the meantime, I'll be posting remnants (the ones that got away) on Flickr for a few weeks.

I started Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being last night. I like it. It's like reading a novel written by a philosophy professor or a scientist. Mostly strange, occasionally endearing, highly theoretical and hypothetical and self-referential. Those don't sound like fun things, but it is good. I don't know why this word comes to the surface, but I feel like his style is translucent. I can't explain it; those who've read Kundera can maybe understand what I'm trying to say and appropriate a better name for it.

Yesterday we had a joint family outing (us + the Flems) to dinner and to see "Marley and Me." Dave and I agreed this was probably one instance where the movie was better than the book, even though we both said, with scrunched, scornful noses, that we hadn't read the book. We're still probably right. It was cute, though. And it made me think about how labs are America's favorite dog and wonder about why we love animals so unconditionally. It also made me really, really want a dog. Not that one. But a dog. Or maybe I just need to hang out with Pema more...

Watching the news makes me want to talk and rave with Emily.

I remembered today, by some flicker of chance, how much I loved Anton Chekhov and how much I missed his presence in my life. Or at least the presence of some Russian. I think I'll read Tolstoy's short novels next. But Chekhov, oh, Chekhov has always been so good to me. And I remembered what Von Koren said about Laevsky in "The Duel" and laughed:

“If that sweet boy were drowning, I’d push him under with a stick saying: ‘Drown, brother, drown…’”

Which makes me think of Graham Greene saying that hate is just the failure of the imagination; failing to imagine people as people. Which makes me think of Gaza. Which makes me think of Emily. Which makes me think about the fact that we don't have a house yet for next year. Which makes me think about getting stabbed while taking out the trash... you could play this game all day.

This morning I asked the Lord to lead me into a wide place.