Dinner's not over until you both get your cookie.

A dear, darling, very-far-away friend of mine once said:

"...a relationship is like a cookie. Some are chewy and easy to bite... others are hard and crunchy. When you dip it into the milk of insecurity, the cookie crumbles soggily into the bottom of life's glass. This is what happens when you add too much of the brown sugar of affection or bake the cookie in the oven of over-enthusiasm. There aint nothin more soggy than the cookie in a glass of milk..."

And I wonder what everyone else thinks of such things. February 22 was the one-year mark of a concert I went to. It holds no particular significance other than a mile marker at which I can pause and survey my surroundings. Many things were different then. Some were small and the changes are hard to find, like swirling fingers in a box of Cracker Jacks for the elusive little paper "toy". Others are almost too large to see all at once. The elephant that has been sitting in your living room for so many days that you forget what exactly is wrong with the picture.
Lately my negligence of the classics has been making me feel guilty and slothful and backward. Familiar names don't have stories attached. Eurydice? What did she do? Was she the dead wife of the fellow Orpheus? What poems did Rilke publish? Why don't I know more German?
--sidenote: She was Orpheus' wife! Joy-of-joys, I feel a wee better. --
I need to read more. Not the silly recreation of Sedaris and Martel and the other not-dead-yet writers whom I have allowed to lure me away from the lucrative prose of Tolstoy and Hemingway and the poetry that I have never dedicated myself to. Poor Donne and I barely knew one another and Milton had hardly any opportunity to melt my brain with confusion. My old friends and ex-tree compatriots. Old souls, but Children of Nature by hook or by crook. We are too long estranged.

Labels: Books, Love

-- G 'Bye, Sonya --

. ( 25.2.07 ) .