Hey Steph,
I’ve just returned from Seattle! While I’m sure I have plenty
of intelligent things to express about the Pacific Northwest, my mind is made
sluggish by a long day of travel begun at 4:30 this morning and ending at 8:15
tonight. Instead of Seattle, I’d like to write a little bit about minutiae
(yes, you’ve already stolen this word in this post, but I got hit with a
beautiful bit of minutiae tonight and I have to share).
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| Pretty sweet rainy-day song mix found here. |
Travelling home is taxing on me, as it is for a lot of people. It is a return to my normal
life, which is fantastic but always seems to pale in comparison of the
excitement of friends, family, and a new city. So, it usually takes me a few
days to acclimate back to life and let go of anxiety. But as I hopped off the
train in my hometown, I was greeted with a welcome home sign from nature: good,
solid rain. At first, the stresses of security lines and long-coming returned
baggage weighed too heavy to immediately delight in this rain—this rain, that
so accurately gave me a scene from my Texas childhood. I climbed in the car,
tired and ready to let my mind rest. NPR was set on the car radio, and the
quiet plucks of jazz guitar set a soundtrack to my ride home. And then I got
all giddly.
Giddly: a portmanteau
of giggly and giddy; an uncontrolled release of joy
I’ve
found that I get giddly when I’m reminded in the midst of heavy thoughts how
blessed I am to be on this earth. In the window scene before me, the rain
painted strokes of white and red light emitting from the cars ahead. The dying
light of day, be-coated in stormy clouds seemed to dance away their final
minutes. (Parenthetical statement: I hate that Stephenie Meyer single-handedly
destroyed the beauty of the word twilight.)
As the rain confidently came down on my window shield, adding syncopation to
the cool, ponderous jazz music, I felt as if I had been given a confectionary
treat—a piece of life, wrapped up and personalized for me. I know montage
scenes in movies are often cliché and kitschy, but they are often my favorite
part. When done right a la Up,
the montage points out the profundity in the quiet snippets of life. I think
that this recognition of profundity in the simple is why I get giddly. I might
have true worries filling my mind and heart with concern, but a bit of gratitude
for the little stuff can do a lot to help me to not take myself too seriously.
As I
lay on my bed writing this with the open window bringing in chilly air to my
feet, tinkling tin-roof raindrops to my ears, and, oddly enough, warm, spicy
curry to my olfactories, the only thing missing from this bonbon de vie is
the ability to share this with my loved ones. I’ve written a whole song about
the desire to share these moments of minutiae, so it’s a perennial problem of
mine. While you and many other dear friends are impossibly far away to
experience this with me, here’s a song that does quite a decent job in bringing
a summer thunderstorm to you:
Wherever you are, I hope you feel at home too.
Cheers,
Amanda Kae
What are the sights, smells, sounds, tastes of home for you? What
things remind you of the profundity of life?
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