Danish Stomach Flu and other fun summer activities

I have been remarkably healthy these last five months.  No coughs, no runny noses, nothing even remotely exciting from the Stay-Home-Sick pantheon.  So I'll admit, I got a little cocky.

When Tobias came home on Friday feeling 'real tired', I stepped up and nursed that sick man and his man flu the whole dang weekend, confident in the knowledge that I would not contract his affliction.

It seemed fairly terrible as he vascillated between no appetite (the man usually eats half a cow without blinking), dizzyness that made him break into cold sweats, and mind crushing headaches...to say nothing of the distress happening down under. 

Never mind that, I felt strong and immune ready to field any bugs he might throw at me. 

He left on Sunday for business and I felt fine.  Monday I staggered a bit and decided to lay low, just to err on the side of avoiding the worst of it. Tuesday was pristine and seemed to be proof that I had mastered time, space and the man flu without feeling like warmed death.

And then Wednesday struck.  I awoke feeling like a burbling brook.  In my guts.  Strange.  But oh Nelly.

As the day progressed, the hours grew longer and more agonizing as my lust for food disappeared and even water started looking suspicious.  Still, I knew I had to eat and drink to replace lost fluids so I alternated between moaning on the couch, shuffling to the loo, trying to watch films, and refilling my water glass.

After a very, very long night which included me sitting in the hot shower for at least half an hour...around 3 am trying to cure my headache, I decided to try some more water, and a grapefruit.  I have since discovered why appetite is one of the first things to go.

Anytime I eat something, it makes my guts start howling again. We're talking three part harmony.  It's unstoppable.  So, here I am, in bed, at noon thirty on Thursday, writing this epistle and contemplating another stumble to the bathroom before I attempt to sleep still more.  All the same, I might kill for some chicken soup right now, but the store is far away, I'm on foot, and it's likely my bum would explode if I attempted such a pilgrimage.  This is a good and worthy challenge around being present and not judging myself or the situation. Let's hear it for soul growth opportunities.

In the meantime, I can recommend some fantastic summer films if anyone is similarly inclined.   

Guess WHAT!

Yes, that's a unicorn. On that finger.

I had jokingly said to Tobias that if I were to ever get married, I wanted a unicorn engagement ring. 

When Tobias took a knee in front of his father's commune, I of course said yes. He put a curled chili pepper on my finger that he had grown from a seed.  Unicorns are apparently very difficult to locate in ring form and must be imported which takes more time than he felt he had. He didn't want me to beat him to the punch, being a liberated and outspoken woman as I am ;)  Unbeknownst to him, I was quite prepared to wait :)

I asked if we could get a simple silver something instead of a huge unicorn rock and give the rest to Make A Wish so the 5,000 dollar goal would be reached and we could let our adventure be yet another catalyst for making magic in the world.  He of course, said yes.

What a beautiful man.  What a magical ring! 

The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."

I'll be the first to admit that Woody Allen has been more than a little controversial in his tastes and moral inclinations, but I could easily justify carrying his children for being such an accessible and down-right blue collar type of artist. 

Watch Midnight In Paris by Woody Allen.  Then watch the recent documentary on his life.  Actually, maybe watch the doc first because it begs the follow up of devouring the rest of his films. 

Here is a man who, for lack of some austere monk like devotion to conversion ephiphany of creating the "perfect" peice of art, has consistently made film after film for years because that is what he does. 

He says in the documentary something to the effect of, "I don't worry about whether a film will be great or not, I just figure, if I keep making them, I'll get it right sooner or later." 

All I am saying is that if one has the desire to create or paint or tell stories or dance, one should do it and leave quality to the critics.  It is only in the tango of creation that antidotes can be found, that new improvisations come out which may hold a cure for the "emptiness of existence." 

The truly beautiful aspect of this quote (From Midnight In Paris) is that emptiness is a philosophical concept, which, in its very existence, takes up space.  As modern quantum physics tells us, there is space between everything, even things that feel solid.  So space then, or emptiness, is actually the substance that makes up everything...and finding a way to play with all that space, is possibly, why so few dare to call themselves artists.  It's a big notion, being a kid in a sandbox with a brush or a keyboard as your shovel as you attempt to build castles out of galaxies of sheer space. 

Where do you even start?

You pick up your tool and start to push ideas around.  You add a little water and time and keep mushing things together in ways that please YOU.  You laugh. You holler.  You stay up all night and keep playing in your galactic emptiness with all the joy and passion and hope you can dream up.

So thank you Woody Allen, for reminding me that we combat despair by providing alternatives.  They may all be different strains of the same spaciousness, but we can craft new flavors and shades to color our days.

Capitalism vs. Socialism-A Danish Metaphor

This morning I was gazing out the window of the summer house around 9.12am.  Two happy birds were bouncing joyfully about the grass ripping up worms at a leisurely pace...like one would enjoy a fine cigar. 

Something deep in my subconscious sat up and howled.  I checked the time again. 9.13am.  Looked out the window.  Yep, worms in the mouths of birds.  No one seemed particularly sleepy or concerned.
THE EARLY BIRD GETS THE WORM.

huh? god is that you?

the EARLY BIRD gets the WORM!!!!


9.14am.  Birds gobbling worms. Nope. That isn't true in this reality. 

WHY!!

All of a sudden I realized, "I am in Denmark. Land of 52 weeks paid maternity leave.  Land of healthcare for all.  Land of well fed birds at anytime of the day."

Then it became clear.  The difference between capitalism and socialism is that in capitalism you starve if you don't get up before 7am to rut in the dirt in the dark because the government would rather listen to themselves chirp than make sure that all the worms are evenly distributed amongst the locations and times that people may be out and about to hunt them. 

Though it seems alien to look out the window now at 11.38am and still see the happy grazing going on, I believe that is why people travel and enjoy using the word exotic.  The difference is rather charming.