Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Accepting the Challenge

Never try to arrange things. Objects and poems are irreconcilable. 
~ Francis Ponge


It is the last day of winter, the young, well-dressed neurologist says, looking up from the folder.

Mmm, yes it is, though it wasn't much of a winter, she replies mournfully. In any event, you'll be happy to know that your magnesium/B2 cocktail has taken the edge off the migraines. I haven't spent a full day in bed, dodging light, for two months now.

He's pleased by this news, though not surprised. His patients find relief. This, he knows. He seems to know a lot for his young years. Though she wonders if he, who’s never felt a migraine’s crippling blows—the rapid-fire constriction of nerves and vessels (in her case a three or four-day, often monthly, basal ganglia guerilla warfare, in which she is the only casualty, shut-off, shut down, from family, words, writing, lifeblood)—could ever truly empathize. Nevertheless, what he certainly cannot know is that in less than two hours she'll be sitting in a greyed and splintered teak chair by the table on her deck, in her skinny jeans and black cardigan, kicking off her black flats, unwinding the scarf from around her neck, lunching on last night's leftovers of salad and grilled salmon, debating the tense and POV in which to write this piece, and staring down a pretty, yellow daffodil plant that Mother brought to dinner the previous night. (She had thought to begin with: Mother brought daffodils to dinner last night.) He is confident, but cannot know this. She did not know that the day would progress as such herself. She, nor he, did not know that she'd find Francis Ponge at Symposium Books downtown. Ponge, Celine, Paz, Toussaint, all at steep discount. But she knows that when she leaves, he'll be sitting in his office with his next patient, reading his or her chart, peering up from under his wire-framed glasses and saying, It is the last day of winter.

Tomorrow is the first day of spring, the doctor's receptionist, says, as she hands her her stamped parking ticket and receipt.

Mmm, yes it is, she replies. Spring is such a pretty word.

Oh, it is. Very pretty, a welcome word, the receptionist smiles.

Goodbye my anemic winter, she thinks. Outside, the world is warming. As she walks down the street to the parking garage, she thinks about the daffodils, the color yellow, not like the walls of her kitchen which are tinted the yellow of Provence--a baby mustard--but the yellow of the sun at noontime when, during days that ululate spring, she sits on her deck for lunch and watches the glinting sun center itself above the teak table, much like she'll do today.

"Accept the challenge things offer to language," Ponge says.

(Ponge, who wrote of the wasp [or bee]: A little itinerant siphon, a little distillery on wheels and wings, like the ones that go about from farm to farm through the countryside in certain seasons; a little airborne kitchen, a little public sanitation truck...  [they] carry out an intimate activity that's generally quite mysterious... What we call having an inner life.)

Where was she now? Yes, she's left downtown's brick streets and is back home. She's on the deck. Vital fluids flowing. Taking notes: they are Tête-à-Têtes, their heads gently brushing against one another, and they need beaucoup de lumière. So she sets the daffodils out on the weathered teak table for a dose of vitamin D. They are delicate, yet hardy things. Their outer petals are lemony and frosty like a Matisse star. The rippled center cup,  trumpeting spring (she can almost hear the music), is slightly darker. The tips of the rubbery, bright green stems are curved upwards in a gothic arch--like the petals--and spliced open where the flowers, in clusters of three, have burst from their casing like electrical wiring freed from insulation. Fireworks!

Her daughter is home from school, now, sitting next to her at the table, gnawing at a slice of watermelon.

Mom, don't you ever get lonely at home? she asks.

No, never. She leans her head back against the top of the chair, And it's so good not have to hide from the light any longer.

(She wonders if Ponge ever wrote about daffodils.)

The next day, it is spring. The sun shining all over again. Daffodils singing their songs and challenging.

Does not everything have an inner life?

42 comments:

  1. As you know i find it odd how people think so much about writing, i tend to just do, when i think i get in trouble... and Celine at a discount? hopefully some young kid discovers him, i have read all he has written and am left with nothing but re-reading him, some books for the third, fourth, fifth time... but last night i did finish McCarthy's Border Trilogy, three books that left me speechless, an ending to Cities of the Plain that left me with eyes welling, it was a beautiful reminder of why i don't watch television... glad to hear you're feeling better.

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    1. Yep, Kono, at a discount. Rigadoon. Introduced by one of my heroes: Vonnegut. He (Celine) has a certain way with ellipses, doesn't he?

      McCarthy was born in lil' Rhody, you know. Haven't read any of his books. Someday I would like to get to All the Pretty Horses. Sounds like I should get to the others, too.

      And I really try not to think about writing too much--the technicalities, anyway--but I tend to often think about how I'm not writing when I can't write and that is a real frustration, because I often can't write. You know--life stuff. And then, there's thinking about my writing versus, say, someone like Celine, which is a reminder of how, I feel, my writing comes up short. Oh hell, I think about the technical stuff way too much. ;)

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  2. Daffodils are a symbol of resurrection.

    I prefer the receptionist's, 'tomorrow is the first day of Spring,' to the confident young neurologist's, 'It is the last day of winter.'

    The challenge of language is subtle. You've engaged it beautifully.

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    1. Me, too, Suze. The first day of spring--very much a resurrection. Alive with new growth and possibilities. Challenges! Long walks! Bike rides! Lacrosse! Track! Spring soccer! School vacation! Oh boy, I'd better get working on that one... ;)

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  3. This is so beautiful.
    There are so many ways and excuses I create to hide from the light. How to say it all, or even any of it, is indeed such a challenge.

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    1. Rubye- I think many of us hide from the light, and I wonder if the migraine is a manifestation of one's fear of such light--of being fully immersed in it. I think I suffer from that a bit. Maybe more than a bit. But, yeah, time to set excuses aside--spring is the season. :)

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  4. I loved your lively description of the daffodils "trumpeting spring" - I swear that I could hear the music. Today we're having 80 degree weather!

    Sounds like you're feeling better. No more hiding from the light. Today we can say that spring is here...it's a new beginning...let the sun shine in!

    Lovely post.

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    1. Loree- close to 80 here, too! At least it feels like it. Funny, my son was just lamenting about the winter--how we got "ripped off" with the lack of snow. Well, kid, spring is here, time to move on! But I think he's over it now--he's off to his first outdoor soccer practice of the season.

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  5. I *love* this piece. Yes, I used the l word.
    Well done, Jayne.

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    1. Thanks, Antares. Don't mind at all that you used the "L" word. Honored. Love that you used the "L" word. ;)

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  6. Jayne, how perfectly you have described a world within a world within a world. And you have picked out exactly what I struggle with "How shall I begin this piece..." But I love that you used the neurologist's "half empty" statement.

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    1. Bill- Really? You? Struggling with the beginning? Impossible. One would never know it from reading you.

      The neurologist is young, young, young. I'm in no hurry to go back to touch his finger and then my nose and then his finger again. (Um, well, I can't imagine that he's ever in any hurry for that, either.) ;)

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  7. really nice job with the challenge. migraines are awful—i had the nasty things for years, managed them with meds (vitamins and acupuncture didn't work for me), and one day, about three years ago, i had my last one (knock wood). HAPPY SPRING ; )

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    1. m- a dozen years for me. It could be the placebo effect, but I swear I've warded off a couple that would ordinarily send me to bed--that is a big improvement--so I'm going to stick w/this regimen while it gives me some relief. I don't want to take a daily med!

      Three years is fantastic! I'm knocking on wood for you.

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  8. The best time of the year is the spring-winter; when the days are getting longer, the sun is warming, and the mountains still covered by snow. Best time of the year >:)

    Cold As Heaven

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    1. Spring skiing--that is a beautiful thing. Enjoy! There is no spring skiing here--mountains are closing early this year. I'm going to have to grease my bike gears. :)

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  9. Congrats on shunning the migraines! I hope you manage to have a headache-free season.I've been taking my walks early, before the sun rises, just to avoid the stabbing light. (and still taking the vitamins, too!)

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    1. Nessa- We've too many oak trees in our yard for me to have a headache free spring, but I'm hoping it will be a bit easier this year. Keep taking the vitamins, stay away from chocolate and red wine (Ha! Right, like I'm going to do that!) and hopefully, the regimen will eventually work for you. And then, of course, there's praying for early menopause--which, it is said, eradicates the monster. ;)

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  10. Oregon must be behind on our weather payments so Spring is on back-order here; it's in the 30's, snow flurries and a dark grey blanket of clouds. I miss Hawaii.

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    1. Robert- I'll bet you do miss Hawaii. I've never been, though I have a friend who lives there and is always happy to report on its perfect weather. I, of course, would miss the snow. Hope it warms up soon for you. :)

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  11. I didn't know how migraines were treated. I assumed lots of pain killers and that was it. It's interesting to read certain vitamins can help. I hope your headaches remain in the past.
    It's sweet that your daughter wonders if you're lonely during the day. My children often ask me similar questions about my weekdays alone. I enjoy my days, the time flies and I'm very happy. Perpetual nights alone would be another matter. Loneliness would be if no one came home to me at the end of the day.

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    1. Leonora- The medical model offers a couple of options. 1) Take a daily anti-migraine type of pill, or 2) Take a pill as soon as you sense the aura. I don't have auras so the second option didn't make sense, and the first option was not something I wanted to explore, so when the doc mentioned the cocktail, I was more than happy to give it a try.

      My daughter asks a hundred questions a day, Leonora. She's got a question for everything. At least most of them are sweet, and usually make me laugh. And I would imagine your girls have asked you many a darling thing. Funny what must go through their heads thinking about us at home alone. There's so much to do, I can barely fit in the writing. And I agree, nights alone would be a different story.

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  12. Dearest Jayne, daffodils are my favorite springtime flower and I must say that your poetic description of the daffodil was intimate, magically revealing its little soul to me. I had never really met a daffodil until I read your words. Your writing is stunning.

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    1. Thanks, Leah. I'm still working on that description. I don't know what's wrong with me--oh yes I do: I got impatient and published this too soon. Who knows, maybe a yellow poem down the road... "I've never met a daffodil..." ;)

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  13. Hmmm...love the metaphorical flourishes here...springtime shaking off the dregs of winter, the horror of migraines (oh yes, i used to get them and would go practically blind with pain) and the rebirth of new things...
    my lord do i love the sight of daffs in bloom as well..
    now, down here we are doing the exact opposite as the summer closes down and the dark grey melbourne weather descends...i do love it strangely enough as do a lot of locals...

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    1. Blind with pain--that's it, Dan, precisely how I feel when in the thick of it. Those daffodils would cheer up the dreariest of days, eh? Mother always knows just what to bring to dinner.

      So odd to think that our seasons spin differently, like where living on a tilt-a-whirl--see I still can't wrap my head around it. Makes me dizzy. Hope you see some bright skies in your fall. ;)

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  14. I love what is there, but go ahead and do what you must Jayne. I will be happily waiting for yellow.

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    1. Leah, still contemplating. That color of the center cups are intensifying--today they looked very orange... Maybe I should be writing about the different stages of a flower. Ha. ;)

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  15. Jayne: I celebrate with you that your migraines have melted away. I had a two-year bout with them over a decade ago and they've never returned. I had the benefit of a neurologist who always offered me a can of Coca-Cola and the good medicine of guidance (a few meds) and encouragement. Welcome Spring! :) Nice to stop by as always!!!!

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    1. Thanks, Michael. That's pretty funny--a neurologist handing out cans of Coke. Can't imagine all that sugar being good for headaches! Fortunately, I never really liked soda (well, except for orange and grape when I was a little girl), so his Coca-Cola overtures wouldn't tempt me. ;)

      So glad you're migraine free. Happy spring to you, too. :)

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  16. Had never heard of Ponge before the day on which I read this. ;) Thank you for the intro!

    Very nice-and-easy sliding from scene to scene in this piece. I'm not sure if there's a term for it in writing, but the effect is almost like a single long tracking shot in a film that takes us to the doctor's office (both inner and outer sancta), the bookshop, the deck, inside the daffodils... Speaking of which, that's quite a portrait of the flower. It's like the ghost of Georgia O'Keefe was haunting your keyboard.

    An old friend of mine was a psychologist (before switching careers to, well, let's say technology). I never had migraines, but in talking about them once he told me the one tool with which his patients had most success was biofeedback-based. He gave them this little temperature-sensitive strip of colored plastic; as the temperature changed, the color shifted to the red end of the spectrum (if warming) or to the blue/violet (if cooling). With practice, his patients could "think their hands warm": you hold the color strip in the palm of your hand, and make the color shift redward.

    As I understood it, there were no particular instructions for HOW to "make the color shift." But -- again, with enough practice -- one's mind learned how to do it, and could do it at will. It was like training a new muscle(one you couldn't see and didn't even know you had) to perform a repetitive task. Eventually the patients didn't need to use a color strip anymore.

    And as a side effect: it killed the incipient migraine.

    (I bet Nance knows about this biofeedback stuff. But it looks like her chair at the table is still waiting for her. :))

    You need to set an appointment with this doctor for June 20th. If asked, just say you'd feel more comfortable with an occasional follow-up visit. But you'd have an ulterior motive: find out if they do this "today is the last day of [...]"/"tomorrow is the first day of [...]" routine by design, or unintentionally. And having found out, you could... uh... I dunno. Ha. Failure of imagination. (Like the line goes, I'm an idea person, but leave the execution to others.)

    Something about the Don't you ever get lonely at home? question sorta breaks my heart.

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    1. Ha, ghost of Georgia Keefe--I should be so lucky! What that woman could do with a flower. Or a mountain, or a carcass. Which reminds me, I should water those daffodils!

      The biofeedback type therapy sounds interesting. I wonder if I'd have enough patience for that--training my mind to trick my... mind? I've got a special chair for Nance if, no, it'd better be when, she gets back here.

      Haha! I just checked my calendar for my next appt. with the neurologist--we set it up for three months out--and it is set for June 19th! I should call tomorrow and reschedule. (And remember to turn on my phone recorder when I'm there next!)

      Lulu's a little doll--always concerned about her mother. Sweet thing. ;)

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  17. Dear Jayne,
    I can feel with you about the horror of migraines (had them after the Cesarian - always around ovolution - and to give you hope: they vanished now at the moment of beginning menopause, what a blessing, can't believe my luck! Wish you the same - but earlier).
    That being said: the text is great! Normally I would prefer the sentence of the receptionist - but mirrored by the background of getting over the migraine-disposition the sentence "last day of" is a burden taken from one's shoulders. And the description of the daffodils is just wonderful, thank you!

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    1. Britta-- I'm so hoping I follow the same trajectory--My migraines started after my second c-section, but then, it could be said that my migraines started after I had kids, regardless of how they were delivered. Ha! Yeah, so I'm patiently waiting for the big moment, for sizzling hot flashes, for night sweats, anything that tells me it's getting close! I'm going to celebrate, have chocolate and red wine. Together!

      Ah yes, last day--not a bad thing at all. ;)

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  18. Oh my gosh, I love your description of the daffodils. A beautiful piece.

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    1. I'm glad you liked this, Elizabeth. I hope you're celebrating the release of your album with lots of bright flowers everywhere! And a good wine, too. :)

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  19. An excellent piece of writing. If this is from life then you made it vivid and real. I like the way you progress from one thought to the next and from one situation to another, combining them with an easy flow.

    Whether from life or fiction, this is good. I'll have to come and read much more of your work.

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    1. Friko-- It is, it's non-fiction. True, true--every word. The doc and his receptionist are quite the tag team. (And I label fiction pieces--although, there is the old argument about the blurred lines of both...) :)

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  20. Lovely piece of writing, the way you segue from the halls of medicine to the joy of spring. On the "halls of medicine" front, may you remain migraine free. Such a misery that is.

    As for spring, I remain off-kilter with the seasons this year. I'm afraid I look out on our little row of daffs with ambivalence--they've come too soon, and they'll be gone too soon. Still, we sat outside tonight and watched the sun go down, listened to all the birdsong, and saw a bluebird test out the nest boxes. I had a sense of revival then, coming out of winter's cocoon.

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  21. Susan- And one has to wonder if this will be the new pattern for flowers in a globe that's warming. I don't see how it couldn't.

    So wonderful that you watched the sun set, outside with the busy, singing birds. If I hadn't children to get after all night (homework! now!) I might have done the same thing--after all, temps reached 80 here today. I don't think we're going to see a March storm this year. Hot, hot summer ahead! I'd say it's safe to step out of the cocoon. :)

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  22. the leaps and the dwells- gorgeous writing. and how could you/she ever get lonely? such a rich inner life.

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    1. Ah, Sherry, I'm sorry--I just found your comment here! Love that last line. You're good. ;)
      Paying you a visit soon. :)

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