The Cat

There's this cat in my neighborhood that really enjoys sitting on my car when I'm not looking; it is always leaving little brown paw prints as evidence of its stay. At first, this happening quite annoyed me; I didn't like the idea that, because of that cat, I would need to wash my car more often--maybe even multiple times a week if I didn't want residue dirt and cat hair on my front hood.

Last night, after I dropped off a movie at Redbox, I parked in my driveway and there it was: a long-haired tabby cat just waiting for my return. I sat in my car for a few minutes and just stared at it, partially to see if I could scare it away and partially because I had other things on my mind.

And the cat stared back at me--not out of fright, but in a kind sort of way. When I got out of the car, I walked over to it and started petting it. It purred and brushed its face against my hand and side in response. There was something about how sweet the cat was that eased my mind and comforted me in some little way. Why is it that I'm bound to love this thing that has caused me so much previous annoyance?

But I was touched, no longer caring about my car, nor the fact that I may have to wash it a little more because of this creature, so I scooped up the cat in my arms and set in on the hood of my car so that the warmth of the engine might make it more comfortable.

I pet it a few more times, then started to head for my front door and it followed me. It made me smile to think it'd rather be pet by me than to have the comfort of my car.

So now there's no turning back; this reconciliation is quite permanent, for I'm convinced that it will never have any reservations about sitting my car and I will no longer ever have the heart to stop it.

Inconstancy

I am an ocean wave
I am the seasons changing
I am the shooting star
I am the quick sand
I am a sheet of music
I am science
I am a woman

I am the constancy of inconstancy

Trains and Tunnels

When I ride the max--
Whether it's to school
Or back to my house--
I always look outside the window
At buildings, at lights, at people passing by,
Appreciative, yet wishing for another view.

And I wonder if he sometimes wishes that, too.

After I reach Goose Hollow,
I know my next destination:
It's Washington Park
And it's in a tunnel;
What is there to look at in a tunnel?

So when I go through the tunnel,
I close my eyes--
I'm usually tired--
And listen to the sound of the train,
Trying to guess when the concrete walls
Are no longer enclosing me.

And I usually guess right;
The train is loud in the tunnel,
Getting louder still
Getting louder still
Right before it's out--
And once the train is out,
It's finally quiet.

Things have their proper place:
Some get loud and then quiet;
Some are just always quiet;
And some are just always getting louder.

In this case--with him--
I hope things are always getting louder,
That the tunnel never ends.

The Treasure to Look

I usually don't like waking up early
But I discovered something most people miss
In the biting hours of the morning
Because people are just always
Too busy closing their eyes

In this glimpse, there was a winter sunrise
And though my skin felt as stone
And my breath formed brief clouds in my face
The pink and orange looked warm
Taking root in my heart

But with pearls, nature is greedy
Colors dissipating with each step I took
And though most may need riches and gold
Something tangible to hold
I but need the treasure to look

You Have to Be Lost to Find What Can't Be Found

They say you must be old
When your age is on a speed sign
But I say you must be crazy
When how fast your mind is running
Doesn't even fit

The Root of All That is Good and Evil

Starting school next week does not sound all that appealing to me. Though for different reasons, I remember dreading going to school first term as well; and yet I actually ended up enjoying it. I hope I have such luck this upcoming term.

Speaking of school, I find it so interesting that, in spite of having less friends, in spite of paying thousands of dollars to attend and in spite of classes being more difficult, college is so much more enjoyable than high school. After thinking about it for awhile, I've come to the conclusion that, at least for me, the enjoying stems from one root--and that is freedom. Coming and going as I please, not being micromanaged as much and choosing more of the classes I want to take are all mere manifestations of this increased freedom. Such importance there is in freedom! When used appropriately, correctly and prudently, how extensively it can brighten a circumstance that would otherwise be bleak.

But what opposition there is in our agency! Where much joy, goodness and peace may resound, there is also much lamentation, deterioration and contention. To think that the consequences of cold men crashing humans into skyscrapers can be traced to the same thing that the consequences of a heroic man risking his life to save lives is completely valid, yet completely mind-boggling.

However, maybe it's the stark difference in the outcomes of freedom that make us better appreciate it. After having six days of sunshine and then having a seventh, would you be as overjoyed on that seventh day as you would be if you had six days of rain, thunder and lightening and then the next day had sun? The negative outcomes of freedom should evoke in us a feeling of gratitude for the positive outcomes of choices and cause us to fix in ourselves a determination to hold fast to our freedom, whilst shunning that which would seek to destroy our agency, or even another's agency (whether that be an evasive government, drugs, murder, etc.).

So everything is made more beautiful because of freedom; even things that seem to have good intention behind it (such as high school) can be made more dull or worthless or evil when freedom is chiseled or altogether blown.

Wooden Toilet Seats are Warmer

There's a profound power in a change in geography--even if it's only for a few days. Being around the same landmarks, shops, etc. so easily can drag one down with the emotions and nostalgia and bitterness of certain memories; escaping those remembrances for a short time, however, often makes it easier to face them once again, but with less attachment, for which I am grateful.

I watched my grandpa talk a lot these past few days, especially at dinnertime. Generally speaking, he seems to be less prone to feeling the need to talk to a whole bunch to people, but I've discovered that he is extremely passionate about food and what better time to talk about food than when you're eating it? I know you're probably thinking, "Well, of course, he's passionate about food--he's a man"; however, his passion about food is more founded upon the concept that it is extremely important to be cautious about the things you put inside of you, the "being healthy" aspect of food, if you will. I found it intriguing to watch his eyes come to life, this 83-year old man be more energetic than a 13-year old and, most of all, see chunks of food come shooting out his mouth because he's missing some of his front teeth. My grandma and grandpa seem to structure their whole day around food, preparing it and making sure it's healthy. I wonder if that just happens as you get older, you know, where what matters the most when you were a baby becomes one of the most important aspects of life once again?

I've also realized lately that I have a hard time missing most people. It's not a matter of not caring, for there are many people that I care immensely about, nor is it a matter of not desiring to see someone on a more frequent basis; but it just seems like it's fairly easy for me to get on with my day and not have it affect me too extremely when I don't get to see them all the time. Of course, there are exceptions: one person, who is countries away, and little children. And sometimes a few others. I hope that doesn't sound too cruel.

I'm at an interesting point in my life. Going to Utah and seeing old friends again these past few days made me realize this may be the last time for many of them. Many of them are going on their missions soon and who knows where I'll be once they get back? I guess I've just always been able to go back; goodbyes were never final. This time is different and it's easy for me, probably because I know I'll always talk to Joe at least.

Oh, and by the way, I've decided I like wooden toilet seats. It's warmer when you sit down.