Boy's memories

I’m leaving home

These hills and trees

Sweet songs and loves

Boy’s memories

Steal salty drops

With Glosoli

Night's summer sun

Smiles down on me

With quaking fists

And battered heart

This pilgrim yearns

To stay life's start

Life here is done

To ever be

Just one small part

Boy’s memories

I ate an orange for breakfast

When I sat down at the table this morning, I was still trying to stay quiet so my grandma wouldn't notice I was out there starting breakfast.  I had gotten just the right amount of food that I wanted.  To no avail.  Do you want me to cut an orange for you?  Do you want me to warm up some bread?  Do you want a yogurt?  Do you want an apple?  In spite of repeating No several times--twice for the apple--I still ended up with bread and chicken spread next to me on the table.  And an apple.  Ok, thanks, grandma.

I was already moody that morning and it wasn't even nine o'clock.  The days have been busy, at least in my mind.  Decisions wear me out.  I have been trying to be a better person these days, too.  It's rough.

I sliced up my orange.  I ate it, piece by piece, until only canoe-shaped peels were left on the plate.  I ate my honey bunches of oats--two bowls.  I ate my ten almonds.  I ate my strawberry yogurt.  And I looked out the window.  The sky was blue.  The trees were bright and summery green.  Even the neighbor's new grass was poking up past the hay he had put down the other day.  My damp hair was cool on my neck.  My fuzzy slippers were comfy.  The kitchen was quiet.

I kept looking out the window.  And for some reason, this morning I realized something that, for the first time in a long time, kept coming to mind all day:

I had confused ease for happiness all my life.

I loved Where the Wild Things Are

I even shed a tear.

Solomon was on to something.

I got up [relatively] early today because Dad called and gave me a big chore for the afternoon.  Surprise.  So I wet down my poofy hair, then went to work without breakfast.  (Shh... don't tell grandma.)  I talked about generosity for several hours with Renee and Dr. Crumley.  We presented ideas, altered the questionnaire, planned for next week.  We worked hard.

Then I went home and ate a big lunch.  (Thank you, Grandma.)

After that it was time for the big chore.  So Kiko and I loaded up the lawn mower into my trunk and I head to my former home on Sunkist Terrace.  For the next two hours I mowed that yard good.  And even though I had to take breaks once in a while to cool my body temperature down and grab water to keep salivating, and even though the sun was hot on my bare shoulders and the grass made my ankles itch, and the sweat got in my eyes, and even the branches raked across my face and the thorns scratched my feet, it felt good to work again.  Maybe because of all those things.

I don't feel like it, but I must be growing up a little, slowly but surely.  I enjoyed the feeling of getting something accomplished like that on my own, of taking responsibility for something, of putting effort and a bit of sacrifice into it.  It was a strange satisfaction.

I hope I keep finding it.  Maybe it will help make life meaningful somehow.

I shouldn't have, but I did.

I watched A Beautiful Mind tonight while I "packed."  (I actually did get a tiny bit done, but not very much it's true.)  I enjoy this movie very much.  It makes me wish I was a genius or had autism or something that made me more unique.  And I think that Russell Crowe does an amazing job.  I also like Paul Bettany.

This movie is about a mathematical genius who struggles with schizophrenia.  It's about perseverance and trials and commitment and frustration and craziness.  But I realized at the end that it's mainly about love.  In his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize at the end of the movie, Nash (the genius) says a few things and then begins to address his wife.  He says he has always believed in numbers, in logic and reason.  Then he says his question is what truly is logic and who decides reason.  He says his quest took him through much, and then, as he continues, he looks down at his wife from the podium.  He says the most important discovery of his career, and life, was that it was only in the mysterious equations of love that any logical reasons could be found.  Then, looking his wife in the eye and speaking to her as if no one else was in the giant room, he finishes his speech: "I am only here tonight because of you. You are the reason I am.  You are all my reasons.  Thank you."

Now, this portrayal is much more effective in the movie itself, and it is completely fictional as far as I know.  It was made by Hollywood to make bank.  But, and maybe I'm exposing myself too much here, I think it's beautiful.  A man whose logical, rational mind was exceptional discovered that love was the only reason he existed.  In the movie, his wife suffers with him and stays with him and teaches him to accept her love and find his own heart.  This movie isn't about math, it's about love.

Is the portrayal of love in this movie too ideal?  Is it only nice because it's a short movie, simplified and edited and written to contain the most important parts and move an audience and make a point?  I don't know.  Probably.  Maybe.   But I hope it's not too ideal.