Just be thankful for what you've got...
Nov. 1st, 2007 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12A very long time ago, 1st November was the first day of the new year, and so it seemed appropriate to indulge my current 'counting-my-blessings' mood and write a long post about the things that make life worth living. So, in no particular order...
The books of Philip Pullman and Anne Rice and Catherine Jinks and Ursula Le Guin and Victor Kelleher and Isobelle Carmody and Sara Douglass and Rumer Godden and Jacqueline Carey; the writings of Jorge Luis Borges; Lajos Zihaly's sepulchral observations on the human condition; the poetry of Chaucer and the Gawain-poet and Shakespeare and in particular Macbeth's final soliloquy and Anne Rice's brilliant interpretation of it in 'Pandora'; the beautiful poetry of 'The Wanderer' and 'The Seafarer' and in particular 'Buile Shuibhne'.
The music of Massive Attack and Calexico and The Pogues and Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams and the entire genre of '90s Europop.
The television shows and films of Joss Whedon and the movies of the Marx Brothers; the entire dialogue of 'Robin Hood: Men in Tights'; 'Amelie'; 'V For Vendetta'; anything in which Tom Stoppard has a hand; the antics of the Chaser guys; Black Books.
The fact that linguistics makes the world at once smaller and wider (did you know that the word 'bud' is related to the word 'Buddha'? Well, you do now); the way that history is both as fraught with tension as a battlefield and as melodramatic as a soap opera.
xkcd and NAR
The shows of Cirque du Soleil, first seen 20 years ago in New York in 1987 and still as incredible as ever.
My family: my mother, who has put up with nearly 23 years of teenage and not-so-teenage angst and done so with grace, wit, humour and every sign of enjoying every minute of it, and who first put a book into my hands, thus giving me a lifelong key to never being bored; Mimi, who gives me a sense of perspective, who doesn't suffer fools, and who pulls me back to earth when I get particularly histrionic. There is nothing greater on this earth than having someone who shares your childhood, who knows exactly what it means when you say 'You do that' in a particular tone of voice and who alone will burst into fits of laughter the instant the words 'Maurice Chevalier eh?' are uttered; my grandmother, the strongest woman I know; my grandfather, who taught me how to live in my own world and only leave it on my own terms; the gang of Phillips women and cousins whose antics have formed some of the most memorable moments of my childhood.
My Canberra friends, some of whom I've known since the first day of primary school, nearly 18 years ago, some of whom I met in high school, 10 years ago this year, and some of whom I met in college, nearly six years ago, who made it possible to return to my hometown and pick up friendships as if I'd never been away.
The Usydgroup gang, who saved me from melancholy in the earliest days of uni, and whose cheerfulness and sheer joy in life have made every party, every coast trip, every game of Mafia, poker, Risk, Settlers of Catan and soccer memorable and who ensured that the grass beneath Eastern Avenue might be dug up, but never forgotten. You people are without doubt utterly steritorious and in the shop!
All the English Honours people, who welcomed a rogue literary theory-loathing, Irish-reading, medieval history-loving changeling into their midst and made what should have been the most stressful year of uni into the most enjoyable.
And finally, that weird, surrogate family of mine that is scattered all across the world, from the length and breadth of the US and Britain, to Ireland, Canada, Iceland, Finland, New Zealand, China, and even right here in Canberra. I am not exaggerating when I say that you people saved me from clinical depression and true despair during those first four horrible months in Canberra. Life is good because of you.
The books of Philip Pullman and Anne Rice and Catherine Jinks and Ursula Le Guin and Victor Kelleher and Isobelle Carmody and Sara Douglass and Rumer Godden and Jacqueline Carey; the writings of Jorge Luis Borges; Lajos Zihaly's sepulchral observations on the human condition; the poetry of Chaucer and the Gawain-poet and Shakespeare and in particular Macbeth's final soliloquy and Anne Rice's brilliant interpretation of it in 'Pandora'; the beautiful poetry of 'The Wanderer' and 'The Seafarer' and in particular 'Buile Shuibhne'.
The music of Massive Attack and Calexico and The Pogues and Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams and the entire genre of '90s Europop.
The television shows and films of Joss Whedon and the movies of the Marx Brothers; the entire dialogue of 'Robin Hood: Men in Tights'; 'Amelie'; 'V For Vendetta'; anything in which Tom Stoppard has a hand; the antics of the Chaser guys; Black Books.
The fact that linguistics makes the world at once smaller and wider (did you know that the word 'bud' is related to the word 'Buddha'? Well, you do now); the way that history is both as fraught with tension as a battlefield and as melodramatic as a soap opera.
xkcd and NAR
The shows of Cirque du Soleil, first seen 20 years ago in New York in 1987 and still as incredible as ever.
My family: my mother, who has put up with nearly 23 years of teenage and not-so-teenage angst and done so with grace, wit, humour and every sign of enjoying every minute of it, and who first put a book into my hands, thus giving me a lifelong key to never being bored; Mimi, who gives me a sense of perspective, who doesn't suffer fools, and who pulls me back to earth when I get particularly histrionic. There is nothing greater on this earth than having someone who shares your childhood, who knows exactly what it means when you say 'You do that' in a particular tone of voice and who alone will burst into fits of laughter the instant the words 'Maurice Chevalier eh?' are uttered; my grandmother, the strongest woman I know; my grandfather, who taught me how to live in my own world and only leave it on my own terms; the gang of Phillips women and cousins whose antics have formed some of the most memorable moments of my childhood.
My Canberra friends, some of whom I've known since the first day of primary school, nearly 18 years ago, some of whom I met in high school, 10 years ago this year, and some of whom I met in college, nearly six years ago, who made it possible to return to my hometown and pick up friendships as if I'd never been away.
The Usydgroup gang, who saved me from melancholy in the earliest days of uni, and whose cheerfulness and sheer joy in life have made every party, every coast trip, every game of Mafia, poker, Risk, Settlers of Catan and soccer memorable and who ensured that the grass beneath Eastern Avenue might be dug up, but never forgotten. You people are without doubt utterly steritorious and in the shop!
All the English Honours people, who welcomed a rogue literary theory-loathing, Irish-reading, medieval history-loving changeling into their midst and made what should have been the most stressful year of uni into the most enjoyable.
And finally, that weird, surrogate family of mine that is scattered all across the world, from the length and breadth of the US and Britain, to Ireland, Canada, Iceland, Finland, New Zealand, China, and even right here in Canberra. I am not exaggerating when I say that you people saved me from clinical depression and true despair during those first four horrible months in Canberra. Life is good because of you.
