June 8, 2008
Dear Clusterflock,
It’s real hot and sticky this weekend—too sticky to move out of the airstream of the fan—so I’ve been sitting on the couch rereading Mighty Maggie Mason’s (months-old) lists of 100 Things Worth Doing (parts 2, 3, 4) and 100 Things to Do Before I Go (parts 2, 3, 4).
And so, of course, I’ve also started making my own lists. It’s fun but surprisingly difficult—at least the “to do” part. Apparently I’m not very good at setting goals: I’ve got twice as many dones as to dos so far, and I can assure you that that is not because I’m a stellar overachiever.
Some of mine:
To Do
- Drink Guinness at a pub in Ireland (I know, I was just there, but I never got to a pub, damn it)
- Make macarons from scratch
- Sew a dress from a vintage pattern
- Have a cat or other furry pet again
- Live in Italy for at least three months
- Happily entertain unexpected company
- Visit Buenos Aires
- Visit Elisabeth in Oslo
- Look good in a bikini
- Meet the Flockers
Worth Doing
- Going to the Grammys and after-parties with Matt, climbing in and out of limos in a perilously short dress
- Walking on the cliffs of Ireland with Rachel
- Sitting around Dad’s hospital bed telling him all the dirty jokes we could remember as we waited for the doctors to remove his breathing tube
- Playing ping-pong at my junior high school prom wearing my mother’s 1950s dress and gloves
- Driving across the country with Karen
- Staying in that house overlooking olive groves on the hill above Florence
- Watching the procession of drummers in Siena
- Participating in the hilarious yet still moving ceremony at Karen and Dylan’s wedding
- Someone tossing keys to me over a truck and my holding up my hand without thinking and catching them
- Walking (most of the way) around Stanley Park in Vancouver
- Walking up to Carnegie Hall with Mom on a beautiful spring day to see Leontyne Price; eleven encores
- Sitting as still and quiet as I could while Dad recounted stories of all the jobs he had before I was born; it was the most I’d heard him talk in many years
- Trying to make myself go around that tight turn at the bottom of the parking lot without riding the brakes, panicking at the last second, and instantly finding myself lying on the grass, looking up at the sky; laughing hysterically
- Sitting on the porch on Hoxsey Street all summer, with my feet up on the rail, reading for money
- Spending the evening of the 2003 blackout sitting on the loading dock drinking, enjoying the unexpected holiday, and then realizing we’d better get food and find beds before it got totally pitch-black; later that evening, hearing someone on the street outside my parents’ house calling, “Warriors! Come out and play-ay!”
- Baking Rachel’s wedding cake (on a July day hotter than today)
- Going to Wave Hill for the first time and collecting magnolia petals to try to make perfume out of
What’s on your lists?
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9 Responses to “Dear Clusterflock,”
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1. I want to hang our Veuve Clicquot flag out in front of our house when Barack Obama wins the presidency.
2. I want to design a modern, green house and build it in Austin for Cindy.
3. I want to take Cindy to Mexico for a year.
4. I want to see the stars under an absolutely clear sky and in a place where there is zero light pollution–maybe in the middle of the South Pacific.
5. I want to row a small boat across a large, glass smooth lake, early in the morning.
6. I want to look for fossils in the Burgess Shales.
7. I want to see Mia’s face the first time she sees the ocean (we are going this summer).
8. Cindy and I want to ride that train that goes all the way across Canada.
9. I want to get my retirement back.
10. I want Clusterflockstock to be even more amazing than I already expect it to be.
Give me a metaphorical minute, India. I’m still lost in delight over your lists. And then I need to read Daryl’s list.
Just beautiful, what she said. What he said. I want.
I want to make a movie that gets into Sundance (at least).
I want a book deal.
I want to make beautiful, useful things.
I want to point people toward the poignant.
I want to be a father.
I want to express myself as fully as I can.
I want to help people express themselves as fully as they can.
I want to be happy, healthy, and strong.
I want to be beautiful.
Oh Deron!
Amen.
No sense in laboring over this for days. I can always try y’all’s patience with updates.
Wanna do these things
Travel to Samos with Cooper. Relish the expressions chez Lindus when we walk up and rap on the door.
Resume the flamenco study I began when I was a young adolescent and perform a soulful and not-quite world-weary dance.
Publish The Secret History of Oak Cliff.
Operate a theatrical boarding house.
Die in the desert.
Glad I did these things
In response to the scornful, “I am nineteen years old, and when I make a decision, I stick to it”, replied, “I am eighteen years old, and when I realize I’ve made a bad decision, I’m not too stubborn to reverse it.” Said, “To hell with feeling embarrassed” and high-tailed it out of the Austin co-op back to Dallas.
Dropped acid once, then repeated the experiment. And again . . . and again . . .
Ignored the universal sarcasm that greeted my decision to quit my job, enroll in a library school degree program, and pursue a career in something called Archives.
Slipped over the side of the boat and into the water, then rode out the wave of panic over ‘no land in sight’. Strapped on the snorkeling mask and floated face-down. Calmly watched the barracuda swim through the reef just below me. Watched in awe as the owner of the boat suddenly dove over the side and down to spear a grouper he’d spotted. Enjoyed eating the grouper back ashore just a few hours later.
Took Olive’s advice and allowed her to transform me into the redhead I was born.
Saw the Sex Pistols perform.
Saw Marlene Dietrich perform.
Saw Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev perform.
you’re a lucky woman, Sheila Ryan.
I will keep that in mind, Deron Bauman, through those many moments when I feel profoundly un-lucky.
I have loved reading these. I’ll add mine, although they’re a good deal less interesting than the rest, I’m afraid. Still, they’re honest.
Want to do
Live in a house whose main feature is light.
Spend a year interviewing schizophrenics.
Spend a year feeling like my true self (i.e., no medications).
Survive the year above.
Spend countless days with Daryl where we wake up with no plans or obligations.
Give away or sell most of my possessions.
Feel beautiful again.