And Do You Remember This Song

[syncategorematic]

Recently I met a friend
He's my buddy from childhood.,
We looked on, grinning,
We wiped off two shots.
Well, how's it going? --- Don't ask:
The world is ruled by the kind,
gentle, a little nonsensical,
but to me no longer frightening

White river
Drops about the past
Ah, river, river,
Wing of memory
I drown to me
In these nonsenses
Shot glasses on the table
In my hands the sky.

And do you remember this song
That we sang when we were young
In the foyer, where on the stairs
Our better halves stood waiting on
And the light diluted by window glass
Was sweeter than the sun to us,
And the poisonous, poisoned breeze,
We swigged from the bottleneck!

White river
Drops about the past
Ah, river, river,
Wing of memory
I drown to me
In these nonsenses
Shot glasses on the table
In my hands the sky.

And to the world where everything's shared
Fate swept us onward with a broom
And we stared to the side instead
And didn't give a damn for anything
And in this eternal autumn now
We sit, we two, bare to the wind,
While Death counts to seven
And wipes our snot for us.

White river
Drops about the past
Ah, river, river,
Wing of memory
I drown to me
In these nonsenses
Shot glasses on the table
In my hands the sky.
-- Y. Shevchuk, "White River."
(I discovered to my surprise that DDT is no longer putting their mp3s up on their site for download for the time being, and thus some of the links I made in this blog are dead. Sad. I am trying to find a solution. The white river in this song is vodka, if that makes it begin to make any more sense. I wonder whether anyone downloaded them while the links were live and wondered at Tourmaline's possibly-counterintuitive fondness for hard rock. Or at least, the poetry of their lyrics.)

My first class is, according to the course website, on Wednesday, although according to the university website, classes in general should only start on Thursday. This intriguing discrepancy I shall resolve by showing up in the class site anyway, and chat with the one other gung-ho fourth-year student who shall doubtless appear. I think I will be armed with tea. I am slowly growing to realize what a woof thread of my life that brewed drink from Camellia sinensis or any given substitute is.

I still have reason to go to the university today, of course, that reason being to do a nominal amount of work. The pre-classes Shinerama drive to raise money for cystic fibrosis is on again; I got accosted by a rather-handsome youth clad in a clear plastic bag with balloons taped to it (and shorts...I think...I am also discovering my mind is far purer and cleaner than I had assumed, an unusual epiphany...) who asked me whether I would like to throw a pie at him, "it only requires a small donation!" I said no, thank you.

However, the very nice girls on the Mackenzie King bridge soliciting money for the Red Cross had far more fey a power. "Hi, do you have a minute for the Red Cross?" they smiled, cheerful and professional university-age volunteer solicitors, looking as if they won't be at all angry at a refusal. "No, sorry," said I and walked on. Immediately, my bad knee (well, the worse knee of my two none-too-fantastic knees) began to hurt. I kept walking, then stopped by a rail to shake my knee out. The aching ligament moved back into place and stopped hurting, but I banged my elbow against the rail and that took over the pain role. Okay, okay, Red Cross, I will donate money at the next opportunity, you've proven your power and need to me, and my need of you!

Here, the Red Cross is thought of mostly as a charity organization for disaster relief etc. In Russia, the word was almost synonymous with medical care, and the symbol was on every ambulance. And I remember hearing the Russian-language Israeli radio, giving the haunting rhythmic name of "Mezhdunarodnaya Organizatsiya Krasnogo Krestá i Krasnogo Polumesyatsa ---The International Organization of the Red Cross and Red Crescent." You're in the Middle East, the Red Crescent gets mentioned, and so does Magen-David Adom, the Red Star of David. There was a red cross at the hospital where they sewed the tip of my thumb back on. There was a red cross at Sokolniki Hospital. I'll donate. I promise.

But walking through the university, I, a woman who used to have a diploma (I gave it back; I have only a scan now), found myself looking at the merry throngs of youthful undergraduates with jaded eyes. How I had looked at junior high school students after I was in high school; how I looked at grade nines and tens after I was in grade eleven and twelve; how I looked at high school students once I entered university; now, in fifth year, I look down at first, second, and third-years --- they are so young; so naive; they haven't lived yet. When did I get so old cynical?

Coran had warned me, back in aikido. "You turn twenty-two and you realize: all teenagers are idiots." "Well, I'm glad I just turned twenty last Saturday," I replied to that, from butterfly stretch on the mat. "Yeah, I waited to say this to you," he grinned at me. "And when you turn twenty-five you realize all people younger than twenty-two are idiots, and then you turn thirty and you realize everyone under twenty-eight is an idiot. Except," he looked over to where Carina was warming up; she was twenty-five at the time; "your wife."

I will stop here, but there was more starry-eyed-ness in my life as well.

A few random notes:
 - I saw the Snowbirds (aerobatic team, for the non-Canadians) fly in formation over downtown today, for heaven knows what reason. Contrails interlaced in the blue, blue September sky.
- I plucked grapes off our grape vine today. Ah, commercial grapes in Ottawa grocery stores just miss that particular scent that I remember from childhood and locally-grown grapes. And something, some ester in the smell, suddenly reminded me of fresh ripe figs, which I haven't eaten since... Israel, stop haunting me. There were plenty of really, really good reasons why we left you.
- There was the smell of frost on the wind today. No fresh ripe figs. Or it is because I am completely attuned to that smell, and recognize the least trace of it.