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February 1st, 2004

wakontah

I'm intrigued today with the Quapaw Indian concept of Wakontah, the notion that there is a force in everything, which gives a balance to the universe. The Quapaw considered Wakontah the reason to give reverence to all creation.

Yesterday the day began with a windless, pleasant chill, overcast skies and a deep fog making the outdoors feel like a pleasant cocoon.
books read, things doneCollapse )

The pins don't stand up to scrutiny

This morning we went to the 11 a.m. service at the church we've begun attending, and then went to Mimi's for lunch. I liked the pansies, bravely remaining in bloom despite soggy and cold conditions, and the ornamental kale. I disliked having to wait for a table--I never understand why anyone would wait for a table at a franchise restaurant, but some things in my life passeth all understanding.

I found myself getting down in mid-afternoon, as the combination of damp, dreary weather conditions and undone chores deflated me a bit. I went to the auto shop, which told me that my flat tire from Friday could not be repaired, that the thing that had expired on my windshield was not the inspection.

I cast about for something fun yet active to do. I remembered that Allen's bowling alley is never crowded.
I don't bowl often, and had not bowled in a year. But I like to bowl. When I arrived, the woman behind the counter told me I could only bowl for half an hour because of an impending league night. I didn't mind at all.

I bowled poorly, usually knocking down 8 or 9 pins with the first roll, then failing to make the spare each time. The lane seemed to cooperate in the generally sham-fabulous ambience. Sometimes all pins would be dropped onto the floor so that they collapsed over prior to my roll. Sometimes fewer than ten pins appeared. The young woman behind the counter and the young man behind the lanes worked to try to improve things, but they did not do much good. My bowling continued to worse in tune with the lane.

I went to Bethany Lakes Park to walk in the chilly and damp weather. Lots of ducks and geese seemed to enjoy conditions there, and seagulls flew everywhere. I saw a huge flock of little birds flying in unison, and I wondered if they were heading south or north.

I watched the Super Bowl, taking a break to mock-fight with my younger lhasa, who barked at me with an endearing little "yowp" for attention. The older lhasa let herself out the doggie door, and came in all soggy from the rain.

I wonder if any less entertaining half-time program could have been devised by the folks who ran this year's Super Bowl. I'd rather hear Jerry Jones sing "It's a Hard Knock Life" than hear any tune by Janet Jackson. The hip hop artists had a bit less cred than the Dr. Evil hip hop song in the last Austin Powers movie. Even poor Kid Rock seemed reduced to serving quarter pounders in the great corporate fast food mart of life. I never thought that Shania Twain would seem to have more life than a future Super Bowl program.

Who would play at my Super Bowl show? How about some gamelan music? Maybe have Dolores sing "Linger". Insist that REM do "Little America" and a cover of "Suspicious Minds". Oh, and perhaps some Cocteau Twins. On the stadium screens, they could print the lyrics when Elisabeth sings--all in a dialect of the Lapp people, perhaps, or something else that nobody in the audience speaks. If we're going to go with tradition, why not Ray Charles? Too bad we are several Ramones short.