O ye weary traveler, take comfort at the end of your day.
If you happened to be at a Four Seasons Hotel or Resort, and picked up a book of matches while you were there, you'd see a kind of still life on the cover, depicting a smoldering cigar in a crystal ashtray, and a brandy snifter resting serenely on a damask-draped table, with a little Four Seasons logo thing on the table as well. The above quote appears on the back of the matchbook. As I stepped onto the porch this evening to have a cigarette, I lit with one of the aforesaid matches and thought for a split-second - "Why on earth would a hotel chain put a quote like that on the matches in their hotel?" Because when I read it, I immediately thought - "ah, home at last after my weary-ing travels." Then of course, came the realization that the hotel wants you to be at least as comfortable at their establishment as you are at home, if not more so. Four Seasons are pretty posh, from what I'm led to believe. I've never been to one.
What is home? Am I home now? Is Portland now home? Will I forever be an Iowa boy? Is my sister's home now in California since she's just moved there for college for (we assume) 4 years? What makes a place home? I know there are lots of little platitudes that address this, home is where the heart is, home needs a woman's touch, etc. My heart doesn't know, so something else will have to decide, and if I wait for a woman's touch - I may be homeless for a long, long time. Feel free to deposit your various two cents on this in the comments. What makes what you call home your home?
As Meph takes comfort in the pleasures of restful relaxation after his weary traveled and worked day, I write, womdering where I'm headed - where I'll be in a week, a month, a year and more. I don't mean geographically, as there's little doubt that I'll be here. I mean where in this half-assed journey that is my life will I be? What headspace will I occupy? Will I hold the same beliefs I do now? Will I even care then about what seems important now? Will what I care about then be important now?
This has certainly been a strange year thus far. It began almost right away with my first visit to Portland. A tour of the pleasures to be had, Powell's, Burnside, Sin Ju, a Henry Rollins show, etc. The year quickly descended into darkness, both literal and metaphoric. As I look over what I wrote during that time - it's pretty dark. I hated the customers, but I kept the job. Right now I'd kill to have that job back. At my other job, I saw my first suicide up close. I got put on suicide watch for the first time when the bosses at work found out I could handle it. I spent a nervous night and felt I'd accomplished something. Then winter faded into spring, and spring into summer. I moved here. And now it's been a month - in fact, a month and 11 days. Now it's the beginning of September - a time I typically associate with the beginning of fall and work or school type stuff. My sister embarks on college in L.A. For the first time in almost twenty years, I have nothing on the horizon. And it feels wrong.
Essentially, my concerns have not changed since I last wrote, but even complaining about the same old things grows tiresome quickly. I can only imagine how tiresome it must get to read the same thing time after time.
O ye weary travelers, take comfort at the ends of your days.
If you happened to be at a Four Seasons Hotel or Resort, and picked up a book of matches while you were there, you'd see a kind of still life on the cover, depicting a smoldering cigar in a crystal ashtray, and a brandy snifter resting serenely on a damask-draped table, with a little Four Seasons logo thing on the table as well. The above quote appears on the back of the matchbook. As I stepped onto the porch this evening to have a cigarette, I lit with one of the aforesaid matches and thought for a split-second - "Why on earth would a hotel chain put a quote like that on the matches in their hotel?" Because when I read it, I immediately thought - "ah, home at last after my weary-ing travels." Then of course, came the realization that the hotel wants you to be at least as comfortable at their establishment as you are at home, if not more so. Four Seasons are pretty posh, from what I'm led to believe. I've never been to one.
What is home? Am I home now? Is Portland now home? Will I forever be an Iowa boy? Is my sister's home now in California since she's just moved there for college for (we assume) 4 years? What makes a place home? I know there are lots of little platitudes that address this, home is where the heart is, home needs a woman's touch, etc. My heart doesn't know, so something else will have to decide, and if I wait for a woman's touch - I may be homeless for a long, long time. Feel free to deposit your various two cents on this in the comments. What makes what you call home your home?
As Meph takes comfort in the pleasures of restful relaxation after his weary traveled and worked day, I write, womdering where I'm headed - where I'll be in a week, a month, a year and more. I don't mean geographically, as there's little doubt that I'll be here. I mean where in this half-assed journey that is my life will I be? What headspace will I occupy? Will I hold the same beliefs I do now? Will I even care then about what seems important now? Will what I care about then be important now?
This has certainly been a strange year thus far. It began almost right away with my first visit to Portland. A tour of the pleasures to be had, Powell's, Burnside, Sin Ju, a Henry Rollins show, etc. The year quickly descended into darkness, both literal and metaphoric. As I look over what I wrote during that time - it's pretty dark. I hated the customers, but I kept the job. Right now I'd kill to have that job back. At my other job, I saw my first suicide up close. I got put on suicide watch for the first time when the bosses at work found out I could handle it. I spent a nervous night and felt I'd accomplished something. Then winter faded into spring, and spring into summer. I moved here. And now it's been a month - in fact, a month and 11 days. Now it's the beginning of September - a time I typically associate with the beginning of fall and work or school type stuff. My sister embarks on college in L.A. For the first time in almost twenty years, I have nothing on the horizon. And it feels wrong.
Essentially, my concerns have not changed since I last wrote, but even complaining about the same old things grows tiresome quickly. I can only imagine how tiresome it must get to read the same thing time after time.
O ye weary travelers, take comfort at the ends of your days.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Hopefully you'll get that sail back up and find your way. The compass is comewhere. Really.