Cindy Frank

Her Gravatar account: Cindy Frank

Her blog: NOTES FROM THE ROOM IN MY HEAD

From: WITH LOVE AND AFFECTION

Every morning it’s the same.

An over easy egg, a slice of Tuscan Pane, a squiggle of olive oil, a twist of salt and another of pepper. An entire pot of French press coffee doled out half a cup at a time. It has to be drunk very hot. Always the same diner cup.

30 years – over 10,000 eggs.

A sweep second hand watch belted to my right wrist, and rolled inward, just like my Dad. We are both left-handed. Our watches are timed to the second. Eyeglasses are polished and secured firmly around my ears. I sleep in my glasses. Every night. It doesn’t matter that in the dark there is nothing to see. But in daytime, when the sights around me become too harsh, sometimes I’ll take my glasses off for a few moments and let the hard edges of the world blur into gentle softness.

Flaubert said, “Be regular and orderly in your life like a bourgeois, so that you can be violent and original in your work.” Aside from the fact that I take issue with Flaubert’s somewhat patronizing view of the bourgeoisie, I clearly have embraced the “regular and ordinary.” For me, an egg and a perfectly timed watch are both touchstones and a rubric for the day, armor to protect myself from the unknown events that will surely come to pass. As for “violent and original,” even the word “violent” makes me tense. And I do find originality a bit of a fuzzy concept. I prefer to think that creation is something that is always enriched and textured by links to thought that both precedes and often surrounds creators. Maybe that’s why so many people who are so celebrated for originality feel as if they’re frauds. They’re not frauds—they simply are attuned enough to be part of the process. …

((Like her and her Dad, I am left-handed and I wear the same watch rolled inward on my right wrist.

I am not someone who has been fated by God and nature to have an ordinary family in this life. My family is innumerable Gurus, several Buddhas, an Avatar, a Mahasiddha, and five Angels, all of them disincarnate except for those that I have not met on the earth plane, but if I did have an ordinary family, I would want her for my daughter, because you see, she’s right about details.

It is only when that pot of French-pressed coffee is there on the breakfast table automatically, without thought, and without any variation at all, every single morning for decades on end, that we can be said to be truly human. Before then, we are cows stuck in human forms, trying desperately and furtively to figure out what the rules are, while being constantly distracted from that task by the innumerable other cows that God has granted us for company in our long journey home to Him. -vshr))

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