i married a poet

Last night we finally saw The Darjeeling Limited which was fantastic. 'Twas also beautiful and we laughed. I love how it was filmed, the colors, the dusty, chaotic sensation that we were actually in India, traveling by train, drinking authentic chai, the actors/actresses, the eclectic visual details, and the soundtrack. Sweet lime, where have The Kinks been all my life?

But even before the movie began, we watched previews for must-see movies: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and Juno. If Johnny can stomach it, I wouldn't mind seeing Atonement, either, and reading the book. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly in particular camped out in my brain. It is based on a true story - a memoir by Jean-Dominique Bauby, dictated by blinking his left eye:

"We've all got our idiosyncrasies when it comes to writing--a special chair we have to sit in, a certain kind of yellow paper we absolutely must use. To create this tremendously affecting memoir, Jean-Dominique Bauby used the only tool available to him--his left eye--with which he blinked out its short chapters, letter by letter. Two years ago, Bauby, then the 43-year-old editor-in-chief of Elle France, suffered a rare stroke to the brain stem; only his left eye and brain escaped damage. Rather than accept his 'locked in' situation as a kind of death, Bauby ignited a fire of the imagination under himself and lived his last days--he died two days after the French publication of this slim volume--spiritually unfettered. In these pages Bauby journeys to exotic places he has and has not been, serving himself delectable gourmet meals along the way (surprise: everything's ripe and nothing burns). In the simplest of terms he describes how it feels to see reflected in a window 'the head of a man who seemed to have emerged from a vat of formaldehyde.'"
[from an review of the book]

Given such vivid inspiration from the movie theater, we drove away in the dark of night. On the way to the theater, the moon was swollen, golden, and low. As we sped away, it was high, bright, and shining comfort. Men were welding atop tall, concrete freeway-arches, like the skeleton of a Gothic cathedral. As orange sparks fell from the black sky, I said to Johnny, "That's magic." Did I feel well? Of course not - not yet. I took inspiration from Jean-Dominique Bauby. No matter your health or lack thereof, magical beauty is an eternal current in your imagination. It is everywhere to be found.

Johnny can think I'm peculiar all he wants. The man I love is a definitive odd bird. While in college, he scrawled [funny] poems into spiral notebooks. He can recite all of his poetry by memory and make me laugh so hard! The following is my current favorite poem written in a history class, printed here with permission by John Scott Simmons.

"You, Dressed in a Chicken Suit"

Your silly little wings don't really work.
You got some red thing
Swinging from your beak.
Bock bock bock bock bock bock bock
Chicken suit and chicken soup
But please, no chicken poop
No chicken coop
No Betty Boop
(she was a) chicken.

Tonight: we'll hear Johnny's favorite band - Porcupine Tree - in concert with several of our friends. Johnny deserves it! He lives out his vow "in sickness and in health" with patience, humor, and gentle kindness. Sorry ladies, but I snagged the best husband. At the moment, I can't see how I'll feel like standing up all night, but I know once we arrive at the venue, I'll be glad I tagged along for great music.

Health update: I'll be ordering a new yeast-killing medication on Monday. A nurse thinks my body might handle Biocidin drops better than Nystatin. She also believes that my adrenal glands need to get stronger before I can tolerate Armour thyroid medicine which I do need. If you are the praying kind, please do so. Thank you kindly!


allison said...

Just back from the Darjeeling Express and wasn't quite ready for the journey to end...but the Diving Bell opens Nov. 7.
I love Johnny's poem. Who was the "you"?

Johnny! said...

Just "the reader." But now I'm thinking it's Harold of C. I could see him in a big ol' chicken suit.

Jenni's Mom said...

Dear Jenni,

You listened to The Kinks when you were in utero, not to be too personal. Give your poet a big hug for me.


jenni said...

Nov. 7th, here I come!

And, I've got the coolest Mom. XOXO.