REMARKABLE . . .

Sometimes, a lot of times, we, I, use words without really considering what they mean. Take "remarkable," for instance. It means "worthy of attention." Remarkable. Able to be remarked upon. This word just is not used as much as it should be. I cloud my own perception with descriptives like "cool," "awesome," "amazing" (used far too much because most things actually are not amazing), "interesting" (once again, really, how many things actually are interesting?). But clarity comes with realizing that some things are remarkable.

***

Children whom I've known since birth -- since the day of birth -- speaking in full sentences now is remarkable. I visited the Noodles this morning, and I practically had a conversation with them. Nay, scratch that. I did have conversations with them. Girl Noodle told me that she was eating raisins; I asked her if they were delicious; she said "yeah." Boy Noodle toddled up to me and said "excuse me;" I offered him a slice of clementine that I had just peeled; he said "thank you" before stuffing the whole fat slice into his mischievous little mouth. Where did the time go? Will they love me as much next year as they do this year? Will they think I'm cool enough to hang out with when they're teenagers? Will they still call me "Aunt" and run headlong into my legs with abandon?

***

The fact that the more things change, the more they stay the same, is remarkable. Sitting on the UWS, my old stomping grounds, in some new-fangled Starbucks near Columbia (one of two, I must sort of disdainfully mention, even though I do love the Starbucks Evil Empire), staring across at the new student center, watching UWSiders and students and professors and homeless folks rush by with their collars upturned against the bitter cold, it occurs to me strongly and poignantly that nothing has changed in the last ten years. Oh sure, you can tear down some legendary locales and put up fancy shiny new storefronts and bring in Starbucks and overpriced "Asian fusion" eateries and install college students who don't know what a typewriter is. But it's still all the same. The life, the vitality, the grittiness, the supremely high times and the distraughtfully low periods, the necessity of coffee and friendship and communication and learning and co-existing and learning to be independent. These things, and more, are all the same.

***

The emotional ties that I have to Columbia and the UWS are remarkable. I am sentimental and nostalgic by nature. I can be in the middle of an experience and already feeling nostalgic for the future, how I will feel when I look back upon what I am currently living. But still. To be so tied to a school? A neighborhood? How could I not ... this is where I grew up. This is where I learned the meanings of home, friendship, love, faith, vanilla lattes, commitment, responsibility, wisdom, financial security, thick-and-thin, devotion, independence, self-awareness, humility, generosity, family, food. This is where I learned it all. My heart swells now, looking out onto the sidewalk at 114th Street and Broadway, to look upon the brick and cement that nurtured me. To consider the all the things that formed me into the woman I am now, and to think upon all the other formations that are occurring right now. All of these students, so much potential ... do they know how lucky they have it? Do they have any appreciation for where they are, why they are here, and how they must learn to live their lives?

***

The power of words is remarkable. Last night, I had to choose my words carefully, restraining myself as with a real live muzzle, so as not to wound somebody else just to gratify myself. This morning, words cut me to the quick and deflated my entire day. This afternoon, words soothed as though a balm upon an open and raw wound and served to pump life back into the rest of the impending evening. As Flacon insightfully stated the other night, words can separate people as well as, if not better than, a brick wall; words can also build bridges where no other foundation could or would have been laid. That we do not all choose and think upon the words we use more carefully is also remarkable.

***

God is remarkable. He has no need to make me feel bad about myself to make Himself grand. He lays no guilt trips, asks for no recompense, offers free and unconditional love and grace, provides everything I need and then some, carries me when I can't move myself, sustains my breath and biorhythms, moves mountains and oceans, works miracles and withholds them wisely, and changes people and then changes them some more. He looks upon Creation as something to be infintely loved and gingerly cared for in the palm of His hands, not scorned or hated or disdained or discriminated against or destroyed or ignored. How unlike us He is. Thank goodness.

***

UPDATE: sometimes, lots of times, my own idiocy is also remarkable. I sit now, watching an NYPD officer patrol down Broadway right in front of me, writing parking tickets with glee. Yes, I promise he has a look of glee upon his face. I know that in two blocks, a matter of minutes, he is going to happen upon Good Girl. Good Girl, who is a good girl, but whose owner and driver is a bad, bad girl who doesn't believe in paying for parking, unless she puts Good Girl in an underground garage, in which case, she has to pay for parking because otherwise, she's not going home with the car in which she came. I also know that the po-po is going to slap a bad boy upon Good Girl. I also know, I think, that I will consider not paying this bad boy for as long as possible ... perhaps forever. Alright, that's not entirely true, because I'm far too afraid of jail to not pay a stupid parking ticket. And finally, I know that by now, enough time has passed that the po-po has found Good Girl and I am going to be out $100. Dang. How remarkably dumb.