Paranoia on Aisle Seven

If not for my growing fascination with posts made in the Facebook group, That’s It, I’m Architecture Shaming, I would not be so increasingly conscious of the brutalism style of architecture. But several members of the group regularly post photos of architectural atrocities that look like they were designed and built in deference to the totalitarianism of growling Soviet and East German dictators. And so I find myself able to identify a product of a brutalist architect with only a fast glance. Even people who are not familiar with the style will quickly recognize brutalist buildings: massive, plain grey concrete with sharp edges and devoid of “dainty” touches. One member of the Facebook group, in commenting about a photo of a brutalist building in Tasmania—now labeled a heritage site—says the building cannot really work in such a sunny locale because it “needs a backdrop of a grey sky to truly be appreciated for the love story to concrete that it is.” He nailed it. Brutalist architecture is, indeed, an homage to the “beauty” of massive, dull, grey concrete. All that having been said, though, I have found myself developing a much greater appreciation for brutalist architecture since joining the Facebook group. Having never made a comment about any of the posts, nor having posted anything myself, I am strictly a lurker. As a blogger hungry for engagement with my small band of regular readers, that is a deeply embarrassing admission.

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Just one week ago today, I placed what I considered an enormously expensive online grocery order with Walmart. This morning, I will pick up yet another very large order, though it is not quite as pricey as last week’s spending spree. If we were more energetic and better meal planners, we would be emptying the cupboards and freezers instead of stocking more and more “stuff” in them. Some stuff, of course, must be regularly replenished: milk, eggs, fresh fruit and veggies and the like, etc. But crackers and jam and peanut butter and jalapeños and olive oil and several other items probably should have made last week’s list even longer and more expensive; it’s not like we could not have anticipated a week ago needing them a week hence. Today’s order, though, includes meats (chicken and ground beef) and Greek yoghurt; we could have gotten by without them, opting instead to thaw foods in the freezer and/or open canned foods. Oh, well. Eventually, we will wade through the massive of collected foods. Before we move, we no doubt will decide life will be easier if we eat what we have, rather than pack and move boxes full of canned goods that could well belong to survivalists. Now that I’m shopping online, I rather enjoy grocery shopping. I’ve never been especially keen on wandering the aisles of supermarkets, looking for products that store management recently decided to relocate from one side of the store to the other. Ordering online is so bloody easy! I almost feel guilty that it’s not more work. But not quite.

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You are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.

~ Pema Chödrön ~

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I have long admired the writing of Pema Chödrön. She is an American Tibetan Buddhist and an ordained nun (whatever that means). According to Wikipedia, she is former acharya of Shambhala Buddhism (Greek to me) and disciple of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. Chödrön is principal teacher at Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia. I think it odd that I wish I could be a student at the abbey, so I could experience the teachings of an 85-year-old Buddhist nun. I suppose my appreciation for her began when I read one of her many books, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times.

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We spent a few hours at the new house yesterday, taping trim to protect it from paint and applying a layer of paint to the walls of what will become my girlfriend’s study. She chose a grey-blue color that I initially thought would be rather unattractive (but, hey, it’s her study). After painting about eighty percent of of the room, I changed my mind. It was a stellar choice. So attractive that I changed my mind about my study; I will use the same color on the walls in mine. Unlike her study, though, I will have to paint the ceiling in mine, because someone (I assume the dimwits from whom we bought the house) painted the ceiling dark sage-Army green. That was not the only abuse those people heaped upon the house. If nothing else, though, their treatment of the place gave us the opportunity to give it the TLC it needs to, eventually, become an attractive, livable home. I’m trying to be grateful. Trying very, very hard.

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I just got notice that Walmart could not fill part of my order: no ground meat and no Greek yoghurt. If I were paranoid, I would question whether the company cannot or has simply decided it will not fill the order. Perhaps someone who works for Walmart has decided to torment me by selectively refusing to sell to me items on my shopping list. Wouldn’t that be a fun game to play, if one had access to Walmart’s online shopping system? Just randomly select items from a shopper’s list and claim the items are not available, offering the shopper a cryptic message, such as, “We are unwilling to fill part of your order; you will not receive the zucchini you desired. Our refusal is based in part on recent behaviors of certain of your family members; we find those behaviors offensive. Should those behaviors continued, delivery of your next order will include items you do not want but which you will be forced to accept and pay for. Let this be a warning to you.”

And with that, I will crawl out from under my rock and wander into the day.