Sometimes my mind is blank. And sometimes this topical starvation leads to thinking that the
taste of real watermelon versus that sticky sweet artificial candy watermelon taste is an arresting conversation piece.
And then sometimes I get so enamored of what other people write that I have those hyperventilating
"phony" moments where there is not enough speed in the world with which to tear this site down and
break every writing utensil within my grasp.
And days pass.
Sometimes I don't think my ears are turned up enough. Sometimes there is an enormous gap between what I
hear and what I listen to-- and I can only hold onto those sounds for so long before these unprocessed gems of
conversations and stories are overwritten by the day's episode of Marketplace or the lyrics to a song
from the soundtrack of Xanadu. And those words, whether important or trivial, are unrecoverable.
This weekend we went to visit my Uncle Jack in West Virginia for his surprise 80th birthday party. Uncle Jack
has always secretly in a not-so-secret way been my favorite Uncle. As I grew up over years book-ended by annual
visits to the farm he shared with his remarkable wife, Evelyn, I was impressed by the mischief he carried in his eyes
and the contentment that issued from his gait. But mostly, I think of Jack as my favorite kind of storyteller--
steadily captivating.
On Sunday afternoon B and I sat with Uncle Jack-- just the three of us in the darkened wood and stone living room
that I memorized over the summers of my youth-- and talked. This is the way my most treasured moments with
Jack and Evelyn have passed over the years, with quiet and interesting conversation-- one story at a time.
And on Sunday after another story and a pause he said, "Evelyn and I often said to one another over the years
that if we could write stories-- and I mean write like you write, Kris-- we would have a good number of them to
share."
But to me right now the stories I've heard over the years seem blurry and faded-- chunks missing and other
pieces embellished over time. My kingdom for a pristinely preserved narrative-- the way the picture of his living
room rushes over me in perfect detail. I have no excuses for this blank mind rendered void by careless observations
and reckless priorities. But after this weekend, I'm lucky enough to have a renewed will and a path to follow. |
