a promise of flowers
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You have reclaimed the language for your own. Congratulations. Be proud, you’ve earned it. Just the other day I overheard one angry kid call another ‘a farmer’. And last week that teen insulted his buddy by exclaiming ‘You’re so gay!’ Why even at the dinner table yesterday the grade school teacher patiently explained that I was being ‘retarded’. I was so moved I was unable to even consider a second helping of dessert. Ah, such freedom. The air is clear again, and we can speak however we like instead of being constrained by ignorant people who actually think kindness is something you can build into a language. Just imagine the kind of mental case who puts thoughtfulness above freedom of expression. What retards. It may seem amazing to some that the job was done so efficiently and success came so quickly. Such is the power of the moral majority unleashed. But now, friend, while all that positive energy is still fully mobilized I’d like you to consider putting that same energy into other areas. Just think of how quickly and completely the entire world could be changed. Imagine. There’s a thought I always associate with my dad, he being an engineer, and a practical man. And so, a simple one today, that somehow speaks of experience. Measure twice. Cut once. You’re welcome.
So it seems it’s been a year, I guess we’ll keep going for a while longer then, shall we? Okay, I’ll write again when I get a minute, although of course I never know when that might be. In the meantime, as always, I hope this finds you well.
“a new scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die, and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it.” I remember when I was a kid I read somewhere about writers putting away something they’d written for a while so they could look at it later with fresh eyes. The term they used was ‘putting it in the icebox’. Although it was the seventies I had actually seen an icebox not that long before, so it was a very real image for me. Somehow the idea stuck. I’ve been writing on and off since then, mostly on, with a bit of off when life demanded. For years I wrote mostly for use in performances. I never bothered to tell people I’d written those bits, and I think most of the time folks assumed I was riffing off the cuff. I suppose that’s a compliment to my delivery being fresh and spontaneous. Although could also mean that I never sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I’ll have to think about that. Having been at this for a few years now, I’ve got this odd little collection of pieces, some finished, some started, some scraps, some huge chunks. I don’t look at them often, I’ve noticed that once you’ve got a body of work it’s far too easy to start thinking that your best stuff is behind you. And if that’s so in my case I’m in big trouble. So mostly I leave things be. But I’m working on this odd little tone poem and thought I remembered something from years ago. I worked my way through a bunch of stuff and found it. And that was good. But something else happened. You see, years ago I’d started writing a long story, it was probably going to end up being novel length, although I didn’t start it out with that in mind. Somewhere along the line I started to get intimidated by the sheer volume of the thing, and more than a little doubtful about whether I was wasting my time. So I printed off what I had and showed it to a few people. And got no response. I mean none. You could hear the crickets. Ah, I figured, there’s my answer. So I dropped it. Didn’t burn it, just stopped. Well while I was looking for the other bit for the tone poem I noticed a paper copy of the long story. So I brought it along. And later I sat down and started to read it just for the heck of it. I guess I’d been away from it long enough, it’d spent enough time in the icebox, that I had some kind of perspective on it. I was fully expecting it to be awful. Sure, I can tell it’s a first draft, but I read a few pages and started howling with laughter. Finally I said to no one there, ‘Y’know, this is actually pretty good.’ So I guess I learned two things. First, it was foolish to depend on others for support during the creative process. And also, apparently I think I’m pretty funny And I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Hey friend, how’s your day? I hope there’s been some kindness in it. And maybe a bit of sunshine, too. It’s funny how much a bit of sun can make even a cold day bearable, eh? And now the sun is arriving earlier and staying later. Most welcome. When I notice the days really are getting longer spring feels just around the corner. And the cardinal who now takes his position in the topmost of the trees every still and sunny morning agrees. We are such optimists he and I. The cold days are sunny, but the grey days are warmer. And that’s got it’s own beauty at this time of year. Around here this winter has been… Well, the comment I’ve heard most from people is ‘we got off easy.’ I can’t disagree. I know there are quite likely one or two more pounding storms coming our way. But in recent years the snow has drifted taller than me, just like it would when I was a kid. And I’m somewhat taller than I was then. And some years it’s been brutal cold for long stretches, even here in the sunny south. Sure this year we’ve had a few days here and there, but nothing nasty and unending. No this isn’t a winter we can sink our teeth into and really complain about. Which disappoints some people. But I’m sure they’ll find something else. In the meantime, there is good news. The daffodils in the back room are huge, and within a few days there will be flowers. And so the year turns, and we have signs of spring. Looks like we made it. Yay team. Visiting some nice folks the other day, comes the question do you like white tea? Why yes I do. A full box is produced with compliments of the house, not to their taste. Marvellous, says I, and I bring it along home thinking i’ll have some here while I do a bit of evening work. Workspace prepared, tea made, I take a sip. Oh dear. No wonder they didn’t like it, it’s got so much stuff added that you can’t taste the tea. This is successfully approaching vile. I don’t know about anyone else, but for me taste is associated with memory. So I am suddenly reminded of a tour of Britain. I think I told you about the experience, that was the one where we had all our gear stolen and I got my guitars back. Well, we were a couple of weeks into the tour and I was pretty interested in encountering a decent cup of coffee. Things have certainly changed since then, but at the time British culture had not yet successfully embraced the concept of coffee. So then you can imagine my delight on entering a highway reststop cafe and spying a large squarish metal container behind the counter, apparently wonder of wonders dispensing coffee. Sadly, in my delight I lost sight of one of the basic rules of the road. Do not accept coffee dispensed from anything involving right angles. I got my beverage in a take out cup, happily made my way back to the car, perched the coffee in an appropriate position for sipping while driving just like at home, and headed off down the motorway anticipating joy when it would be safe to do so. A few miles on I finally cracked the lid and took a sip. It was awful. No, I mean perfectly dreadful, substitute bits of unwashed gravel for medium ground dark roast and you’ll start to get the idea. I had another sip. No, it really is that bad. But, you see, I didn’t leave it at that. No, we were travelling much of the length of the island that day, so for the next hour or so I kept trying that coffee, just to see whether it had improved. No it hadn’t. I couldn’t make myself stop and throw it out, wasn’t really safe to do so anyway, but neither could I just leave it be. So I watched myself do this little dance for most of the trip, laughing all the while. In between making faces at the taste, of course. So last night’s white tea experience was a little like that. Mind you, I must be growing up. It only took about twenty minutes before I pitched the drink. I wonder what I want to be now that I’m grown up. Ah, now I understand. Twitter is a noun describing one who twits. The one place I can never be is where you are standing right now. |
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First of all I’d like to take a moment and thank you personally for taking the time out of your busy life to make sure the political correctness bandwagon was completely destroyed. I bring you good news–you have absolutely succeeded. Reports are coming in from everywhere that it is now considered stupid and shameful to be thoughtful about language in a way that is considerate of people who are different from you and your neighbours. Well, aside from those foreign neighbours who bought the place on the corner. But they’re not from around here so they can’t be expected to know any better.
It’s been a while since I first sat down to write, so again I want to thank you for your patience, as well as your gentle insistence that I continue to put down these things. As I do more times than I could say I’m wondering how you’re doing. And I’m glad we manage to keep in touch as well as we do. You’re right, of course, it is a function of aligning orbits, and sometimes that can take a bit of doing. Good that it works as well as it does then. Good, too when I can get here and sketch out a bit of what we were talking about, and sometimes where we seemed to be taking the thoughts. And I know you forgive me my flights of foolishness, and I’m glad you know how thankful I am to have you around to puzzle some of these things out with me, including the stories that you usually know more about than me. Yes, as you’ve gently pointed out, it’s about the music and the thoughts we have around it, it’s about the back and forth and the sound it makes, it isn’t about the healing but there’s been some of that, and it’s not about the hard stuff though there’s been some of that. But mostly it’s not about the waiting and why. And that is probably the coolest thing of all.
Well, I’m sure he had a perspective on things. I was doing some reading and was reminded that