Monday, April 25, 2016


Looking back, while we're on the
subject, has a lot to be said for
itself. I like it anyway  -  as I said,
not for itself but instead for the
way a good consideration of it
can lead you to something else.
You've probably heard a million
times the people who go on
saying, 'Who remembers the
candy store over on Division
Street, with the 10 cent.....' Nice
try. Things need more than that;
they need some form of better
oomph to get them sailing. All
those memories are just teardrops
anyway  -  I can easily recall, as a
kid, all those fathers and neighbors,
warm nights, on each others' stoops
and porches, the fathers recounting
this or that to the kids or to each
other. Mostly the war stories from
12 or 15 years ago, WWII. Like a
trunkload of goodies going bad,
they carried that around with
them. It was all stories, tales,
adventures, things without
blemish. That's all the easy
part. It's what those stories
and tales connected with, to
what firmament and conclusions
it all brought these tender men,
these sad sacks and bunglers,
these wise guys and wizards.
There's so much there. I never
quite understood, listening to
them, why they each weren't
just trembling and shuddering
over their time. It seems we
value things by our own forms
of inner meanings and
understandings. We may, in
terms of the 'world' completely
get it wrong or misunderstand,
but it becomes ours then
because of how and why we
find it 'connected' to something
else  -  our own personal
scale of values.
Funny stuff. I read a quote
recently, by some writer named
Sloane Crosley (pretty cool name),
and she made mention of this
other, older, French writer named
Guy de Mauppassant. "How strange
Life is, how fickle! How little is
needed to ruin or to save." It's
from a story called 'The Necklace',
and I found it pretty interesting to
put next to the sorts of things we
here value, or at least the things
I've made mention of  -  like the
woods, yesterday. In the story,
Mathilde, the wife of a poor clerk,
attends a party in a necklace she'd
borrowed from a wealthy friend;
the necklace is lost, and the couple
secretly replace it, spending 10
miserable years working to then
pay off the cost. Only then does
Mathilde confess to her friend
what has happened, prompting
her friend to reveal that the
original piece was no more than
costume jewelry.
It's like that, in so many ways, with
the things we value, the memories
and the times we've lived  -  one
person's treasure is another man's
junk, and the other way around.
I guess there really are people dull
enough to go around realizing or
noticing nothing about their lives.
In the same fashion, something I
may mention can seem like
confidential balderdash to another.
The mawkishness of the tales can
be like an O. Henry story, some 
little wispy twist at the end, a 
spark of irony igniting some 
form of appreciation. So, we go
on valuing each what we can 
about the times we live.
And the people.
It's a shame at times we can't just
chuck and start out anew, taking 
someone else along into some
backwards stretch of time to again
witness and experience that which 
we claim had happened before. I
really don't know, would it all be
the same, or would we look like a
fool? Is cosmic time just an instant,
and then gone forever, never to
repeat and never to be shared?
What a shame that is, and  -  
because of it too  -  what a sham
Love is. Not being able to share
with someone held dear.

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