I’m Still Reading
It’s still the Pandemic, and I’m still reading…
In her book, “A Feather on the Breath of God”, Sigrid Nunez gives us a detailed description of her parents, and how she experienced them throughout her childhood. I’m guessing this continues into her adulthood, but I’m only halfway through the book.
Of particular interest to me is the way she details the small wonders of life…those childhood remembrances that offer more sweetness than spice. It’s those memories, I believe, we can only truly cherish in retrospect.
A Trip Down Memory Lane
As much as people like to compete about who had it worse, maybe traveling through your childhood by letting your senses tell their story will give you a different history.
I remember the kitchen. It was red. I guess red was in vogue. But it felt warm…a sensual kitchen. Coming from that room was another sensual treat…the smell of bacon.
Yes, I know I can fry my own bacon, but does a meal you’ve prepared for yourself ever taste as good as one prepared for you?
Another memory is fireflies. Is firefly an anachronism? Do they still exist, or do I seldom (this means never) sit on my front lawn? And why would I? It’s a chemical cesspool. The lawn of my childhood was untreated. It had weeds. I could catch fireflies from the comfort of my own lawn.
We’re All Complicated
It’s been suggested to me that I write a book about my family. That always seemed like a monumental task.
My memory is that of a child. Every human being is complicated, and as a child, you don’t have the brain development to see events through an accurate lens. In fact, do you ever? Can we ever see ourselves through an accurate lens? I doubt it.
“A Feather on the Breath of God” inspired me. I could take a similar course. Knowing that I’m writing purely from my own limited perception, I could make a stab at it. After all, they are my perceptions. I have the copyright.
The Small Things
I’ve been told that during your life review, it’s the small things that count the most…the small kindnesses, those things we’re quick to throw away…the things we deem inconsequential.
Only they’re not. The smallest things can mean the most. When I write, I want to remember the small things.