Book of Life

I can't believe it's been, like, 5 months since I've posted on this blog. That seems crazy to me. I won't say that I've been too busy. I've just been focused on other things - and there are times when I just don't seem to have that much to say.

I have been taking a lot of things in over the past year; trying to listen and learn and assess things. A big part of that has been a kind of reading frenzy. I don't even know why, but I have read more books over the past several months than I have in a long time. I've read them very fast, like I used to back in the day, including a lot of novels, which I thought I was done with. Prior to this, I went over a year without reading a single novel. It was all biography and history and technical reading and such.

Why?

I don't know.

I've also been rereading a few things that I read over twenty years ago. Things I read and really liked. I liked them so much I kept them on shelves. I'm not sure if I ever intended to read them again, or if I was saving them for someone. When you read a great book, it becomes a part of you and it's hard to let it go. But I've been rereading some of those and putting them in the box to give to the library. I won't be reading them again. I'm saying goodbye. Moving on.

To what?

I don't know.

I wonder some times about the afterlife. I wonder if we'll write and read novels and do other artistic things for all of eternity. I like to think so. I like to imagine that all of the art we produce in this life will be like the crayon drawings of two years olds compared to what we'll produce with the wisdom of eternity. Even Mozart and Bach will be like kids stuff, which is hard to imagine. What they did seems so sublime and perfect. And yet, I can't help thinking that, as a race, we've only scratched the surface, and scratching is all we get to do until the blinders are taken off.

I like to think I have a book in me. I'm not sure. A novel, maybe. Or some kind of historical thing. I have lots and lots of ideas. The ideas I'm brave enough to even start writing are the ones that are the least interesting. I know, call me "chicken." I guess the idea is that swimming in the kiddie pool is safer than jumping into the deep end. At least to start. The other problem is that the patience required may not be in my bag of tricks.

We'll see.

For now I'll just have to continue to feast on the hearts and minds of others.

Yeah, I know that sounds kind of zombie. But it really is a feast.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2013

50

Just turned 50. People act like it's a big deal. It's not.

Went with the Better Half to see a play in Indiana. Amish country. We weren't there for the play. It just happened to fall into the agenda. It was kind of surreal. A sort of rockish musical-dramady about a quilting class led by an older Amish widow with six stereo-type quilters: a biker type a goth chick a pastor's wife a bickering couple and a soldier. They all had emotional problems.. It was ridiculous, really, contrived. But it was still quite funny at times. The actors did well with what they had. One of the characters had about 80 percent of the funny lines. I thought, if I was in that play I'd want to be him. I'd want to be the guy who gets the laughs.

I can't act.

Found a book written by Eddie Cantor in a used book store. This was a world class, extraordinarily famous comedian from the same era as Jack Benny and George Burns. Vaudeville. Radio days. Eddie is now almost entirely forgotten. He didn't make the jump to films or TV like some of the others. At least not well. I'm sure a lot of people don't know who Jack Benny is anymore. Or even George Burns.

It's tragic.

This Cantor book was released the year I was born. It cost me $3.99. When originally published it was $3.95. Fifty years and it's only worth 4 cents more. Doesn't seem right. But I didn't offer more for it. I'd have paid less if I could.

They say a thing is only really worth what someone is willing to pay for it.




 Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2013

Non Resolutionary Living

Yes, my taxes are finished. Sent. Done. And yes, you should be jealous.

Not really. But they are finished. I know it sounds like I'm bragging, but that's because I'm bragging.

Notice: I'm not telling you how I'm going to get them done early this year. I'm telling you they're done.

I have also cleared the file cabinet of the old papers. Yes, I have. At least the biggest chunk of them. There are a few things still to go, but it's down to a few hours of work.

And I have been getting through some serious reviews of things at work and at home. Working to get plans in place for work and home. Serious, careful plans to get real things done.

All of this, I have done, without having made a single New Year's resolution. Which is not bragging. It's simply a fact.

I've just never been big on resolutions, if by "resolutions" you mean those brief little wish statements people make at the end of the year. "This next year I'm going to do this or that!" No real plan. No real commitment to change. No serious self examination and thinking about how to follow through.

I don't like empty talk. It makes me nervous to talk about what I'd simply kind of "like" to do because I know how easy it is to talk, and yet how hard it is to actually do things that are challenging to do. I prefer the simple act of doing something and letting the doing of it be the evidence of my intent.

Matthew 5: 37 Simply let your `Yes' be `Yes,' and your`No,' `No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.




© LW Publishing 2013