a new peanut
there will be no more pictures on the peanut for awhile. or maybe ever. i suppose with technical things you just never know.
so… in the meantime i’ve been doing some ‘cleaning out’ and ‘weeding out’ . . . it’s what we cozy minimalists do for fun you know!
anyway. i came across a big notebook. i won’t be getting rid of it after all. in it are some cherished moments crystallized on paper.
here is one of them.
this was written as an assignment in my english composition class in college.
the assignment was to write a character sketch. . . . reading it now . . . i see that things have changed. the word gay for instance.
back then it still only meant just happy and delighted! at least in my naïve world . LOL. now it is a lovely word for a whole group of people who just love a little differently. all love is simply just love.
the song playing on the radio now is the song we danced to that night.
i remember it well. yes.
i remember it well . . .
the man was tall and leaned down a little to kiss my cheek before helping me into my coat. his grey eyes held a secret smile that only the two of us shared. he moved with a lithe, animal grace and i felt like a princess on his arm.
we sipped wine by candle light and he told me of places i have always dreamed about.
the man’s voice was low, and musical in the way you read about in books.
from him i learned to listen. i learned that there is more to conversation than the latest dance craze and what susie wore to the game last week. i learned that orchestras need not have blaring steel guitars to make good music. i learned to be seated gracefully and to laugh quietly and . . . when not to laugh at all.
the man’s hands were the hands of a surgeon. clean, strong, calm and gentle. there, in the soft flickering light, his handsome face looked almost boyish. i could not see the sign of years of hard work and pain. the years of peddling papers on a busy city street at the age of eight . . . when the best man got the best corner. the years of watching his mother grow old when she should still be young. the years of working in the day and studying at night. the years of fighting for everything he got. the years of crawling on his stomach in a mud hole overseas . . . thinking of home . . . longing to be there . . . but getting the job at hand done instead.
no. that night he was young again and it was even a better youth than the one before.
we danced and he held me close. and no one in the room knew that that night i danced with a prince.
that night i rode the boat of dreams and he was captain of the ship. he showed me that with courage and determination and with a genuine smile i could make my dreams come true.
the man touched my face and strength and love flowed into my heart and all my bones laughed. and we were very gay.
the song is over now.
the room is still once more. the words of the poet thomas gray come to my mind . . .
here rest his head upon the lap of earth
a youth to fortune and to fame unknown.
fair science frown’d not upon his humble birth,
and melancholy mark’d him for her own.
large was his bounty and his soul sincere.
heaven did a recompense as largely send,
he gave to misery all he had, a tear.
he gained from heaven (twas all he wished) a friend.
no farther seek his merits to disclose,
or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
there . . . they alike in trembling hope repose,
the bosom of his father and his god.
the man was my father.
*he had died six months before this assignment. he died from a massive heart attack before i graduated from high school.
he was 45 years old.
this was written about the night he took me to the ‘father daughter banquet and dance’ that year.
the best of memories old bean.