From 563 posts in 9 years I do not remember much about subjects or details from previous blog entries. Neither do I have an assistant to catalog themes or buzz words. My titles may shed some light on what to expect but don’t count on it. I lift a few words from the text with the expectation the reader will notice while reading. When (if) they come back they may look at the title and wonder where and how it will fit into the reading. I doubt anybody actually does that but it is habit by now and it works for me. Often my efforts defy titles anyway. If you write fiction then the story is like a time capsule, unique to that set of characters and plot. But I lose track of where I’ve been, what I encountered and what was on my mind at the time. Some people think out loud, I think on paper. It’s not a problem, just that I identify with birds that feed on cherries from my choke cherry tree. Flying away they leave their host a tip on the windshield. Like me and my writing, they lose track of the last draft and what was in it.
The reference to birds was spontaneous; I do it without thinking. I notice birds in the air, birds perched and on the ground, I always have. They can fly and I can’t and that’s enough. The Joy Of Discovery is an empowering thing that is supposed to strike sometime in middle school but if it struck at all it missed me. Still, like discovering chocolate, it is never too late. In my first year of college, at age 25, I tapped into biology. From the world of the living I acquired a deep, abiding affection for Dragonflies and Frogs, Kit Fox and Killer Whales. I love Sycamores and Cone Flowers, even Lily Pads. But birds are my favorite, they always have been, even as a blue eyed boy. They find their way into my stories and reflections without me trying, like choke cherries on the windshield.
In my case, the Joy Of Discovery was precipitated by nature and the natural world. I have a son whose Joy was born of things with wheels, things that go vroom-vroom. Making tires squeal was never enough. He had to know how fuel gets into the cylinder and why valves take turns opening and closing. Gear ratios and exhaust back pressure were irresistible and his Joy has never waned. My Joy came with metabolism and replication, semi permeable membranes and the way (+) potassium & sodium ions drive nerve impulses. That Joy has never lost its way either. It has only expanded and here I am in the pale of old age wanting to learn something, something I missed on the first go ‘round or even something new altogether. That decade in the 1950’s when I was treading water and should have been making waves, I’ll never catch up.
Somewhere today, I don’t know where, a blue eyed boy with short attention span sits staring out the window, studying birds perched on a power line. His teacher is coming down his row collecting assignments but he hasn’t finished, he has barely begun. Someday, when the place and time are right, Joy will strike; not like a lightning flash but like unfolding petals on a purple cone flower. That unfolding can last a lifetime. It happened once so I know it can happen again, maybe even again after that, tomorrow, some other place, another blue eyed boy.
The reference to birds was spontaneous; I do it without thinking. I notice birds in the air, birds perched and on the ground, I always have. They can fly and I can’t and that’s enough. The Joy Of Discovery is an empowering thing that is supposed to strike sometime in middle school but if it struck at all it missed me. Still, like discovering chocolate, it is never too late. In my first year of college, at age 25, I tapped into biology. From the world of the living I acquired a deep, abiding affection for Dragonflies and Frogs, Kit Fox and Killer Whales. I love Sycamores and Cone Flowers, even Lily Pads. But birds are my favorite, they always have been, even as a blue eyed boy. They find their way into my stories and reflections without me trying, like choke cherries on the windshield.
In my case, the Joy Of Discovery was precipitated by nature and the natural world. I have a son whose Joy was born of things with wheels, things that go vroom-vroom. Making tires squeal was never enough. He had to know how fuel gets into the cylinder and why valves take turns opening and closing. Gear ratios and exhaust back pressure were irresistible and his Joy has never waned. My Joy came with metabolism and replication, semi permeable membranes and the way (+) potassium & sodium ions drive nerve impulses. That Joy has never lost its way either. It has only expanded and here I am in the pale of old age wanting to learn something, something I missed on the first go ‘round or even something new altogether. That decade in the 1950’s when I was treading water and should have been making waves, I’ll never catch up.
Somewhere today, I don’t know where, a blue eyed boy with short attention span sits staring out the window, studying birds perched on a power line. His teacher is coming down his row collecting assignments but he hasn’t finished, he has barely begun. Someday, when the place and time are right, Joy will strike; not like a lightning flash but like unfolding petals on a purple cone flower. That unfolding can last a lifetime. It happened once so I know it can happen again, maybe even again after that, tomorrow, some other place, another blue eyed boy.
No comments:
Post a Comment