I’ve known people to attempt escape from the unsavory aspects of life, retreating into alcohol, drugs, overeating, obsessive exercise and many other types of obsessions.
Writing (and music, and other creative expression) I think is an opposite approach, an attempt to change the unsavory aspects of life, or at least to put them into proper perspective.
There is a reason that the stories and music and images I love best address the noble potentials of the human species.
Dawn arrived this morning frosted with white. Our first snow for the season. There was still a dusting of white on the evergreens as darkness fell tonight.
I am so removed from my own feelings these days that I seldom experience any at all. It is the work environment, I really cannot afford to express anything real in the workplace; so I feel nothing. The nothingness spreads like a black fog over all aspects of life.
For example, for the last two weeks a woman in her late eighties has been calling me because she has no heat in her living room and she is cold. The rest of her home is heated, but not the living room, she cannot use her living room. She is elderly and blind, her home is her world. Every few days I have to tell her that no, the part for her heater has not arrived, no heat in the living room today. I am at the mercy of our manager, who is “waiting” for the part from head office; the resolution is not my call. Today I had to call her and tell her, no part, no heat in the living room this weekend. I felt truly wretched for her, and expressed my concern and regret. When I got off the phone my manager contemptuously said, “I’d never say all that to a customer!” I did not apologize for my concern for an elderly customer in need. In my opinion the man is heartless. Go get him KARMA!!!!
So, this morning I was shocked and delighted that the sight of our first snow brought with it a dusting of joy. I still have a heart, deep down there somewhere, waiting in hope.
Attila has come down with my cold! His voice is deep and rasping and he says his throat is very sore. I do hope he manages to fight it off. So far I am feeling a little better every day, almost normal now but for a lingering dry cough when I try to talk.
Our new low-speed high-speed internet connection is very reliable. It is a DSL connection, coming in through the existing telephone lines and not as prone to interruptions due to weather. It is fast enough for NetFlix though, thank goodness.
NetFlix and our limited and cherished DVD collection are our only source of entertainment. This evening we watched a light and delightful film called Faintheart.
When I heard this song in the film I immediately fell in love with it.
“I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”
Ettiene De Grellet
Ettiene De Grellet
“a prominent French Quaker missionary.
He was born Étienne de Grellet du Mabillier in Limoges, the son to a counsellor of King Louis XVI. Raised as a Roman Catholic he was educated at the military College of Lyons, and at the age of seventeen he entered the body-guard of Louis XVI. During the French Revolution he was sentenced to be executed, but escaped and eventually fled Europe to the United States in 1795.
Impressed by the writings of William Penn, George Fox, and Quaker beliefs, in 1796 he joined the Society of Friends. He became involved in extensive missionary work across North America and most of the countries of Europe, in prisons and hospitals, and was respectfully granted meetings with many rulers and dignitaries, including Pope Pius VII, Czar Alexander I, and the Kings of Spain and Prussia. He encouraged many reforms in educational policies and in hospital and prison conditions.
In 1804 he married his wife, Rebecca, the daughter of the publisher Isaac Collins.
It is reputed that he was the last living person who could have identified the “Lost Dauphin” of France.
He died in Burlington, New Jersey on November 16, 1855 and his body was buried there behind the Quaker Meeting House at 340 High Street.”