I
am a mirror, not a colored or viewing glass with which to see the signs of my
age-- a product of my age rather than someone who can show the way.
From
a walk to town with Thomas on Friday: The View from Autumn. That is, how the trees lose their leaves and
expose all sorts of new sights. Same
thing true with this time of year and what it shows us in our lives?
Bright
now, cloudy and windy.
I
have an idea that my discovery of Los Angeles or perhaps London, Flintridge or
other places I remember was a real awakening, made such an impression on me, I
remember it still (apropos of reading about Dante seeing Beatrice at 9!).
Evening,
same day. With the coal fire in the TV
room. Read Dante today, reading Virgil
as well. Strange dream last night. Among other things my parents were meeting us
somewhere and arrived ahead of me after I had to go back to the office to get something. My father had his foot amputated at the hotel
while waiting for me; but when I at last caught up with them at the hotel,
everything was calm and mom and dad were seated at a table having drinks, my
father's stump evident, as was his foot which was being kept alive by a radio
controlled device. The foot sat there on
the ground with a telescope antenna sticking up out of it! I had lots of books in the dream and had to
fly home in advance to do something with the books. I also recall the hotel. It seems we were meeting on the east coast,
perhaps on the shores of one of the Great Lakes. Correlation to reality: parents coming, too
many books.
9:15
p.m. Notes from an article on when does
God infuse the soul. It seems so
presumptuous of us to think we can understand all of God's ways! It is true that God has given us the ability,
mental reasoning faculties, to explore His world and discover its many
secrets. Are there limits or did God
mean us to have no limits and to aspire to God-like understanding? Or is that my limited imagination at
work? Even if we can learn the exact
moment of soul (how?) are there still greater leaps possible? Probably.
Tuesday
5 November. 8:45 a.m. Cold, windy, some rain. Today is Guy Fawkes Day. I have decided to
spend more time reading the classics for awhile, though I intend to work on my
book of places. In the back of my mind,
especially as I read Dante (yesterday about the level of hell with people who
can't make up their minds!) I can't help but think of Eliot's Prufrock and how
I need to take my gamble, take my chances by finding my own voice, deep within,
free from the strictures of nice things.
Lunch
with Cathy at Hoops. Cold and
windy. The mail here is damp on wet
days.
Evening. Fireworks all around us as they have been
since Friday. Listening to the fireworks
of Bonfire Night in the background.
Wednesday
6 November. 7:30 a.m. Thinking of Jerry Tarkanian's press
conference as we left: how we all get caught up in the drama of a good story! Morning mass.
I
take the afternoon train to Cambridge, then a taxi to Robert's rugby game at
Kings and pick up the car from the repair shop.
Heading home after school the van car immediately breaks down as we join
the M11, losing acceleration as we enter at Exit No. 13 from Cambridge. AA finally arrives after about 50
minutes. Mara is in tears as I stand
outside in the mist and wind and cold listening for any necessary call back at
the phone box on the side of the motorway: I don't know whether out of concern
for our predicament or because her teacher said she should maybe go back another
year. It takes us an hour and a half to
get home. It was not at all enjoyable
waiting by the side of the motorway, thinking of all the accidents I have read
about.
Sunrise:
7:05; Sunset: 4:20.
Thursday
7 November. 10:30 a.m. It is a cold and windy day, though, by
comparison with yesterday, it is almost balmy.
11:35. I had an idea in the shower today to follow
up on my places theme for book, and that is that I go back to the places
(perhaps limiting the number of places) in order to discover the truth, which
is ???
Friday
8 November. 8:30 a.m. Last week I spent the week working on taxes
and vowed this week I would work harder on my writing. Such has not been the case, but I have been
reading the Divine Comedy, Inferno, and dipping into The Aeneid. The Inferno is
surprisingly good entertainment and I find myself easily reading the poetry out
loud. It has caused some puzzled looks
around here as people poke their heads in and are surprised to see that I am
all alone, reading to myself! I was not
aware that Dorothy Sayers was such a scholar.
What a woman: mysteries, Dante, religious plays!
I
found a poem in my April diary which sounded all right as I read it out
loud. Reminded me that I should be out
and about more, thinking of nature, instead of shopping, etc. I now have several beginnings of writings
without a knowledge of where they are going.
There are two ideas I wish to explore and must, in the days ahead.
The
first is to write a story from the perspective of a child, looking back at a
time, as Brian Friel did so nicely in "Dancing at Laughnasa." The other idea I have is to start at the end
and work backwards. My writing seems to
be very good at setting the stage, setting the table, but there is never
anything to eat! Perhaps if I start with
an appreciation of the turkey, so to speak, and go backwards, I may be able to
get a thicker broth.
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