Through a Darkened Pane (page 17)

musky

Hello CoCo,

I believe my life is a jigsaw puzzle too.Mine is one of those 5,000 piece deals.A picture of a snowman in a snowstorm.It will never be completed although I try.I get to frustrated.

I did manage to do a few jigsaw puzzles in my time.Most of them say 3-6 years on the box.I can get them done in only 2 years.So,I think I am doing pretty good!

Hey Palmtre67, I did a conversion check on the temps you gave.Seems that -41 C is -41.8 F. So far, CoCo has not kicked me off his thread,and I am not the sharpest tool in the shed.I just enjoy his writing very much.

Thanks for your thoughts CoCo

musky

Hey,wait a minute! -41!! Holy Moley,that's cold!I hope there is no wind at least.I can only remember about -30 F.and nobody went anywhere.

That reminds me of a story I read by Jack London. "To build a fire".

compound complex

Good morning, Musky!

On the contrary, I find you sharp and perceptive. Though you are hardly dull and certainly not ignorant, nevertheless, Max Ehrmann stated in Desiderata that we should listen to the dull and the ignorant as they, too, have their story. Words to that effect.

Don't worry about figuring yourself out [I'm a find one to talk!]. Just be your authentic self, that beautiful "new" personality that is emerging from the once indoctrinated captive soul.

Talk more later. Your encouragement has surely spurred me on!

With nearly eternal gratitude,

CoCo

compound complex

I had to get out and shake off the mentally-disabling hell of a wet autumn's afternoon of cabin fever.

I have no aversion to getting wet, walking in the rain. Sometimes, however, I just can't get past that old wives' tale - the one kept alive and well by Mother especially for the sake of us ones not so well - that I'd catch my death if I got wet. That, I'm assuming, is out-of-doors wet, not bathtub, hot-water-wet (we had one of those claw foot jobs). When I could get away with it, I'd dash out the front door - when I had energy, I had energy - without jacket, hat and galoshes and revel maniacally in the cats-and-dogs downpour.

Straight for the gulley-washer river of fallen rain that was flash-flooding the street I charged. Standing at the curb, where concrete met asphalt, I would jump up with all my might and land squarely in the roiling, guttered waters. I was reckless and loved getting away with murder, or to my mom's exasperated way of putting it on those occasions she caught me, getting away with my own suicide. Incidentally, our curbs were different from any I had seen then or since. Rather than form a right angle from sidewalk to street, they sloped at a gentle angle, one eminently negotiable by roller skates. Rolling smoothly from sidewalk to street, back up again to the walk, down again ... Of course, this was a real boon when riding a bike....

Back to the present - but actually, the very recent past, like 2 hours ago - I beat the onset of today's cabin fever by going to the local market. Having come into a few bucks for an odd job, I thought I'd treat myself to something different for dinner. Turkey has been daily fare since Thanksgiving. Everyone knows the drill and does it perfunctorily for at least a full week following the slaughter of that venerable fowl. Turkey soup, sandwiches, fricassee, popovers, loaf, salad, mousse....

So I bought a chicken. I talked to the ever patient and helpful Julia, who's the butcher's assistant. Sometimes I forget my glasses and can't read the price, so she tells me. Then she suggests how I might roast the bird and, with the leftovers, make soup, or sandwiches, or ...

Pullet Surprise.

musky

Hello CoCo,

I hope you have a good dinner.

We have some of the same types of curbs in our area.Not all are that way,but a few.

compound complex

Good afternoon, Musky.

Interesting about your town's curbs ... as mentioned, I've never seen them since, and it was wonderful when on wheels.

Yeah, I'm already sampling dinner, and the beer gives it a great flavor. Too bad there was no left for the cook!

I'll be returning to the "market" later (actually, I'm still there, story-wise). It'll be pivotal - I think.

You, too, enjoy your evening and dinner. We've been having a downpour all day, but it's letting up, and I got to get out; you know the story!

Thanks for stopping by, friend.

CoCo

restrangled

Coco, I am following your story with bated breath.

Just wanted to go back for a minute about reading. As a JW teenager during long, hot summers, I would ride my bike up to the local library. I soaked in the smell, and the plethora of books to choose from, spending hours making the choices for the week. I usually had about 1.00 in my pocket and would also buy red licorice at the drug store next door on the way home.

I would check out as many books as allowed and race back to my bedroom. I spent many a summer reading. I must of read hundreds of books over those years. Some times 1 every two days. It kept me from the lonely life of as a JW teenager. I was never one for romance novels. I was reading the latest fiction authors at the time. To this day I have a library of favorites......I adore books.

r.

compound complex

Dear restrangled:

So beautifully expressed. What a wonderful way to spend an otherwise oppresive childhood.

I totally understand this love affair with books; we simply cannot get enough of them, their taking us to other worlds. I tell folks on my daily walks that our community is my world (I don't travel). The current story - TADP - is based on an actual house that drew my attention because I really do see it from at least 4 points during my saunter.

I went to the crest of the drive an hour ago and spent the longest time just staring at the house with the dark pane up on the ridge. I want to read about such and I want to write about such. I have, since a little boy, been fascinated by distant hills and their dwellings. I get engrossed ... d'ya think?

When I think about Solomon's words about the making of many books being wearisome to the flesh, I think "Yeah, but I like that kind of weary!"

I appreciate that you're following my roman a clef. They say write what you know, eh?

Many thanks,

CoCo

compound complex

From the moment Andy came into our lives, my parents, Arthur and Elizabeth Vincent, and I have been unwittingly elevated to an unusual level of awareness; trifles that ordinarily go quite unnoticed came unexpectedly into sharp relief. A mental and spiritual acuity gradually began to develop within the three of us, and its focus was the new arrival. This child, as the song goes, came into the world in the usual way. Nevertheless, had the scenario that unfolded during postwar America been staged within the sacred theatre of Biblical antiquity, this unusual child, like the infant Samuel, would have been dedicated unto the LORD.

Andy was always a happy baby, and to say that he was just another cute little boy, well … more of that later. I mentioned that our level of awareness became keener because of my little brother. An especially memorable period was when elderly Aunt Rose came to stay with us for a spell after her husband, our Uncle Angelo, had died. His death was sudden and had caused my family and Aunt Rose, in particular, much grief. Andy was about six or seven at the time, I believe, and I - the typical, self-absorbed teenager - was in my early teens.

One day, like any other (well, almost), Aunt Rose was staring out our home's one picture window, near catatonia becoming part of her daily routine. The sadness in the air was especially palpable that afternoon; it was raining a melancholy and indifferent sort of drizzle. A lusty, wind-driven downpour would have been preferable under these distressing circumstances. The old darling’s gloom hung about us like a bad suit of clothes. The stillness was shattered, however, when she, totally out of the blue and without warning, burst into tears and sobbed with abandon. Mom ran into the living room to see what had happened. I stood there like a statue. What does a teenager know about comforting the bereaved? I knew some Scripture but hadn’t a clue how to wring any practical comfort from the Good Book.

Mom knelt down by Aunt Rose and talked soothingly to her. After a few moments, the old lady appeared to calm down. Mom must have felt satisfied that Aunt Rose was all right, so she headed back to the kitchen to brew my great aunt a cup of restoring tea. While my mother’s aunt was recovering and I was standing in stunned silence at this most awkward of moments, Andy walked into the room and went directly to Aunt Rose. I had the presence of mind to halt this intrusion of her privacy and made for my little brother’s arm. Before I could grab hold and jerk him away, he abruptly turned his head toward me and gave me a look that could kill at twenty paces. I dropped back, utterly speechless. He turned back toward his elderly great aunt, whose attention he had already captured. Her face was the usual blank, only more so, if you get my drift.

Back into the living room came my mother, smiling warmly in our general direction and carrying a tray crowned with a silver tea service and laden with the home-baked goodies she is locally famous for. As she set down the tray on the coffee table, Andy tugged at the ottoman adjacent to the threadbare, old wingback that Aunt Rose had made her permanent home. Once it was in place before her, the little fellow perched upon it and reached out for her wizened left hand with his right. Young and fresh clasping the ancient and scarcely living.

Do you remember the old saying, “Out of the mouths of babes”? This small proclaimer of juvenile good news subsequently gave it a new meaning, a meaning that changed our lives.

musky

Hello CoCo,

“Out of the mouths of babes”?

There sure is a lot of truth in that.Children seem to have an unclouded honest approach.That kind of perception can be a great thing.

From an earlier post,I would guess the famous lake in the USA you spoke of may be Lake Tahoe? Just a guess.

Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

Through a Darkened Pane

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