A few minutes ago I was sitting in the garage painting door hinges while a quiet rain fell on Griffith Ave. It was quitting time, and folks were making their final odyssey of the Monday-thru-Friday life, headed home for their pizza delivery or left-overs ... and maybe a beer or three.
The day never seemed to come today, no patch of light broke through. It was still-born, remorseful. Subsequently, the zest and freedom so natural to a Friday evening commute was gone, and people were left to coast at 35 mph - traveling through the bleak, slippery cold. Driving: a great American freedom reduced and ritualized into boredom, frustration or tedium.
So I watched people driving by wondering if they actually get excited about the weekends on days like this. It's supposed to rain here all weekend, 100% chance. That's enough to dampen my spirits.
Sure, somewhere there will be a high school basketball game tonight, a gym buttery and bright. Basketball: winter's humble carnivals for places like Kentucky. If you're a student, parent, sibling, or long-time fan, it's a spark of fire in an otherwise dying winter.
But what do you do when you don't have a team to root for, a kid to watch, a girl to chase. You watch television. You let the insanity of violence and the allure of beauty dangle before your eyes. You soak up an evening of laughs, chaos and sex. You let your mind be manipulated and teased while you sit around on your couch motionless, waiting for sleep to overtake you.
Or you sit at home; you paint door hinges and watch the community drive by ... one by one in their SUV's and Chevy trucks.
Wes
Friday, January 12, 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
42 Up
When I was growing up, I wanted to be an archaeologist, a fireman, an NFL quarterback, a doctor and a hospital administrator ... in that order. And, as I look at the progression of career choices, the first career hope is a little misleading. I wanted to be an archaeologist not because of any great interest in long, ardurous days under a merciless Egyptian sun and meticulously combing over layer upon layer of dirt to steadily unearth a clay pot from 2,500 years ago. I wanted to be an archaeologist because I loved Indiana Jones. I wanted adventure.
Over time, fantasy gave way to a long-shot hope (quarterback), which gave way to great career (doctor), which gave way to respectability (administrator).
I mention all of this because last night we watched "42 up", a British documentary which followed the life paths of multiple persons. The various persons were originally documented at the age of 7 and have subsequently been interviewed every seven years (thus 42 up). And through the years, they were often asked the same question over and over ... what do you think of babies/children ... what do you think of boys/girls/getting married ... what do you think of poor people ... what do you want to be when you grow up. Not surprisingly, their answers as 7 year old children were shockingly poignant concerning the trajectory of their life.
The first boy interviewed, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, said he wanted to be a horse jockey ... which he eventually acheived by the age of 21. Again though, as a boy, he was asked what he would do if he couldn't be a jockey; "I'd be a cabbie," he said without hesitation. And, sure enough, he is still a cabbie to this very day.
Another woman became a bereavement counselor, another a professor of nuclear fusion, another a math teacher, another secretary, another a forklift driver, another financial consultant. And one of the boys grew up to struggle with a mental disorder, traveled Britain and Scotland homeless and nervous, and has now stabilized enough to do volunteer work as a politician.
And although some of them did, in fact, grow up to do what they thought they wanted to do, all of them found themselves weathered, surprised and even bewildered by the course of their life. And as they entered the mid part of their life, there was also a great deal of disillusionment and disappointment in their voices. Many of them had already dealt with the death of their parents or were currently dealing with aging parents. Some of them had experienced divorce, and a few were already experiencing the stress and demand of adolescents, looming financial demands (that just don't go away) and glass ceilings at work.
No doubt, this was depressing to watch, especially since life after life all showed the toll that living takes upon each of us.
We - Americans - hate this natural process of aging. We hate any indication that our life is becoming anything less than terrific. What with our air-brushed magazines and Disney Land resorts, there is no room for the broken or poor. We nip and tuck our way through the wrinkles and scars life inevitably places upon our faces. But, if we were stripped down to the core of our soul, we all bear the wounds of living.
Gosh, I don't mean to be morose or bleak, but I realize that is how this is playing out. Yet, I can't help but wonder if it is depressing because I don't have any clue how to deal with this aging process. Nothing I watch on television, nothing I read in magazines teaches me how to age well or to deal with loss graciously.
And, finally, "42 up" made me realize this: I will approach school reunions from now on with fear and trembling.
Wes
Over time, fantasy gave way to a long-shot hope (quarterback), which gave way to great career (doctor), which gave way to respectability (administrator).
I mention all of this because last night we watched "42 up", a British documentary which followed the life paths of multiple persons. The various persons were originally documented at the age of 7 and have subsequently been interviewed every seven years (thus 42 up). And through the years, they were often asked the same question over and over ... what do you think of babies/children ... what do you think of boys/girls/getting married ... what do you think of poor people ... what do you want to be when you grow up. Not surprisingly, their answers as 7 year old children were shockingly poignant concerning the trajectory of their life.
The first boy interviewed, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, said he wanted to be a horse jockey ... which he eventually acheived by the age of 21. Again though, as a boy, he was asked what he would do if he couldn't be a jockey; "I'd be a cabbie," he said without hesitation. And, sure enough, he is still a cabbie to this very day.
Another woman became a bereavement counselor, another a professor of nuclear fusion, another a math teacher, another secretary, another a forklift driver, another financial consultant. And one of the boys grew up to struggle with a mental disorder, traveled Britain and Scotland homeless and nervous, and has now stabilized enough to do volunteer work as a politician.
And although some of them did, in fact, grow up to do what they thought they wanted to do, all of them found themselves weathered, surprised and even bewildered by the course of their life. And as they entered the mid part of their life, there was also a great deal of disillusionment and disappointment in their voices. Many of them had already dealt with the death of their parents or were currently dealing with aging parents. Some of them had experienced divorce, and a few were already experiencing the stress and demand of adolescents, looming financial demands (that just don't go away) and glass ceilings at work.
No doubt, this was depressing to watch, especially since life after life all showed the toll that living takes upon each of us.
We - Americans - hate this natural process of aging. We hate any indication that our life is becoming anything less than terrific. What with our air-brushed magazines and Disney Land resorts, there is no room for the broken or poor. We nip and tuck our way through the wrinkles and scars life inevitably places upon our faces. But, if we were stripped down to the core of our soul, we all bear the wounds of living.
Gosh, I don't mean to be morose or bleak, but I realize that is how this is playing out. Yet, I can't help but wonder if it is depressing because I don't have any clue how to deal with this aging process. Nothing I watch on television, nothing I read in magazines teaches me how to age well or to deal with loss graciously.
And, finally, "42 up" made me realize this: I will approach school reunions from now on with fear and trembling.
Wes
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
A Lamp in Three Pieces
Anna's grandparents just happened to have some pendant lights laying around in their attic, which we have joyfully taken ownership of and hung in our kitchen area. Super fun. ~Wes
Monday, January 08, 2007
2nd Chances
I write only to say our iMac has been to hell and back ... that is to say it has had a resurrection experience. And while it did not descend into hell (or the earth) for three days, it has returned from its time of lifelessness. There is much rejoicing in the Kendall household!
Wes
Wes
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