Excerpt from a recently received email
. . . It still surprises me that I feel quite special on my birthdays. I do not really know why. Of course you could ask, Why not? But I think it is still a hangover from childhood, when a fuss was made of one and a nice hangover too. I find middle age kind of poignant actually. Even with an able body you have to conclude that it is not about the body. Sometimes when I see myself in the mirror or in a photo, I see a stranger. It is hard to let go the image of one as a youth or young man. In fact, I use these things as a means of becoming more acquainted with myself as I actually am now. It is, anyway, much better to be on good terms with the present than with the past. I had an experience a while back:We have a guy in our community, Brian.Very sweet guy, about fifty, quite bald, fairish. Someone came up behind me while dining in our community restaurant, embraced me and said good to see you Brian. It was momentarily confusing because I could not see myself as looking at all like Brian. He is way more bald than me. Isn't he? Wrong. I asked around and it seems we are about the same on that score. I feel much better to know that, it makes me feel a bit lighter. . .
Adagio's note: Hmm. Not sure I agree about it being much better to be on good terms with the present, as opposed to the past. The past becomes the present, especially if one is not on good terms with it.
Artist/Odilon Redon
posted by Adagio at 12:47 pm
3 Comments:
I'm finding that these days I feel very well reconciled to the present, and am experiencing the strong desire to revisit and distill the past. It seems more and more of a whole cloth to me now. Maybe it is because I'm getting older, maybe it is because my kids are entering their 30's, but everything is blending into a wonderful tapestry with lights and darks and highlights and even some rips and tears.
yes, sigrid, artfully expressed. Adagio, that last sentence says it all. Lovely post, thank you.
that our past is indelible, is indisputable. the good, the harsh, the indifferent. it all percolates down through our life, flavouring the future, more or less.
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