An English In Kentucky



















June 28th 2009

    November 20 to November 30.  Somewhere between these two dates there is that part of the year which obstructs the current momentum.  I think of it already as a dark spot in the future.  

    Were I a meteorologist I might politely dismiss this part of the calendar as an occluded front.  Had I been imbued by the spirit of the Lord some two and half thousand years ago I might call it the valley of the shadow of death.  Were I a Sharman I would begin now the dance of exorcism, and probably I would be handsomely rewarded were I to banish those few days from imagination.  In the USA, however, the effort at banishment has been attempted by giving that time of year the word Thanksgiving.

    Celebration of the singular is pretty much an oxymoron.  Lonely things can be described, they cannot be shared.  Celebration, observance, solemnizing, whatever expression is apt, becomes joint venture.  A gathering of minds, a public performance, a joining together.  Ever so necessary for the social.  And yet we are like perennials at these gatherings.  Our roots remain deep in self.  So inevitably there are clashes when expectations are broken.  And this is especially so as a celebration loses meaning.


    A long time ago I gave up completely with the idea of what I suppose might be called social joint ventures.  The clan gathering.  The party.  The social event.  The launch of outside influence that forces displays of individual obedience.  I can almost place the date upon which this stubbornness began to rear within me.  I was kneeling down to take my oath and someone said, "He's not wearing socks!"

   Yesterday the wife and I went together to the post office and we then spent seven dollars plus tax on ice cream.  The wife had turtle something.  I had caramel something.  I was, however wearing one sock.  This was not compromise.  The one sock was for my recently damaged left foot to protect it from this humid and unhealthy June air. 

    It was celebration.  It was memory of years shared.  And it was fun.

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(occluded front)  (Dodo Bird)