Sunday, October 10, 2004

Tomorrow is gaining speed on you

So Ryan, my nine year old cousin of whom I often speak, spent the night last night. He discovered Halo, one of the games that came with my computer, and was transported out of the world. Zapping aliens large and small, driving all terrain assault vehicles with machine guns mounted on top -- c'mon, I'm even slobbering on myself. Heh. Kids are wacko. He comes to get me around 11, saying he's heard a noise on the backporch, which, depending on the various descriptions he offered, was either like someone walking back and forth, or a hammering noise. Which, of course, sound exactly alike. So I dispelled the evil by invoking the ancient lore of my ancestors. Which he did not appreciate, stomping off. Harumph, I say.

***

Nice email from Joel Brouwer, who has been teaching my book in his workshop. Which leads me to think of probably the last time I used the word lore. I was sitting in on a non-fiction workshop taught by Wendy Rawlings, his beloved now. We'd been discussing something, I can't even remember what, really, but I'm going to say it had to do with some meteorological phenomenon as it related to a piece we were reading. Someone spoke up with some bit of pertinent science trivia. And I said something like, in mock offense, "Don't you bring your occult lore in here!" Too much sugar, that day. But Wendy got really tickled by it, and kept snickering, and had to stop for a minute, kind of charmed.

So when my book came out, I signed a copy for her which read, "I hope you enjoy this occult lore."

It's too bad, in some ways, that things turned sour there. Ah, Sunday morning nostalgia.

***

But it is everywhere. It's autumn now and nostalgia's season is certainly signaled by the changing, the dying leaves.

I could go on. Other autumns, last year's, which seemed to open up to all possibilities. But I won't.

1 comment:

ryan james wilson said...

Paul,
I love the autumn for the nostalgia as well. I am always, oddly, reminded of Tony Hoagland's "Commercial for a Summer Night," perhaps because I am always my most sociable during Autumn.
This past weekend, for instance, I was sitting on the deck at a friend's house, beer in hand and ribs on the grill, and I thought "This is the moment I will miss this winter." Call me a sucker for the inexplicable contrariness of life, but I'm never as happy as when I know that I won't be happy much longer. You know, I would write an ode to autumn, but...
I hope all is well. Cheers, Ryan