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How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. *

by Jane Goodwin | Jan 28, 2007 | General | 0 Comments

“Why not go out on a limb? Isn’t that where the fruit is?” –Frank Scully

I’ve always liked that quotation. I also believe it is absolutely true. I think about it whenever I’m feeling particularly cowardly. It helps me overcome it. Words help me overcome it.

I’ve always stood in awe before the power of words.

With words, simple words, we can delve into the past and the future, and all the various time blends that scientists must use big words to explain, but which writers can explain simply by using one or two of the helping verbs Ol’ Miz Roberts made us memorize back in seventh grade.

Time machines in stories show the blending of times with numerals and fast-motion, whipping past the window of the machine, or by numbers going backwards or forwards on a dial.

Writers just use a helping verb or two.

Scientists discuss the concept of time, past time, present time, future time, using diagrams and equations and big, big words.

Writers just stick a “have” or “had” or a “will” in front of a plain old verb to show the same thing.

Past and future are the easiest to measure. They are also the easiest to understand, or comprehend.

“Already happened” and “not happened yet” are no biggie.

It’s the present that’s the most difficult to comprehend and measure, because even with all of our scientific knowledge, inventions, devices, equations, whatever, the present is too fleeting to measure. The actual ‘present’ is so fleeting, we can’t even realize it ourselves. By the time we do, it’s already gone. Blink, and it’s past. Breathe, and it’s past. Sit still; each beat of your heart is in the past, because by the time you are aware, it’s too late, it’s gone.

Look at your children. They’re in the present, sure, if you want to call it that. Watch them sleeping. Each rise and fall of the covers is already part of the past. History. It’s already happened.

And it will never happen again. Not that particular breathe. Not that particular heartbeat. Watch them play; this moment will never come again.

So often we say that we can’t WAIT for a particular phase or week or school year, etc, to be over with. Be careful what you wish, my dears. . . . When it’s gone, it’s gone.

The actual present can’t be measured, not by us, not yet. Use it carefully, for once you’re aware of it, it’s already part of your history.

And your history, and mine, are, of course, part of the history of mankind.

Ah, the power of words, that we can so clearly express the elements of time with just a few simple helping verbs.

I wondered about it. (simple past: one-shot deal, it’s over.)

For many years, I have wondered about it. (present perfect: I was wondering in the past and I’m STILL wondering. Two times are represented here, one in the past and one in the present.)

I had wondered about it before I said something. (past perfect: both actions are in the past, but one is more recent than the other. Two times are represented; both past.)

I have always enjoyed teaching this concept, and with adult students, it’s even more awesome. I’ve had students weep, during this lesson.

Words are powerful. A pen in the hand is power. Use words carefully, and properly. Choose them wisely.

Remember, there’s a big difference between a wise man and a wise guy. And which would you prefer: a day off or an off day?

SeewhutI’msayin?

*Annie Dillard

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Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly

Come Onna My House

by Jane Goodwin | Jan 27, 2007 | General | 0 Comments

Ah, Saturday.

When I was a little kid, Saturday meant getting up at dawn to watch cartoons, Johnny Weismuller Tarzan movies, Shirley Temple, the Bowery Boys, and, if I got lucky, a monster movie of some kind. In the daytime, I was allowed to watch monster movies.

At night, I wasn’t. I still don’t understand why my parents thought Nightmare Theater would traumatize me when the same thing in the middle of the afternoon was just cool, but that was their rule. Oh well. Cousin C and I learned to get around that one, when we got older. (you know, older. sixth and seventh grade. older. grown up.)

When I was sixteen, I went to work in the dime store downtown. S.S. Kresge’s; do any of you remember Kresge’s? M&M’s were 49 cents a pound, candy bars were six for a quarter, you could get a hamburger, fries, and a cherry coke for thirty cents, and those huge submarine sandwiches at the deli were two for a dollar. Sliced ham was fitty cents a pound, too. 45 records were 79 cents. Albums were 3.99. CD’s hadn’t been invented yet; heck, cassette tapes were absolutely cutting edge. I had friends with huge refrigerator-sized reel-to-reel units.

I have worked all my life ever since. I have never NOT worked. I can’t imagine not working. When I quit my job at the middle school, I had a few months of panic because I knew I would be no good staying at home, I had to work somewhere. Fortunately, the community college wanted me so I’ve given them my fierce loyalty and I’ve never missed a day. Wherever I work, I give my bosses a fierce loyalty; it takes something really horrible to sway that loyalty. It’s only happened once, in fact.

I have always believed that if I could get out of bed, I could go to work. My daughter is the same; we like to poke fun at people who are crippled by a hangnail and call in sick when they sneeze. (cover your mouth!!!)

Sometimes, going to work with MD isn’t easy, but it’s not going to stop me from getting out of the house and earning my keep in this world. The thought of being completely dependent frightens me; I’ll CRAWL to work if I have to, and sometimes I’ve had to almost crawl once I got there.

You know you’re getting older when the prospect of knee replacement surgery fills you with delight. What’s next, having people over for Metamucil and rice cakes?

Piss on that. Come on over, we’ve got freshly-made apple pie, sugarless cookies, and enough diet pop of every conceivable kind to sink a ship. Just open the door and come on up. If you need help navigating the stairs, just holler and I’ll pull you up. Ring the bell and come on in. We seldom lock the door. We live out in the country. Who’s going to barge in, unwelcome: Bambi?

Come in. Make yourselves at home. What can I do for you?

Stay as long as you wish. Want some generic diet pop? Sandwich? Some nice Oliver Winery soft red wine?

Don’t expect anything ordinary; remember, everything in the bathroom talks, and there’s a life-size human skull in there watching your every move.

Set a spell. Take your shoes off. Y’all come back now, y’hear?

P.S. Have some M&M’s. They weren’t 49 cents a pound, but they were 75% off. You don’t mind Christmas colors, do you?

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