When looking back is like being in the present

The memoirs of Terry Waite, an envoy sent to negotiate release of Western hostages, are called to mind by now nearing the end of watching my first viewing of Our Town, with William Holden and Martha Scott. As well as the quote from Kurt Vonnegut that I heard him speak in person at a talk in front of the National Press Club: Every once in a while, it’s good to look up and say, Isn’t this nice? Apparently, it was a tidbit of wisdom that he had gotten some mileage out of sharing with others because that quote has been noted on Goodreads from his book, A Man Without A Country, “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

Today’s meditation from the quixotic romantic tells more of being in love (present tense) with a young man I studied over many hours, days, and months in person, and of whom I continued to meditate for 30 years since. To take down the small treasure chests put away in my mind and examine some small details that allow me to cherish such time when before I was only living in it.

To be young and awash in so many biochemicals that nothing could prepare one for! And the actual freedom away from the childhood home where, to reference a good friend, there was “No structure, nothing regulated or timed. Lack of clarity reigned.” Nothing routine like cleaning ears, belly buttons, or bits. No preparation, even, at washing my own clothes with the washing machine — except fear that even that I would be incapable of doing correctly. The glass broken when I tried to wash it to be of help and give thanks to my paternal grandmother for having hosted me for several days: my father faulted me for trying. She didn’t. I didn’t know what I had done so wrong except drop it when it slipped from my hand in the sink.

Terry Waite survived with a mind ever engaged in staying alive. He recalled meetings with many dignitaries and invitations to speak to esteemed audiences, in minute, albeit matter-of-fact detail. What was missing were the sensory details of how things looked, felt, and tasted. Perhaps that is some British culture?

The sensory details that Emily is asking to cherish are how people looked and saw each other. According to my journal, I spent much time wondering if his eyes were green or blue. Later, he would tell me that he thought his eyes might be grey. I don’t know what they were but they were perceptive. And I remember seeing you seeing me, and I felt completely un-self-conscious — initially.

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