Last week I wrote about the prehistoric stone axe head that was plowed up at my ancestors’ Old Home Place. Because it’s the only thing that I possess from the Kelly side of my family and because it’s so old, it is precious to me.
Bill and I are devotees of the “Antiques Road Show.” Some people hope that their treasure is rare and valuable, only to be disappointed. I knew that the monetary value of my stone wasn’t great, but I did figure that it was rare. Not so. According to Michele Greenan, Director of Archeology, the State Museum has many of them. My treasure is merely old. Its interest to an archeologist is its provenance. We know from old site maps where it came from. Otherwise, it’s a nice specimen, but not special.
My readers’ comments sometimes make me pause for thought. One of my acquaintances is a young, charming, dynamic woman. She said, “I enjoy your writing — especially the funny stories — but lately it seems that you’ve been writing a lot about mortality.”
Hmm . . . perhaps I need an attitude adjustment. I savor the funny events of life and enjoy quirky, out-of-the-box eccentrics, but life isn’t always amusing. However, I don’t want to be one of those negative people who obsess about the inevitable and unwelcome changes brought on by the aging process or the sorry state of the world.
I believe that one should follow Henry David Thoreau’s advice to love one’s life, live deeply and suck up the very marrow of life by living as consciously as possible. One’s perspectives and parameters do change as one ages. When I was a child a day lasted forever. Now my days flash by so fast that I’d like to say, “Slow down! Let me savor this instant, this pleasure a little longer!” Alas, time cannot be slowed down or saved in a bank account. We must spend all that we have of its dwindling supply.
No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main . . . any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore send ye not to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. — John Donne (1572 to 1631), Meditation XVII
Thinking about the Indians who once inhabited Indiana and my people’s Old Home Place was a poignant experience. What happened there was just one more example of man’s inhumanity to man and the passing of a civilization. And now? And now the news is full of it . . .
Life is a mixture of sunshine and shade: I was shopping at Aldis last week. Uh-oh! My bill came to $40.49. I had only two twenties. I felt like a ditsy old woman while I fumbled around in my purse — you know the type, don’t you? — the irritating old people who hold up the line while they search for money or coupons or argue with the cashier. Embarrassed, I said, “Drat! I’ll have to put something back.” “Don’t worry! It’s handled,” said the clerk. “I’ll pay it the next time I’m here.” I went over to bag my groceries and was still fishing around for money. The woman who had been in line behind me said emphatically, “Do not pay the store any money!” She had paid it.
To get a cart at Aldis, you insert a quarter that’s refunded when you put the cart back. Out in the parking lot I approached two women. “Do you want this cart?” “Yes, here’s my quarter.” “No, I’m passing on a good deed.” After I explained that stranger’s generosity, she said, “I’ll pass on this cart to someone else.” We aren’t apt to encounter each other again, but both of us will remember . . .
Wouldn’t it be nice if the world could operate like that? wclarke@comcast.net