I have many ideas for columns, but none of them ring my writing chime today. Sometimes I have “unstructured” moods when I feel restless, stale and unfocused. Perhaps you do, also. Fortunately, it doesn’t last.
Meanwhile, what to do . . . what to do? I have a deadline to meet, and I’m in the position of the Israelites during their captivity in Egypt when Pharaoh ordered them to make bricks without straw! Perhaps I’ll try stream of consciousness which is a literary device used to depict the many thoughts and feelings that pass through the mind. Some define it as the internal monologue that all of us possess. Virginia Woolf, James Joyce and Marcel Proust sometimes used this style. Many don’t understand Woolf’s writing, but I enjoy her way with words. I’ve resolved more than once to read Joyce’s Ulysses, but never succeeded. Perhaps I should put it on my bucket list.
The stream of consciousness basically means that one thing leads to another inside our minds. Older people are prone to this because their minds are crammed with experiences. One of the most amusing performances that I’ve ever seen was Hal Holbrook in his one-man show, “Mark Twain Tonight.”
“Twain” told “The Ram’s Story” in which an elderly man recounted the tale of how a ram butted him in his rear end. One thought led to another, and the old geezer digressed so much that he never got to the end of the story. Eek! Is that what I do?
Proust’s story in The Search for Lost Time in which he describes the ah-ha moment when he sipped a spoonful of tea in which a crumb of a madeleine cookie was soaked is one of the most beautiful and perceptive pieces of writing that I’ve ever read. His senses were swept by an exquisite pleasure. He finally realized that his aunt’s village, its people, streets and gardens all sprang to life from his cup of tea. He wrote, “. . . the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment . . . “
Hot dog! I just read an e-mail from Dan Kendall reminiscing about train trips such as traveling around England and taking the Trans-European Express along the Cote d’Azur. We often ride piggyback on other people’s experiences. Dan’s memories triggered a rather Proustian experience in which I remember my own train trips.
The first train trip that Bill and I made was from London to Plymouth en route to Yelverton in Devon where Bill’s aunt and cousin lived. It was a very long train, and our seats were near the end. I was afraid that we wouldn’t get on in time. Bill said, “We have plenty of time.” “No, no — we should get on immediately.” We bingety-banged our suitcases through several cars while the seated passengers glared at us and made nasty comments. Bill refused to speak to me until we bought our lunch of “cardboard” sandwiches.
It was a different experience when we took the TGV from Barcelona to Paris. “TGV” stands for “Train a Grande Vitesse” — high speed train — that has reached the speed of more than three hundred miles per hour. How different this smooth-running, electric train with its sleek engine is from the smoke belching, clickety-clacking trains of my youth! The overnight trip included an excellent dinner during which the staff made up the bunks in our private compartment.
We had a happy encounter after we’d taken a ferry from Holland and caught a train to London. A joyous young couple sat across from us. She was carrying a bouquet because they’d just been married. “We’re from East Germany, and now that the wall has been torn down, we are free to travel for the first time in our lives. We’re going to America!” We gave them their first American dollar. wclarke@comcast.net