My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, March 28, 2014
When Life Is Mostly Memories
There is, I suppose, a time when life becomes mostly memories, a time when the present holds less interest, less satisfaction, than recalling what used to be. This could seem a sad time, but only to the observer. The rememberer, even though he might sometimes cry, is not in so sad a place. In memory live those important people and sacred moments, the ones that make right now less essential.
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