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.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Party Savior
It was a party where each guest was expected to be scintillating enough to save the entire event and to have resources enough to engage and carry everyone else, and so as each person entered there was an excited greeting and expectant stare, with enthusiastic nodding as he or she displayed resources that never did prove adequate to the task. As new guests joined older ones, sinking into the furniture, scrambling for the redeeming bit of conversation, all eyes turned to the door in anticipation of the next candidate for savior of the party.
Labels:
boredom,
change,
conversation,
enthusiasm,
expectations
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