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, November 4, 2015
Hearing Less Well
Lately, I hear less well. I do not want it to get worse, but at this point it is not unwelcome. There are a number of things of which I do not need awareness. Many things are said that can as readily go unheard, and some of what I think I am hearing is funnier and sometimes makes more sense than what was actually said.
Labels:
aging,
letting go,
silence
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