[lit-ideas] Sunday Wotsit
- From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2012 12:40:54 -0700
We are all of us living in multiple ages. Case in point:
It had not been a particularly good day, grey and overcast, begun between the
hours of two and four when I worried about a friend in pain and found I'd left
the downstairs thermostat up too high. I attended to e mail before I dove into
Keats and Stanley Fish in hope of finding a new way to teach grace and clarity.
I settled on Burns' demonstration of how to get away with three different
metaphorical allusions. Browsed work e mail, which is against my normal
rule--if you're going back to sleep, you want a calm task. Found that the
dean's assistant wanted to know if after a quarter century and tenure, and
several days last week spent planning courses and sending in descriptions, I
intend to teach next year. "No," I thought of writing, "that's exactly why I
did all that work." Later, in the light, I went to buy a plant or three, one
being a Japanese Barberry of exactly the right red. Later still, in the early
evening, my wife came home from work with news that old friends were giving up,
retiring early, saying goodbye to all that bumf. Later yet, we both attended a
retirement party for someone who has kept alive one of those many societies
devoted to improving the community. They awarded him an ornamental piece of
paper, a cheap, and to my eye, ugly frame, a standing ovation.
Now comes the point, the moment that made my day. Alone in the line for the
coat check--I'd volunteered--I was minding my own business when a lady in a
designer dress began running her hands over my sweater. She was older than me
by a good twenty years and so probably felt that normal rules did not apply.
She said, "I'm really interested in clothes." And you could see this; her
dress must have cost hundreds. I said, referring to the sweater, "It's
Alpaca." She said, "It's truly lovely." I said, not knowing what else, "Thank
you." Then came the question. She looked me up and down, commented on how
well the blue shirt set off colors, appraised the cut of my trousers, inspected
my shoes. It was how I imagine being scrutinized by Coco Channel. I think I
passed. She said complimentary things, and then asked, "Do you dress yourself?"
I almost said, "My man Jeeves lays out clothes. It helps with the shock of
having to rise before noon..."
Then I realized she was asking, "Does your wife choose your clothes and tell
you what to wear?"
The notion still causes me to smile. I don't mean to suggest there's something
wrong with my wife's taste; it's just that a world in which such things happen,
one in which she buys ties, well it's living history, for me about as far off
as Eisenhower, as strange as two in the morning, visitable, very nearly gone.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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