Photoessay #482 - That patch of light

My neighbor was describing a book and said "Oh, I forgot you're not really a reader". This comment stunned me "Of COURSE I'm a reader! Reading books is a centerpiece of my life always!" But looking at my life, I don't really read so much, as in READ BOOKS. My job has me reading and writing all day, maybe that's why much of it suits me. But how much reading do I really do. As I have less child-rearing responsibilities (having 4 kids in 7 years gave me plenty of that to do for a very long time, I have caught up on my New Yorkers. Well almost. But often I've been 5 years or more behind (you know, pre Monica).

Time to start reading books. Since they removed the cards and the sleeves from the library books, I have not been able to handle library books. I know, weak excuse. But I'm working on it. My mother has tons of books which will all be tossed soon. But much of them are recent rather right wing books purchased by my father late in my life. They can all go as far as I'm concerned. I did bring home "The Distant Mirror" by Barbara Tuchman which likely caught my eye because *I* gave that book to my father in 1979.

I've also made my way through the book pictured which are observations George Kenan made during journeys he made throughout his life.

Much of it is written late in his life in his 80s. Such a prescient eloquent thinker. One trip he made was to Riga where he had served as a diplomat pre world War II. He went to visit some of the places that he lived and worked reflecting on their meaning.

Reminded me of the trip I made over a year ago at sights from my childhood in suburban Sacramento. At one point, I'm looking down La Sierra Drive near Arden Park and thinking "This all doesn't look very familiar, I can't seem to put it in any context, no hook for me for reflection" I decided that there was not too much to learn from seeing all these sites even as they have changed as I have also made my way through the world.

Kennan comments:

This ended our brief Rip van Winkle expedition into Proust's temps perdu, invoking upon me further reflections of the blind and helpless way in which each generation of us staggers through life: occupying the briefly the little patch of apparent light between the darkness of the past we have so largely forgotten and the darkness of the future that we cannot see.

pg 349 Sketches from a Life, George F. Kennan

Often that personal darkness behind us, even though it does belong to us, and each of us uniquely, and though it may affect us in unseen ways, it passes on without us. Our recollection doesn't much matter, our imperfect memories don't really cause things of importance to emerge from time's darkness. And the fogs of the future are always with us, whether we are young or old, perceptive or vague in our vision.