Depending on response, a follow-up to this iteration of this series might be in order. There are so many fictional characters with first names that can only be matched with one surname and the novel from which it came. I'll get us started and await your ideas; surely, you have plenty. Characters from novels only, please; plays have been previously covered in the series, from a slightly different angle. I say Scarlett and you say ….
I say Holden and you say ….
I say Atticus and you say …
Come on, how can you resist something as harmless as this?
Although I try not to often exclude people without partners asking questions here, occasionally an interaction in my own partnership forces my hand. My apologies today to the unattached.
I've been called many things in my life; mellow or laidback have not been among the words others frequently use to describe me. If you share a partnership with someone temperamentally different from you in this respect - no matter whether you're the mellow one or the edgy, intense one - what challenges do those differing temperaments bring to the relationship?
I suspect those of you who - like me - have more edges than smooth surfaces will find it easy to answer this question. I'm also guessing many of you among my temperamental cohort have been labeled - by self and others - with some loaded adjectives. In ascending order of offensiveness, a few of those labels might include moody, difficult, obnoxious. And though I'm not certain my partner of forty plus years shares the perspective, one even-tempered friend of mine has a novel way to describe the dance of temperament he and his wife have managed to sustain over their many years: "Her edges mesh with my grooves."
So, what are some comparable loaded words that you easygoing, mellow, laidback partners hear or call yourself? In your experience - either temperament - how well do partnerships with this diverse dynamic thrive? If you have this kind of partnership, what strategies have helped you endure? And finally, for those of you in partnerships where - in this respect only - your temperaments are more alike than not: What have been the challenges that similarity has presented to you? Your strategies for enduring?
Most days, with respect to where my innate talents meet my passions, I'm reconciled to my spot on the bell curve. That is, I work at getting better at my passions knowing I'm not exceptional. And from the inception of this blog, I've tried to speak of my place on the bell curve - and the quirks, flaws, and limitations that many of us share - in an attempt to build simpatico with others on the curve. More pertinently to today's reflection, I've tried to be genuine here without too much whining. So, forgive me Father, for I am about to sin. Try treating my confession as the antidote to Facebook walls that show unfailingly perfect lives unmarred by unmet expectations.
The one-two punch delivering a temporarily immobilizing blow to my self-image as a writer and a musician began on Thursday as I finished "The TortillaCurtain" (1995) by TC Boyle. Then, on Friday night I saw guitarist Mike Stern in concert. Aside from a nice walk at the Manasquan reservoir and breakfast with my wife and daughter in the morning, yesterday went steadily downhill from there. Only a little more, I promise.
The blog post I began early yesterday afternoon was so sour and self-pitying I abandoned it. Boyle's total control of his craft wouldn't leave me alone. OK, I thought, pick up the guitar. But the moment Stern's prodigious technique began replaying in my brain, the only remaining option for me was a long nap.
I was so relieved my wife and I had dinner plans last night. I don't expect readers to put themselves out there and describe a similar bell curve experience. But it would sure be nice to know something like this has happened to someone out there sometime. I'll keep your secret, I promise.
Richard Russo has been a favorite novelist since I read "Empire Falls" soon after its 2001 release. He is a top notch old-fashioned storyteller, has a pitch perfect ear for dialogue, and his deep affection for his world weary characters is refreshing given the reflexive cynicism and distancing irony of many of his contemporaries.
Russo's new collection of short non-fiction - "The Destiny Thief" - is a worthy companion to all of his earlier work. Aside from the eponymous essay (with that killer metaphor) introducing the book, each of the other eight pieces on "writing, writers, and life" has something to recommend it. I derived the most personal benefit from "Getting Good", re the value of tenacity. While reading "Imagining Jenny" I felt something shift in me as Russo describes a dear friend undergoing gender reassignment. And I was deeply moved hearing about Russo's admiration of Bruce Springsteen's music in "The Boss In Bulgaria".
Russo calls Bruce "the greatest singing storyteller of his generation." Normally, hyperbole like that is a turnoff to me. But when Russo writes "...it was Springsteen's voice that helped a weary nation through the bitter end of the Vietnam War, the AIDS epidemic, and the attack on the World Trade Center", it was hard for me to deny the impact "Born In The USA", "Philadelphia", and "The Rising" had on me and on the public conversation. Though Springsteen's music occupied me more in my rock n' roll years than it does now, a later song of his like "41 Shots" shows he's still got the goods. Springsteen was an earlier-in-life musical passion for me - much like Elmore Leonard was more about my reading tastes in my 30's - but Russo's continuing unapologetic love for these two giants in their respective fields is convincing and contagious. Thanks for the reminders, Richard.
Oh, would that this were so. Is there a maxim more in need of serious deconstruction than this boner? How close to perfection has your practicing gotten you? I'll start but if you leave me here all alone on this one, you're just being cruel.
Practice the guitar, rinse, repeat, ad nauseum. Perfection? Not even close. I'd settle for being satisfied with what I can do on the instrument 20% of the time.
Practice new behaviors? Assiduously. Perfection? What a cosmic joke. I'm usually just one ego threat away from regressing back to adolescence.
In order of when they were successfully integrated, here's a sample of other practices I've anchored into my daily life: Writing, exercise, meditation. Perfection? Please!
Practice makes sense? OK. Practice makes better? Fine. Practice makes crazy? Now that's a maxim that has the ring of truth for me, at least sometimes. But perfect? Come on. How did this ever catch on?
Every August 1 since 2012, I've used the massive reach of this blog as a forum to suggest ways to commemorate the month Hallmark has chosen to forsake. Most normal people would probably have given up after six ingenious notions had gotten as little traction as mine have. Ha! Normal is so over-rated, isn't it?
In approximate descending order of the amount of attention each often gets - no ethnic squabbling or quibbling, please - Columbus Day, St Patrick's Day, Rosh Hashanah, Cinco De Mayo, Kwanzaa, and Ramadan all have at least a small place on the U.S. calendar. Therefore, I'm proposing August 1 of each year be called "Immigrant Day". Which immigrants do we celebrate in this barren holiday-free month you ask? Any who do not easily fit with the groups that celebrate the holidays listed above. I can envision August 1 parades featuring - just to name a few (again, no squawking about who I left out, please) - Germans, Chinese, Brazilians. Maybe we even rotate and honor a different immigrant group on each day of the month; a free-floating celebration. Imagine the revelry, the wonderful food, the music!
OK, if you are not going to support my seventh brilliant idea, at least have the decency to tell me which of the others you like best. Those were: National Book Day, Sibling Month, Holiday For The 1% With Less Cash, National Conversation Day, Unsung Hero Day, or National Gratitude Day. All links below; you don't even have to search. Come on, give a guy a break.
Question: "Mommy, what will we learn in 3rd grade?"
Answer: "All kinds of things".
After overhearing this exchange recently, I began reflecting on my own childhood summers. Do you remember asking or wondering a similar thing? I do. Recalling my own delicious anticipation of the new learning of an upcoming school year made me wistful. Do you ever yearn, as I do, for someone to continually re-assure you that new learning is right around the corner?
What else was on your mind as a child as the summer stretched before you? Just after school let out in June, several young children on their bicycles converged on the convenience store I was leaving. Their joy and exuberance was so clear I found myself transported to the late Junes of my youth. Although it's possible their happiness had little to do with summer just beginning, it really doesn't matter. Remember your un-alloyed joy about having two+ months of freedom? For me, that joy and the anticipation of future learning went hand-in-hand. How about you?