The wisdom of children. That little girl asked you 3 insightful questions. Lately I am wondering if those three questions can't define a life. What are you doing? Do people know you? Do people remember you?
It's the answers to those very questions which are haunting my days, and even more so the nights right now. My answers are indictments of my life. I'm doing nothing. Nobody knows me and nobody will remember me. Somehow I always foresaw this would be how it ended for me. It's almost as if I have achieved a lifelong goal. Others seem to die suddenly, without warning. Now they're here, then they are not. For me dying has been hard, a lifetime's effort as I have bit by bit dismantled the life into which by no effort on my part, I fell into. Now I am almost done. Almost the only thing remaining is for my body to stop. Time to find somewhere to park it for the final stage.
Be glad you could answer her questions satisfactorily Linh. My own answers would have elicited a scowl of contempt I suspect. Little children with hopes and aspirations would not forgive my own profligacy with the precious gift of time.
Being tired of life from the beginning (is reincarnation a thing?), I have spent my entire life outside cities, with a few exceptions in Vancouver and Cape Town, for awhile.
I am not a daring person but need space.
Soon I will get up and make myself a cup of herbal tea in a brown pottery tea pot from Germany and pour it, over and over, into one of a set of little brown tea cups which are white porcelain on the inside and woven material on the outside. I have always thought they were from Vietnam but I am not sure why. Like most nice things I own I picked them up at an opportunity shop (thrift shop to you). I will raise my cup to your postcards and to your determination to share your sketches with us in the face of a world which has always been mad. I am not sure which I enjoy more, your sketches or your photos. Good morning!
I moved all over the country during my working life, and the places I lived varied dramatically. Some I liked better than others. One area that was definitely NOT prosperous was the county a dozen miles or so northwest of Pittsburgh. Formerly Big Steel, by the time I got there it was so depressed that it kind of brought me down.
But the people I ended up working with there were the best, and after awhile I eventually found that even places like that had their charms if you kept your eyes open. A great little family bakery that opened at 5am and had the world's best donuts. A couple who ran a "gourmet takeout" place; the guy had been a chef at a fancy San Francisco hotel, but left it so his wife could come back to small town PA. (I used to think his talent was "wasted", but that is pretty snobby--I checked recently and he is still there, over 20 years later!) And the little watering hole I found was the best one I've ever been to, either before or since.
I visited Goethe's family house in Frankfurt (wholly rebuilt, as it was bombed by the Allies in WWII, but the furniture and art was safe in storage and is original). On the walls of one of the main rooms, there were several drawings of Italy that Goethe's father purchased during his trip. It seems the memory of that travel impacted his life. His famous son, later on, also did the "Grand Tour".
It's interesting how certain fleeting things in life can have a big impact, while others are soon forgotten. But it's also true one does not need to travel to see life in all its wretchedness and splendour. It is everywhere, and not even the "new normality" can erase it.
Robert Walser took many long walks,sometimes for dozens of miles."Today I was in the forest.It was glorious",he would say.He even died walking in the forest.A framed photograph of him dead on his back in the snow was hanging in my parents house.
I had a dog. A dog I named Bert after Ernie's buddy or brother, I don't remember. Some lady brought him to the pound while I was there looking for a dog and asked me to take him so I did. Black Lab and Irish Setter or maybe Golden Retriever, I don't know, but he was fearless and an assassin. That and a boss. In any group of dogs minus ultra alphas he was a leader. He would do-do around with a pack following him around till he found something that needed to be dug. Then he would watch as some other dog would do the digging. Occasionally he would take a sniff to check the progress to see if the other dog should keep going or not. If whatever it was couldn't be reached it was off to the next spot.
He had a mind of his own or maybe a tweaked mind as he was fixed (why that word?) Anyway, dog fights turned him on and I mean vicious dog fights.
There at the Country Store just east of Mother Truckers, just off Highway 49, my dog amongst many laughing witnesses drinking Schmidt's beer at picnic tables, showed the art of making love not war. It was a scene to behold. Had it been a different venue like the one you described it probably wouldn't have been funny. It would have been more like the time my Alligator lizard escaped me and entered the nursery school classroom with me chasing it.
I guess I aptly named my dog then. Except I didn't capture his desire to kill all things small. I just named him that so I could go "Hey Bert" in Sesame Street tone.
Also It was Schmidt beer not Schmidt's beer by yet another famous Philly guy. The crowd could have been drinking Burgie, Maxx, Schaefer, or Meister Brau. Just not Coors, Bud or Miller. It was a tier below a dive bar crowd. To give them credit the crowd did break up the dog fight as my dog just wasn't making headway.
The Nuns in the school stood on their desks in that other event. The kids were outside.
"No, not an accident, just an intinerant seller of prawn crackers taking a nap. With his right foot touching the back wheel, he'd know if his motorbike was moving, as in someone trying to steal it. If that's his worry, why didn't he park it against a wall, then sleep on the other side? A thief would have to literally step over his body. I thought maybe he kept his bike on the road so there would likely be witnesses to a robbery, but that's not much of a deterrent here. I think he just didn't want to miss out on any potential sale! In any case, street crimes are very rare in Vung Tau. With its huge influx of poor people from the rest of Vietnam, Saigon has many more crimes."
The wisdom of children. That little girl asked you 3 insightful questions. Lately I am wondering if those three questions can't define a life. What are you doing? Do people know you? Do people remember you?
It's the answers to those very questions which are haunting my days, and even more so the nights right now. My answers are indictments of my life. I'm doing nothing. Nobody knows me and nobody will remember me. Somehow I always foresaw this would be how it ended for me. It's almost as if I have achieved a lifelong goal. Others seem to die suddenly, without warning. Now they're here, then they are not. For me dying has been hard, a lifetime's effort as I have bit by bit dismantled the life into which by no effort on my part, I fell into. Now I am almost done. Almost the only thing remaining is for my body to stop. Time to find somewhere to park it for the final stage.
Be glad you could answer her questions satisfactorily Linh. My own answers would have elicited a scowl of contempt I suspect. Little children with hopes and aspirations would not forgive my own profligacy with the precious gift of time.
Being tired of life from the beginning (is reincarnation a thing?), I have spent my entire life outside cities, with a few exceptions in Vancouver and Cape Town, for awhile.
I am not a daring person but need space.
Soon I will get up and make myself a cup of herbal tea in a brown pottery tea pot from Germany and pour it, over and over, into one of a set of little brown tea cups which are white porcelain on the inside and woven material on the outside. I have always thought they were from Vietnam but I am not sure why. Like most nice things I own I picked them up at an opportunity shop (thrift shop to you). I will raise my cup to your postcards and to your determination to share your sketches with us in the face of a world which has always been mad. I am not sure which I enjoy more, your sketches or your photos. Good morning!
I moved all over the country during my working life, and the places I lived varied dramatically. Some I liked better than others. One area that was definitely NOT prosperous was the county a dozen miles or so northwest of Pittsburgh. Formerly Big Steel, by the time I got there it was so depressed that it kind of brought me down.
But the people I ended up working with there were the best, and after awhile I eventually found that even places like that had their charms if you kept your eyes open. A great little family bakery that opened at 5am and had the world's best donuts. A couple who ran a "gourmet takeout" place; the guy had been a chef at a fancy San Francisco hotel, but left it so his wife could come back to small town PA. (I used to think his talent was "wasted", but that is pretty snobby--I checked recently and he is still there, over 20 years later!) And the little watering hole I found was the best one I've ever been to, either before or since.
Just have to watch the world go by...
Beautiful essay, Linh. Thanks for taking me out of my mundane thoughts....blessings, p
I visited Goethe's family house in Frankfurt (wholly rebuilt, as it was bombed by the Allies in WWII, but the furniture and art was safe in storage and is original). On the walls of one of the main rooms, there were several drawings of Italy that Goethe's father purchased during his trip. It seems the memory of that travel impacted his life. His famous son, later on, also did the "Grand Tour".
It's interesting how certain fleeting things in life can have a big impact, while others are soon forgotten. But it's also true one does not need to travel to see life in all its wretchedness and splendour. It is everywhere, and not even the "new normality" can erase it.
Robert Walser took many long walks,sometimes for dozens of miles."Today I was in the forest.It was glorious",he would say.He even died walking in the forest.A framed photograph of him dead on his back in the snow was hanging in my parents house.
Great writing,uncle.
how do I find your photo blog?
https://linhdinhphotos.blogspot.com/
I had a dog. A dog I named Bert after Ernie's buddy or brother, I don't remember. Some lady brought him to the pound while I was there looking for a dog and asked me to take him so I did. Black Lab and Irish Setter or maybe Golden Retriever, I don't know, but he was fearless and an assassin. That and a boss. In any group of dogs minus ultra alphas he was a leader. He would do-do around with a pack following him around till he found something that needed to be dug. Then he would watch as some other dog would do the digging. Occasionally he would take a sniff to check the progress to see if the other dog should keep going or not. If whatever it was couldn't be reached it was off to the next spot.
He had a mind of his own or maybe a tweaked mind as he was fixed (why that word?) Anyway, dog fights turned him on and I mean vicious dog fights.
There at the Country Store just east of Mother Truckers, just off Highway 49, my dog amongst many laughing witnesses drinking Schmidt's beer at picnic tables, showed the art of making love not war. It was a scene to behold. Had it been a different venue like the one you described it probably wouldn't have been funny. It would have been more like the time my Alligator lizard escaped me and entered the nursery school classroom with me chasing it.
I hate to mention it, but Bert is Ernie's love partner. They came out of the closet in my recent times.
I guess I aptly named my dog then. Except I didn't capture his desire to kill all things small. I just named him that so I could go "Hey Bert" in Sesame Street tone.
Also It was Schmidt beer not Schmidt's beer by yet another famous Philly guy. The crowd could have been drinking Burgie, Maxx, Schaefer, or Meister Brau. Just not Coors, Bud or Miller. It was a tier below a dive bar crowd. To give them credit the crowd did break up the dog fight as my dog just wasn't making headway.
The Nuns in the school stood on their desks in that other event. The kids were outside.
Hi Benedict Tiberius Cato,
This is the caption for that photo at my blog:
"No, not an accident, just an intinerant seller of prawn crackers taking a nap. With his right foot touching the back wheel, he'd know if his motorbike was moving, as in someone trying to steal it. If that's his worry, why didn't he park it against a wall, then sleep on the other side? A thief would have to literally step over his body. I thought maybe he kept his bike on the road so there would likely be witnesses to a robbery, but that's not much of a deterrent here. I think he just didn't want to miss out on any potential sale! In any case, street crimes are very rare in Vung Tau. With its huge influx of poor people from the rest of Vietnam, Saigon has many more crimes."
Linh