A dear friend just wrote to say I should tell the story of my life – and keep it lively. It’s my fondest dream. I have met so many great people and wandered so many streets of sin, (till a kind innkeeper took me in, he banged my head but I kicked his shin, so I wasn’t floatin’ on a boat bound for Shanghai.)
But seriously, folks – the sorrow of life tends to overwhelm me. It’s my underlying nature. Melon cola – the flavor I usually order.
Last night I was watching A Night at the Opera again. Sometimes I just have to go to the back of the closet and bring out the good stuff. There was that scene again on the ocean liner where stowaways Harpo and Chico are sharing pasta with all the Italian immigrants in steerage, and soon they’re all dancing and singing and Harpo playing the harp and Chico making the children laugh with his piano playing and the young tenor singing his heart out on some silly and inconsequential long ago song. Did I laugh? Was I amused? Yes, as my eyes filled with tears. I don’t why really. I think God gave me the gift of seeing the sorrow of life. I want life to really be like that, really. And I know in my heart with a deep knowing that it’s not. It makes me sad and it makes me mad. It’s my nature. So, if I do tell the stories that make up my life it will be through that screen.
Labels: Sorrow of Life