My youngest brother came over from LA for the weekend and my father said, “Let me give you some advice given you are going to be married soon. Rule number one: you can never understand a woman, just love her. There are no other rules.” And then he somberly walked away.
I thought about the conversation below as I re-read the quote above from Letter to Zenzele by J. Nozipo Maraire.
So, while my father is fixing the fire in the fireplace as I finish my plate of dinner nearby, he recites:
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God overhead !
And then asks: Who wrote those words?
I make a guess and it is wrong. Not Shakespeare even though the last line is strangely familiar.
Longfellow.
Ah. Of course. Why didn’t I think of Longfellow.
He adds: From Psalm on Life.
His encyclopedic memory never seizes to impress me.
Mama said to my aunt who was over for brunch earlier today, “They* are all Peter Pans when they step in this house. Maximum age is twelve.”
This is in reference to a ‘noise’ they heard–which would be me screaming with joy like a five year old might upon his or her first sight of a caterpillar. I was just too happy to find the ‘right word.’
It is challenging not to halt the thoughtflow when writing when one is looking for the right word. It feels especially difficult to me because, in my view, the English language is one of the most limited when it comes to expressing certain sentiments. Perhaps therein lies its beauty: it is rare when you can say something exactly how you mean it, let alone express how you feel it.
*”They” is not just a reference solely to me or any of the other siblings (docked here for a bit or just visiting for a weekend) but ANYone of ANY age that comes through our door. The tallest Peter Pan being our father.
