A Preamble To A Swan song. tponetom
A PREAMBLE TO A SWAN SONG
A few years ago, I tuned into our PBS station. A 3-hour documentary entitled, "The Forties" was being broadcast. It was the usual melange of newsreel and Hollywood clips and Big Band Sounds. It was nostalgic and ambivalently tear wrenching and joyous. We have seen it a thousand times under different titles. The actor, Charles Durning, was the commentator. He had taken part in the Normandy invasion. He was well qualified to comment on that era.
The short epilog at the end was most profound:
Durning:
"When we were living through the thirties and forties, we had lived through the Great Depression Years, the ravages of World War II and then the struggle to put our lives back together again. We wanted it all to be over. And when it was over, we couldn’t stop looking back. We couldn’t shake the feeling that we had lost something,,, something fine in our lives. Perhaps it was innocence and purpose, hope and our youth.
E. B. White put it this way: "Our heads were filled with the fragile dreams of love, and underneath the bluster and the swagger, everything in life was coated with a strange and beautiful importance that you almost forgot about because it dates back so far." End Quote.
My note: Many of my peers, and I, agree. We remember, because we cannot forget.
And The Swan Song
....
Tponetom
Paging All the Ladies
.
Just a few lyrics
. No melody
The cobbling of words, both entertaining and hopefully intelligent, have become more difficult and evasive with each passing day.
The glibness of my story telling, stumbles, as I write and then read it. I do not like what I read.
Editing and revising and updating stories and a potpourri of notes and statements, bordering on hieroglyphic decipherment, can be overwhelming.
At a much younger age, the words would pour forth in torrents, as fast I could type them. Retention of any thought or word was automatic. Scribbled, abbreviated notes to myself could be deciphered immediately, or days or weeks after the fact. Today, I look at similar notes, and I ask myself, "what on earth do those cryptic words and letters mean and where did they come from?"
Today, and for the past ten or fifteen years, those retention skills keep slipping away. They became less and less accessible. At this very moment, if a wise or whimsical or pertinent thought penetrates my dwindling mass of gray matter, I might be lucky to retain it and use it at once. More times than not, it becomes a will o’ the wisp. A forgotten gem of expression. Once in a while, there is a ubiquitous resurrection of that expression, like waking up at 3:00 in the morning and having the epiphany recite to me, the forgotten, expression.
I try to Conjure up accurate and pleasant word images and avoid Conjecture.
But this is my Swan Song, for my part in an Internet Stage Play, entitled, "The Detroit Forum," A two year run in any kind of supporting role would make tens of thousands of Broadway peripatetics, delirious in their aspirations.
My rewards have been manifold. I could run a glut of synonymous ‘happy words,’ and they would be truthful, accurate and irrefutable.
But the real validation that I feel, comes from those replies to some of my posts.
To wit:
"Gee, Tpone, your stories about the old days, are just like the ones my Father and Mother told me about."
Or substitute, "Grandpa and Grandma" or "Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary," or any other aged relative or friend from that era.
Validations from those sources are Platinum. Thank You.
Ahhh, but you Ladies in PARTICULAR will remain THE BEDROCKof this forum, in my mind, forever. Your posts and replies are intuitive. That is the singular word I use to describe people, who also wear their Hearts on their sleeve.
Fortunately, I still have the words for this ‘Swan Song’ but the melody is, um, let’s call it melancholy. [[So color me orange.)
P.S.
A "thank you" to Lowell and his editing sleuths for allowing me more than a little bit of slack when it came to "boundaries and bonds." Some of my ‘Detroit Connections’ references, could be colored, gray. However, every one of them carried a beat of my heart.
Thank You, [[For accepting my memories.)
tponetom
