Kindness and Sorrow

[The writing group assignment was to tell about an act of kindness done for us or by us. Based on "Kindness," by Naomi Shihab Nye, from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems (1994)
The lines I used:
"Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing."]



Before I worked for him, I didn't know anyone like him. I guess my father would come closest. While I was working for him, I learned what integrity looked like, and I wanted to have it too. Working for him wasn't always easy; he was demanding, sometimes too much so. But as the years went on, I gained a huge amount of respect for him--and he did for me. After he retired, in my opinion no one even came close to him in ethics and standards, in running the firm.

When I went into the ministry, I moved away and didn't stay in contact. Years later, I moved back to serve a church in Nashville, and renewed the friendship. He took me to lunch and was so proud of me. "She used to be my secretary, and now she's a minister," he told the waitress. He was like a proud father.

One day not long after that, he came to my church office, with terrible news. "I have cancer, and don't have much longer to live. Will you do my funeral?" Through my shock, came my answer. "I'd be honored."

From then on, the plans were made. He was a very organized person, and he made the plans for his funeral down to the smallest detail. He told me what he wanted. I was to be in charge. A Bishop was to do the eulogy, but I was to be in charge. Another minister was to sing, but he reiterated that I was to be in charge. I think he trusted me to understand how he wanted it done and follow through. As his health continued to fail, I saw him and talked with him, as did his other clergy friends. After his death, the three of us did as he asked. We all loved him, respected him, grieved for him.

Soon after his funeral, his son called me, and told me of his bequest to me. I was humbled by his generosity, and by his remembering me.

He was one of the finest men I ever knew--like a father, a mentor, a friend. It was a rare friendship in our modern business world, based on mutual trust and respect, rather than power games or intimidation. A man from the old school, a gentleman, in the best sense of the word. Rather than lecturing about integrity, he lived it. I hope I can follow that example in my own life.

Reading and writing

[In writing group, we each drew three random words to write from. Mine were joy, despair, create. And then we were off . . . . ]

"He don't have no despair," says Faulkner's character in "The Spotted Horses." It is such a joy to go back to reading Faulkner after years away. How was he able to create such true-to-Southern-life characters? The class is a joy, reading him again is a joy, and it inspires me, just as his work used to do, when I was much younger.

Reading Faulkner requires the willingness to pay close attention, and be willing to read slowly his long, dense sentences, sometimes whole paragraphs, with no punctuation at all. But I'm enjoying it so much again, that it's worth the effort.

During that period in my life, I read Southern writers almost exclusively. I have Faulkner books on my shelf that I haven't touched in years. Now I want to go back to them again. I also have other books by Southern writers, and one book about Southern writers.

Isn't it funny the reading tangents we go on? From teen fantasy (the Eragon trilogy my grandchildren introduced to me), back to quality literature. And missing my friend Jeaninne all the time, for the book lists we used to share.

*******

[The next assignment came from "Numbers," by Mary Cornish. Addressing the question, "What have you recently added to your life? What do you need to subtract from it?]

What have I added to my life lately? Writing group. It's brought fun back into my life, and gotten my brain going again. I've been wanting to record my memories, so that my daughter and my grandchildren will have something to refer to when they are curious about what life was like for me, growing up in Oak Ridge. So now having an outlet for those memories gives me great pleasure.

What I need to subtract from my life is the accumulation of junk that builds up all around me. This is harder than I realized--harder than it sounds. Every time I want to clear out my books, I come upon books I haven't read in a long time--like the Faulkner books. So how am I going to dispose of Faulkner, when I've just rediscovered him? "What a puzzlement!" as the King of Siam told Anna.

I have this dream of organizing all the parts of my life--and adding and subtracting perfectly. And that someday I'll have a lovely comfortable home surrounded by my books, my stitching, and my family (including Toby, of course). Somehow I don't think this is a very realistic goal. Somehow that perfection doesn't seem very attainable.

Adding and subtracting--I always did have trouble with numbers!

Who Am I?

I am from piano lessons and trading cards,
from good china and outhouses.
I am from air raid drills and security posters
on the Turnpike.

I am from the Chapel on the Hill
and church held in the Ridge Theater.
I'm from the conservative right,
so how did I get to the liberal left?

I'm from biscuits and gravy or honey,
and the coffee pot plugged in all day.

I'm from teachers and principals,
and also from farmers and truckdrivers.
I'm from Methodists and Baptists,
and have become neither.

I'm from salt-of-the-earth "people,"
now trying to survive in a world alone.
From extended family to nuclear family.

From Appalachian folk culture
to the Atomic City.
Who knew Oak Ridge would ever
be "the good old days"?



After "where i'm from" by George Ella Lyon
from where i'm from: where poems come from (1999)