". . . sharing the memory" takes me to an Amanda Johnston remark about her bookshelves - or rather, the contents thereof: “It’s like what Lucille Clifton wrote: ‘they want me to remember / their memories / and i keep on remembering / mine.’”
A comment on a comment on a comment on a comment...
This takes me to chapter 6 of Light in August: "Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders." ;)
Hardly Faulknerian. A small boy climbs onto the roof of his home to spy on his neighbours, thus happening to view a rat chase next door. Funny today, but in local parlance then he was "macquereau" - peeping Tom.
Reminds me of my next door neighbour's rat chase; eight big men found nothing better to do on an Old Year's day some 70 years ago.
Directed by my neighbour, six lined up with brooms and 2x4s along a probable flight path, while a seventh was deployed to stir a suspect woodpile. The eighth, my neighbour, having taken possession of a 5-foot long sugar cane stem, stood next to the putative pile stirrer.
The pile was stirred. . . again. . . again. . . A shadow sped across the ground. My neighbour fired the first shot, narrowly missing the stirrer!
The escape route prediction had been accurate. A rapidfire double triplet of 2x4s and brooms followed as the shadow fled past the final broom, squirmed under the fence, disappearing into my neighbour's neighbour's backyard.
Ha! Putative Pile Stirrers -- that's a helluva name for a band. When the pile stirrers get the best of eight big men, it's comedy gold. Thanks for sharing the memory. :)
"We went upstairs. Sister Lightning sat at the base of our fireplace and looked up toward the ceiling."
It' clear that Sister Lightning was directing the action.
Yup. As usual.
A comment on a comment on a comment.
". . . sharing the memory" takes me to an Amanda Johnston remark about her bookshelves - or rather, the contents thereof: “It’s like what Lucille Clifton wrote: ‘they want me to remember / their memories / and i keep on remembering / mine.’”
A comment on a comment on a comment on a comment...
This takes me to chapter 6 of Light in August: "Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders." ;)
Hardly Faulknerian. A small boy climbs onto the roof of his home to spy on his neighbours, thus happening to view a rat chase next door. Funny today, but in local parlance then he was "macquereau" - peeping Tom.
Time combines into oddly confused history.
Oddly Confused History -- that makes a helluva title.
Like Joe Rogan who forgot about facts.
Reminds me of my next door neighbour's rat chase; eight big men found nothing better to do on an Old Year's day some 70 years ago.
Directed by my neighbour, six lined up with brooms and 2x4s along a probable flight path, while a seventh was deployed to stir a suspect woodpile. The eighth, my neighbour, having taken possession of a 5-foot long sugar cane stem, stood next to the putative pile stirrer.
The pile was stirred. . . again. . . again. . . A shadow sped across the ground. My neighbour fired the first shot, narrowly missing the stirrer!
The escape route prediction had been accurate. A rapidfire double triplet of 2x4s and brooms followed as the shadow fled past the final broom, squirmed under the fence, disappearing into my neighbour's neighbour's backyard.
Ha! Putative Pile Stirrers -- that's a helluva name for a band. When the pile stirrers get the best of eight big men, it's comedy gold. Thanks for sharing the memory. :)
I see now that YOU are the reason our canyon is full of mosquitos!
Guilty!
Hilarious! 😂
Thanks for reading!