Monday, Jan. 05, 2004 - 9:21 pm
Um... I'm sorry.
This relationship just isn't working for me.
I'm at www.dailypreciousness.org now. So change that bookmark.
Christian just finished working on a piece he called Maori Jazymphony, based on a film we just watched together, Whale Rider, about a Maori girl who became the leader of her people. It was inspiring enough for him to write a song about it. I did a little sound editing work and managed to sweeten the sound a little for him. Christian didn’t need much help at all – it was a good, solid piece. I just helped him out a bit with post-production.
Over Christmas and Boxing Day, I have been reading from a book of true stories based on local popular history. Like echoes from a forgone era, the short, personal narratives sparkle with wit and color, informing me on Richland Parish, Louisiana.
They were heady days – days of picking high cotton in the sizzling summer heat. They were local yokel jokes from the nearby town of Bee Bayou. They were stories of a restored Model T Ford that had no roof – a vehicle the owner dubbed ‘Ol Hope It Don’t Rain.’
My favorite one was about the local post mistress, Miss Ellis, whom Mom always dreaded. But this narrative wasn’t from the book. It was from my own mother. “She would sit there and just go through your mail, which was, of course, highly illegal, but she went and did it anyway!” Mom picked up stray crumbs on the dining room placemat as she explained why she hated this particular habit of Miss Ellis’. “I can remember just rushing home while I was in college on the day that grades came out. Now, your grades were sent to you on postcards back then… anybody could see what you made! I would rush home just as fast as I could, just hoping that she wouldn’t have spread news of my grades around. I don’t suppose it did any good. I could just imagine her talking about how ‘I ‘spect Dianne coulda done better than that!’”
And hearing this story from Mom, I could indeed picture her getting all worked up about the imaginary persecution she endured because of this old lady small-town busybody and her privacy invasion with intent to judge. Poor Momma!
After she shared this with me, I looked out to the pond again. Do you see that Christmas decoration there, she asked me. That white ceramic Christmas tree with the lights on it is the one Miss Ellis gave us as a wedding gift. I guess she wasn’t so bad after all.
