How I spend my life

I’m reading the book on which the movie people based Monuments Men  just now and it seems a number of thoughts from this book have found their way into my short term memory (that would be the little notebook that I carry around in my breast pocket – I’m both a writing nerd and forgetful).

One of the ways the author shows us these folks who risked their lives to preserve the many works of art that were damaged, misplaced or outright stolen during the Second World War is through samples of their contemporaneous writing, particularly letters to friends, colleagues and loved ones. In a letter to his wife Margie, George Stout wrote, “…I begin to remember that I am myself and not merely a set of functions.” I wrote that down without thinking much about why I was writing it down.

Another quote that recently found its way into my STM is by Annie Dillard in The Writing Life: “How we spend our days, of course, is how we spend our lives.” Seems like I used this one in an earlier post but if so, that’s okay – it bears repeating.

I couldn’t say why these two quotes have come to mind in the same blog-post-writing session except that they seem to sort of go together.

Today I worked on homeowner chores and of course I’m writing this post and afterward will work on a presentation for a conference next month in Rapid City. And I’ll read some and watch a favorite show on the tube with Mary. Perhaps call my brother.

I spent some mental energy this morning on my current major writing project and I took a pickup load to the dump. Checked with Bjorn to make sure he wants the small branches before I bother to cut them into lengths the right size for his woodstove so that Susan, who is blind, can load them without getting one stuck and perhaps burning herself.

I scratchy-scratched one or the other of our dogs maybe two dozen times and watched a bunch of those itty-bitty- mosquitoes that always seem to swarm in early evening – this while I was contemplating that last sentence. I hugged Mary and we shared pride at a long-put-off chore finally started. 

I devoted odd moments here and there to wondering how the day goes for Daughters One and also Two and for Sherree with her life transitions and Joe with his cancer and just now – between that ‘and’ and this next word – I caught myself looking at the clouds and the trees and just sort of taking it all in. I tend to do a lot of looking at stuff while writing and waiting for the next word, sentence, thought.

I suppose I could have been more productive today but that would have required both the desire to be more productive and the discipline to, you know, actually act on it.

This is how I spend this day and if it turns out this is how I spend my life, I think I’m okay with that. I am myself, functions and all.

There’s a Great Dane asleep behind me and an infinite array of possible word choices in front of me. This is my life.