I was, apropos of the last post, considering joining a reading group. No More! I had a heart attack occasioned by a meeting of the condominium group of which I am president and it made me so mad that my blood pressure went over 200 and I had a myocardial infarct and then, two weeks later a mural soft thrombus developed in the heart that broke loose, floated to the brain and I had a stroke. It only affected speech but to read aloud a one act play to a group with a speech deficit is tantamount to getting along with condominium owners, an impossible task. It goes to show, once again, genial indifference in some venues will go a long way to achieving longevity if that is your wish. I had thought that as president of the College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC and the Chief of the Medical Staff of The Royal Jubilee Hospital I was prepared for all meetings and attempts to torpedo the same. But I was young and strong then. Now as Isaiah says, "people are like grass--Their beauty is like the flower in the field---the grass withereth and the flower therof falleth away." The condominium business is "no country for old men."
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Yesterday I was invited to try out with a group who read one act plays every Monday from 10 to 12. I know it would be good for me to do this, but I have some, possibly neurotic, reservations. The group have been doing this activity for years together and perhaps it risks the harmony, being joined by one who has never read a one act play. The action and response of a collective of long standing will inevitably be changed. Fitting in is usually something I have easily done since I have considerable regard for the players, and my published essays, for what they are worth, are all on one page. It therefore promises a new experience; that passage of a clear message once, may be all that is necessary. I have more to learn than to give. I'm still a lucky guy.
I don't want to be like paint that never dries
or a road without an end. I don't want to see a sun that never sets, or a road that never bends. I don't want to leave debris behind that clutters up that space. An end that's clean is what I hope, shutting the door without a trace. I don't suppose it will happen. We linger on. Messy and indefinite our end. Unbegone! |
Jim Warren's
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For Jim's past posts, check out his old blog here:
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