" Look" , I said to the pianist that morning, " There is a flock of American Widgeons that has returned. They weren't here yesterday. " They are the first returnees of our winter ducks. What is it that is so comfortable of the familiar? Expectations met ! The orb is turning as it ought.
November is a black month here, but the dark , wind and cold is familiar and we can rely on the Widgeons and the Buffleheads as part of, it so they are welcome too. The widgeons tell us it is good to be here. They say, "This is where we choose to come and you are our familiar. You can rely on the Bufflrheads and us and the others to sooth your familiars."
The older one becomes the more familiars one has and the more they become of value. My kids, when they were young liked the same story over and over again. If I changed it a little bit they objected. "That's not right dad Tell it the way that you are supposed to, " they said . They were young so had developed fewer familiars and what they had was precious to them. Breaking new ground, on the other hand, is crucial for the young, creating new familiars for themselves, though they may not know it at the time
Years ago I had a white cable-knit sweater that I really loved. I wore it a lot , and particularly on my boat with my captain's hat and a scarf: it became a joie de vivre! It was my statement. As it was in frequent use it became frayed at the wrists and the waist became baggy. It looked a bit like a tent and at times the belly button showed. The elbow yarn thinned and there was a little stain in the front, and after multiple washings the pianist chucked in the bin to discard. I retrieved it and continued to wear it , averse comments notwithstanding. It was a familiar and I still felt a certain jauntiness it imparted despite the disagreeable aspect. After all I was the author of its decrepitude and owed it protection. My efforts to prolong the life of my cable=knit led to naught when the pianist had it to repeatedly wash and finaly trashing it and having it repeatedly retrieved. One day she washed the green algae off the greenhouse floor with my treasure. It was a dirty grey green and irretrievable.
It was like the day when my aunt Mildred took my blanket away when I was three. She said, " You don't need your blanket any more Jim, now that you are three." Another familiar bit the dust. Both Mildred and the pianist were right. I needed to break new ground.
November is a black month here, but the dark , wind and cold is familiar and we can rely on the Widgeons and the Buffleheads as part of, it so they are welcome too. The widgeons tell us it is good to be here. They say, "This is where we choose to come and you are our familiar. You can rely on the Bufflrheads and us and the others to sooth your familiars."
The older one becomes the more familiars one has and the more they become of value. My kids, when they were young liked the same story over and over again. If I changed it a little bit they objected. "That's not right dad Tell it the way that you are supposed to, " they said . They were young so had developed fewer familiars and what they had was precious to them. Breaking new ground, on the other hand, is crucial for the young, creating new familiars for themselves, though they may not know it at the time
Years ago I had a white cable-knit sweater that I really loved. I wore it a lot , and particularly on my boat with my captain's hat and a scarf: it became a joie de vivre! It was my statement. As it was in frequent use it became frayed at the wrists and the waist became baggy. It looked a bit like a tent and at times the belly button showed. The elbow yarn thinned and there was a little stain in the front, and after multiple washings the pianist chucked in the bin to discard. I retrieved it and continued to wear it , averse comments notwithstanding. It was a familiar and I still felt a certain jauntiness it imparted despite the disagreeable aspect. After all I was the author of its decrepitude and owed it protection. My efforts to prolong the life of my cable=knit led to naught when the pianist had it to repeatedly wash and finaly trashing it and having it repeatedly retrieved. One day she washed the green algae off the greenhouse floor with my treasure. It was a dirty grey green and irretrievable.
It was like the day when my aunt Mildred took my blanket away when I was three. She said, " You don't need your blanket any more Jim, now that you are three." Another familiar bit the dust. Both Mildred and the pianist were right. I needed to break new ground.
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