Fiction

Stories and more stories, some of them mixed with fact, most completely contrived. I have known consumate liars who could remember their lies in such detail that it would take a mastermind (Sherlock Holmes?) to catch them up on their stories (and I think of a man I sailed with, who knew he was lying, but created stories which jibed with each other, seemingly without contradiction (?). He was an imposter, and the only way I knew was that he trusted me to let me into (some of) his mazes of lies. I thought of turning him in a few times, but ended up being an accomplice (unwittingly) until he suddently left the ship.

Some of my stories are so old at this point that I'm not completely sure of the details. & yet I want to share some of them, and will in this blog. They will be labelled fiction, if and when I can figure out a way to do that. Part of this is identity concern, perhaps, wanting not to use exact circumstances, names and dates (etc.) in order to "protect" some of the people involved. On the other hand, at times I will use the names, in part because I feel these individuals are either passed along, or wouldn't care one way or another.

My Grandfather Roberts told me legends, stories with meanings, sometimes (like LaFontaine) with animals as the characters. He did not, as far as I know, tell these stories to my siblings, but passed them along to me as the first born grandson. Unfortunately I did not inherit his memory for these tales, and now would have to visit some of the books which he had seemingly memorized to share these. He was a reader, but came from a time where aural memory was much more important. His memory worked well for songs too, and would sing to my Grandmother at times. I have gone back to some of the books and found them disappointing, it was better to me to get them live, from Grandfather's memory (eg. the tales that warned you about dangerous behavior, Cautionary Tales, or the Fables of LaFontaine).

Carelessness

It seems we are in an era of carelessness, lots of mistakes being made. Is it because of self and mass preoccupation? No sure. When I was racing automobiles many years ago (or was it motorcycles?) I told my Mother that my middle name was Careful, so she wouldn't worry & be preoccupied with my safety. Julia did not think it funny, but did seem to backoff on being upset and critical.

Reading the amazing book by Bell Hooks on love ("All about Love; New Visions") she makes a valuable distinction about the differences between care and love. Seems that a lot of caregiving is called loving, but does not really go there; eg. cared for but not loved. I think part of my problem is that I am a much easier caregiver than a lover. Too bad. I do like to care for people, and be cared for. Love goes another way, and I have been uneasy there.

Carelessness is indicative of neglect, of a lack of attention to details, which the "devil is in..." Carelessness is the turning away at the crucial moment, when something might be saved, or healed. To be careful may be too cautious to apply care when it is timely needed, "timing is everything." My hope is to love and be loved more in the years I have left. But it may take some work, OK? & caregiving will continue too.