| A Word Edgewise
by Mary Joe Clendenin |
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CHOICES VIEWED IN PASSING
Where has it gone? Where has it all gone? All that time that has slipped away? Days, months, years, that deceived me by going so slowly when I began the journey, seem now on a slippery downhill plunge--and I've not done nor accomplished half the things I would like to have done.
I'd love, this very morning to stand on a high cliff overlooking an ocean: to feel and taste the salt spray as the waves broke below sending a fog upward, to see the gulls swooping and gliding below me as well as over head, to see the whitecaps and the mighty oceans stretching to the horizon, to live on a point of land with such a scene outside my breakfast window. Never mind that I'm uneasy of such heights. Forget that I live hundreds of miles from such scenes--with roots reaching deep into Texas soil.
I'd love to scratch a whale's nose: to communicate with one of those great intelligent mammals that live and play in the deep. Perhaps we have more in common than scientists have discovered. I'd like to be one to make a better connection, swimming with the dolphins, watching them jump in beautiful arcs. But I've not much desire to watch them in captivity, though they seem to enjoy putting on shows, their movements speak of freedom.
It gives me a thrill to see jet fighter planes flying so high and fast that they seem to be hanging from a con-trail in the heavens. As I see, on television, teams of expert pilots making their huge planes do acrobacis in the sky, see them flying almost straight up I think of the poem one of them wrote, "I have broken the bonds of Earth. . . reached out my hand and touched the face of God," (I'm sure I've misquoted that and wish I could find the poem). Yes, I'd like to be there, too.
I once wanted to write a book--a book that would make a difference to the world, but wondered what I would write about? What do I know enough about to write such a book? Thirty years ago I thought that when I learned more, I could begin such a volume--but I still don't know enough. The yearning seems there. The dream still lingers. But time is running out, and no words of wisdom come.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to be a great artist and paint a memorable picture of love, hope and peace? Even if I had the talent, I'd be like the woman carver in THE DOLL MAKER who had a beautiful stump of cherry wood from which she wanted to carve a bust of Jesus. She spent most of her life looking for a model and never found one. What would be the subject for a picture of love and peace?
I would love to live in an ancient castle, for just a week, maybe. Not one where tourists march through to marvel at reconstructed wonders. I'd want one where ghosts of the past still wandered and whispered of great deeds. I'd want to wander in the great halls and imagine the feasts, the reports of travelers, the romance of kings. Mind you, I'd want no rats around. I wouldn't want to live there in winter time when the only heat and only light was from great open fires--and I'd want the whispering ghosts to be very friendly.
Digging into a great city lost in the jungle for centuries, to find pieces of history, has always been a dream of mine. The artifacts of strange civilizations, hiding stories of lives before, broken pieces of dreams and nightmares, were they romantics, too? Trying to decipher forgotten languages to know the people who wrote them, must be fascinating. Exploring pyramids or other ancient burial places seems exciting--never mind the heat, the stifling dust, the manual labor associated with such work. I dream of the glamour!
I'd love to have been a great actor, an olympic class athlete, a miracle working doctor able to re-connect nerves so that paralysis could be avoided, a great scientist discovering the secrets hidden in nature--but I am an armchair dreamer.
Actually, my life has been crowded with the things I chose, and I have no regrets. The phases the years have presented me have been full of rewards. The growing up years--where I learned to dream, to read and broaden my horizons, were among family and friends who cared--though most thought me a little strange. The years as wife and mother were challenging, to say the least. The years of guiding and providing for those children and husband the Lord loaned me were the ones where I really needed wisdom. But like everyone else, I had to play it by ear, to wing it, trusting that I wouldn't do permanent damage.
The years of teaching school filled a need for me as well as filling a need for others. I touched the lives of many, gently, I hope, with some attitude to instill, of life to affect--and a little knowledge to impart. I hope I broadened their lives a little, opened their eyes to see possibilities they might never have dreamed of, given them feelings of self-worth and compassion for others.
Yes, there have been times of sorrow, times of regret. Times of despair and anger have sprinkled the years. I've grown through disappointments and false starts.
At no point could all of my dreams have been fulfilled. After all, dreams are made to live in armchairs, not in reality--and I'm happy with the choices I did make. Cherishing the ability to dream, with the help of a good book, I can still live the romance of wonder and travel and adventure and new thresholds. I am busy celebrating life.