| A Word Edgewise by Mary Joe Clendenin |
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| A Word Edgewise by Mary Joe Clendenin |
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Last Updated 07/12/06
For more literature go
to Clendenin Books
Email: mjclen@our-town.com
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.