Seven years ago, my late wife and I went on a self-guided arts and crafts tour of the countryside around Malvern, Arkansas. A day or two ago I was reminded of one of the highlights of the tour, when I came across a photo of my wife petting an alpaca while standing in the midst of a small herd of the animals. My wife was giddy with enjoyment at being among such soft, sweet animals. As I remember, the couple who raised the alpacas made yarn from the animals’ wool, which they then used to create sweaters and caps and the like. On that same self-guided tour, we visited several craft shops and art studios, where the artists and artisans were happy to demonstrate their skills and talk about how they came to devote their lives to their crafts. I remember being entranced as I heard of their experiences. I felt a longing I still feel today; I wanted to feel the same delight I saw in those people—the pure joy they felt when they pursued their passions. But one must first know what can ignite one’s own passion. I still do not know what, if anything, can spark that sense of joyful creativity in me. I did enjoy that leisurely day of immersion in art, seven years ago.
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About once a year, an artist who taught me the basics of working with clay gets in touch and suggests that she and her partner want to go out to lunch with me. I respond by saying I would love to do that; I ask her to say when and where. And then, about a year later, she contacts me again with the same invitation. I do not know quite what to make of this annual overture.
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I have felt considerably better the last few days than I did during the previous week or two. That is fairly common; the worst of the effects of chemo decline a week or two after treatment. But just about the time I feel almost human, it’s time for another treatment session. Two or three days later, it starts all over again. Not awful by any means, but definitely not something to which I look forward with great anticipation. My next treatment is scheduled for Monday. Ach. Maybe it will be different this time.
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Expensive jewelry holds no appeal for me. None whatsoever. But that does not mean there’s anything wrong with people who find expensive jewelry—diamonds and such—extremely alluring. I just do not understand the attraction. The same is true of “classic” cars; they do not trigger automobile lust in me, but some people find them incomprehensibly (to me) appealing. Do I find any physical “thing” almost irresistible? Nothing comes to mind. Maybe, though, irresistibility is a matter of mood. Perhaps I find some things almost magnetic…but only when I am in a certain frame of mind. What, though?
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A warm bed could easily lure me in right now. My hands and feet are cold and my eyes seek closure.
