Spring

To spare the young man’s blushes I shall abbreviate his name to A—. He’s my nephew by marriage, nearly 15, and goes to a good school. So I was asking him about that, and he told me his vocabulary had become somewhat depleted. He didn’t use the word “depleted” of course. He explained that in earlier years he used to read voraciously (but he didn’t use that word either). And then, as if to prove his point, he retired abruptly from this highbrow conversation with his uncle, to resume the computer game which he had graciously paused. I observed dwarfish warriors scuttling round the battlements of a vast castle, garishly coloured, which revolved in accordance with the action, attempting unsuccessfully to obey the laws of perspective.

I was not ready to give up on A—. I don’t like to see early promise dashed by teenage indolence. I suggested that if he desired to replenish his vocabulary, he might like to look at my blog. “Oh! You have a blog?”—as if expressing amazement that an earlier generation could indulge in something so up-to-date.

Accordingly, he cast his gaze on my previous post, “Wayfaring Again”, and absorbed its gist to the extent of his attention-span, by speed-reading the first third of the text. I was impressed by his immediate critique, that it was all wonderfully philosophical and would be fine in a book; but that in a blog it lacked credibility, specifically its pretence that the words were dictated into a voice-recorder during my alleged aimless wanderings. In point of fact, A—, they were so dictated, though naturally edited later. But I felt that your criticism, which I may not have done justice to here, got to the heart of the matter, and reflected my original doubts whether to publish that post at all.

So I want to get to the point more snappily today, whether or not A— becomes my regular reader. I doubt he will ever return, but what do I know?

All that I ever have to say is dictated by the moment: especially by the sunshine, or sometimes the stillness of the night. There are certain sacred spots too, in which for a minute or several, I’m captivated. There is a spot in the kitchen—I could mark it with an X on the floor. It’s where I stand to hang up clean utensils on a row of hooks, or return spices to their place on the shelf. It’s as if the kitchen cracks open to reveal a magical landscape, reminding me of a place somehow beyond memory, perhaps beyond this external world.

Another such spot is the backyard when I hang out washing on the line, especially on a Sunday morning, especially on this day, March 21st. A pregnant hush hangs in the fresh clear air. The sun has reached the upper part of the east-facing fence, high enough to warm the sheets when I hoist up the line with its wooden prop. These spots are aspects of Home which I’ve designed and built, in harmony with their environment. If men and women are to flourish in sane living, it’s vital to maintain a grasp on that harmony with Nature, as enjoyed by our hunting and agrarian ancestors.

Despite a harsh winter, everything I planted is coming up in this tiny backyard: well, almost everything. I rescue a worm from a concrete path that I’m sweeping. I marvel at its ability to move in either direction, as if it had a head at each end; at the delicate vein visible through its transparent skin; at the way it burrows eagerly back into the soil. The worm is a success story of Nature. I hope I will learn to do as well. Somewhere overhead, a group of wheeling gulls stridently repeat some anecdote, or excitedly plan some bold exploit—I can’t decide which. There’s a faint roar far up in the heavens. Logically, it must be connected with an elongating vapour-trail that something is writing on the blue sky.

There’s another way to distil the inspiration, and periodically I give it a shot: to pen the whole piece in a single session, driven by the moment’s intensity. Oh! And Afam (whoops! I’ve told the world who you are), never mind that you have eschewed leisure-time reading in favour of computer games. If you ever read this post, and get this far down it, I want to tell you I’m grateful for your insights.

Comments
Ghetufool
very nice post. but don’t think that your world is right and others are wrong. Who knows, A could become a gaming champion. you have any idea how much they get paid? your whole pension benefits for the first prize! damn with your vocabulary.VincentIn a damned parallel universe, boys and girls read voraciously, and some are spurred on to become vocabulary champions, sponsored by publishing companies.
Ghetufool
ha ha ha. befitting reply!
Charles Bergeman
I am not hung up on vocabulary or grammar. I just want my kid to think critically. I believe I have helped her to examine her circumstances and surroundings. She is a thoughtful person, one who does not simply take things at face value. While I might not agree with how she spends her spare time, I am comfortable knowing that she will continue to examine things at a deeper level than many of her peers. She finds it to be both a blessing and a curse. She cannot be satisfied with the superficial truth that is commonly accepted among her friends. It often results in frustration.
Luciana
Love that corner in the kitchen, Vincent! As for reading and video games, there should be always a middle path there. You know, there are very interesting stories/simulations in the games that can lead to a book. That´s what happens with my son. He´s a voracious (since you like that word :-)reader who simulates a lot of what goes on in his imagination in video games. He´s very much into Lord of the Rings right now- the books and the game. But of course, he can only play one hour a day, because too much of one thing, whatever it is, even reading with all the vocabulary it gives you, is not good for anybody. There´s a real world out there
Vincent
Well, I think it’s my role to stick up for the old ways, and treat with suspicion these new-fangled things like computer games. This doesn’t amount to criticising children for how they spend their time! Indeed Charles it is a blessing and a curse to examine things at a deeper level, but it’s more important, I think, to adapt to one’s inner impulse than conform to external pressures.And Luciana, there should be a middle path, just as (for some at any rate) there should be extremes. When I concentrate on something, I don’t want to do anything else, ever. But fortunately the natural rhythms of life intervene at regular intervals, or something else catches my attention . . . Unfortunately, some things are designed and marketed expressly in order to be addictive, and so instead of just doing what we like, all the time, we have to tread cautiously.
Zacl
How the younger generation encapsulates its sense of vision is most enlightening. There’s a lot to be said for an acute critical analytical train of thought developing, and I reckon your young relative has it. I have no doubt, Vincent, he may have just be a bit more than a chip off the old block! Congratulations!

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Update three years later. The boy in question won a scholarship to St Paul’s School in London, has been offered a place at the University of Durham (but may hold out for Oxford) and has been welcomed by a political party (not the one which I support) as a hopeful if he chooses that kind of career.