Monday, November 07, 2005

# 72 ROMANTIC NOTIONS - Chapter 1

We all have Romantic Notions whether we are six or sixty, and of course with time, they change. But in the midst of our own currency, our own perceptions of perfect romance, whether it be candlelit dinners, soft music, or wild physical abandonment, we all have our own keyhole view that leaves us quite unable to view the Lovescape of others that are older or much younger. So like the added depth of a movie vista when viewed through 3-D glasses, I offer you interpretations of Romance, varied by distance and time, that you will not find in Harlequins, music videos, movies, or in your own sphere of current interpretation.


To begin with, when I was in highschool, I read the earliest essays of an author and never have I felt more comfortably wrapped in another’s company than I did in his. Uncannily, we shared the same surname, and what surprised me more was when I started reading what he had written, I immediately knew intuitively where the next line would lead; what the next thought would be.

And in addition to this, he tended to let his imagination wonder the same way I do. But even in his wildest moments I was able to boldly track his imaginings. It was so uncanny that immediately I became highly suspicious that we not only shared the same surname, but the same DNA as well. But as much as I loved his writing that shared such commonality with my own, what I loved most of all was him.

Now it was not what he wrote that choked me with such emotion, it was the deeper intensity it stirred in my soul for the author. It was the author I fell in love with. Between the lines I could decipher a man with a manner of speaking common to my tribe, and with values and convictions common to my tribe. I was certain, from the onset, that this man was my great uncle, thrice removed, or my cousin, thrice removed, or a grandfather, thrice removed – whatever, but definitely someone from a branch of my own family tree. I even sniffed his books to see if they held hidden in between the pages, some remnant of an identifiable body smell or the delicacy of familiar tribal pheromones.

But as luck would have it, as this author’s writing became more popular, as his education progressed, and progressed it did, with him eventually rising to a Professorship in a prestigious university, the commonality began to wane. His later writings lost the flavor of his inner soul. They became a dull mix of university-educated arrogance and a rigidity of stylized thesis-building until no similarity between his thinking and mine remained. He moved from the simple magnetic prose of every-day stuff to the flat lifeless world of politics with lengthy lists of bibliographic references that roped in any imagination or original thought. And this new style forced everything he wrote into distant deviations well to one side or the other of the inner reflective voice that I had grown to know and love.

Despite this, I promised that when I had sufficient time to give proper thought to the matter, I would contact him and let him know my suspicions. But I procrastinated far too long and when I finally was hooked to the magic of the Internet and ready to contact him, within a few weeks of my determination, before it could be put into action, he passed away. And because he had no wife or family, that ended my quest.

And coming from a family of 13, I have never been on a quest for more relatives. In fact, it is with burning shame that I admit to you, how seldom I visit those relatives that are within a convenient driving distance from my own home.

But in this instance, I regret my postponement in the matter. Perhaps this author, of whom I speak, would have cared less if he were a shirt-tail relative of mine. Perhaps he would have preferred not to be bothered by me. And that would be okay. But knowing for a certainty that we shared the same DNA would have given me a confidence in writing that would have led me to write stuff that would be so much more inviting than what you are reading right now.

And unfortunately, compounding my regret is the loneliness I felt at his passing, convinced, as I was that our souls were intertwined because of the magic of DNA.
This post was about a Romantic Notion relevant to family matters. Perhaps not as ‘in keeping’ with my theme as you had hoped. But stay tuned. The next post has to do with Romantic Notions inherent in relationships between husbands and wives. And the ability, or lack of ability, of either party to remain monogamous for a lifetime.


Blogger Eliz said...

Once I was in a library and picked up a lovely little volume of poetry and began reading it. Amazingly enough one of the poems was almost identical to one I had written. I went to find my grandmother and have her check out the book for me so I could continue reading.

My grandmother didn't check the book out for me. Instead she took me to the author's house. That was the first time I realized that my cousin Maude wrote poetry too.

Now why didn't I recognize her name? Because she was always referred to as "Cousin Maude, one of the Wilkerson girls" instead of "Maude D...."

Amazing things can be discovered in books.

9:10 AM  
Blogger Roberta said...

eliz, that is truly incredible. So maybe there is something to how I felt about this particular author.

1:12 PM  
Blogger Eliz said...

Roberta, I think there is.

It's also amazing how behaviors and expressions get handed down from generation to generation.

That's a whole other post though, isn't it?

9:31 AM  

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