The State of the Union begins…
And I sit here, thinking of the women who were in my living room tonight.
I wrote July 6 2011, in an email…the following:
My mother found A.A. Milne amongst the piles of things she was culling for an early summer garage sale. In hard cover and wearing its age the title shown almost matter of factly, “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh”.
“I never knew the name of the author! How is that even possible?” I thought. I opened it quickly and there on the inside cover, I see inscribed a happy birthday message from my aunt and uncle to my sister, Tracey. She is 7 and I can instantly see her long brown hair and small rounded face, intent and always curious. Next to the inscription, in pencil, as if prepared for some correction, looms a large 'Tracey Susan Utter' diagonal on the page. I almost finger the letters trying to picture my sister who once was a child who took care to form her name.
It is true that I am also a little jealous and take the other book found, which is smaller and red and before I open it I secretly hope “When We Were Young” is mine, with my own message inscribed just to me. But this one has no inscription or ownership clues, besides the red crayon scribbles, which line the early pages and darkly circle the dedication. I am fond of dedications, very curious to read them, for they speak to me of the story behind the book. The inspiration. The red lopsided circle is all I need to confirm ownership. I smell it, smile and call it mine.
“To Christopher Robin Milne
or as he prefers to call himself
Billy Moon
This book which owes so much to him
is now
humbly offered.”
I turn the page, another red circle around nothing and then the heading, “Just Before We Begin”. It is a foreword to Milne’s book of poems and it makes me cry when he speaks of “curious children who look four on Monday, and eight on Tuesday, and are really twenty-eight on Saturday, and you never know whether it is the day when he can pronounce his ‘r’s.’”
We know such children. I think long and hard about youth and family…love and those stories that must be told. I think about books we have all loved, that have changed us and somehow through just mere words have made us better.
Then I think of all of you and believe it would be nice to do literature at the lake. Especially if we were sitting together in a beautiful setting, having some simple food and carefully poured drinks.
I thought you might agree.
You are cordially invited to Cincinnatus Lake, on Sunday July 31st at 7 pm, as we revisit childhood.
In honor of my mother’s favorite, our first book will be Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. We do hope you can come. We will be taking recommendations of other childhood favorites for another month.
The email ended and the book club began and now it is six months later. Tonight I asked them to come, not because of a new book to be discussed, but because on Friday, I will be leaving this place for awhile and somehow knowing them, has made my stay here, worthwhile.
I love them, these women: the ones who taught me poetry and writing, sports and Spanish, now feel iconic. Maybe it is in their laugh, their knowledge, the mere abandon in the way they drink their wine. I don’t really care, other than I wish to stay in their presence for as long as I can.
But, they have left now, and I will leave soon too…
But I am still here and the State of the Union is starting…
And I feel the tug of the past on my skin
And even though I am not sure if I can bring myself to care about politics anymore, I still hope Obama will say what I want to hear.
Which, I suppose is exactly what old social studies teachers do.
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