IN A WORD
… there is life, memory and meaning
Monday May 12, 2014
Words, are much more than just conveyances of feeling.
They are sign-posts, guide-posts. They express feeling. In their own right, without need of sentences wrapped around them.
Take, for instance, endurance.
Not its extractions, contractions and extensions – not enduring, endured. Not its synonyms, not its antonyms, not its usage or origin.
Just, simply - endurance.
Endurance.
Endurance equals survival but seems to have a more heroic, triumphant and celebratory feeling to it. Like drops of water drilling their way, so slowly, through a stone. It might take forever, still those drops show up for work and do their tasks.
Endurance is gnarled weather-beaten, life-beaten, hands.
Endurance, not measured in easy times, not spoken of in horrid ones, means something or someone survived a grueling journey, adversity or horror.
Endurance isn’t about winning a contest against a road or a distance – but when the road, that distance, is against us, then endurance comes out to play.
A skirmish lost, a battle lost, a war lost – does not tire us or delay us unless it slays us.
Endurance isn’t survival. Endurance is what happens after survival.
It is easy to see and admire endurance, but not something we can design/plan and then do.
Endurance can be a weathered old garden tool, a good principle or a very steady idea.
Endurance isn’t something that lasts, but a description of things, ideas and people who do.
Endurance isn’t fortitude, isn’t guts – but endurance has fortitude, has guts.
Endurance is the tree, not the wind.
Endurance is the shore, not the sea.
Endurance is not a reason to be, but quite something to see . . .
Mark Kolke
197,984
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: 0C/32F, bright sun, empty sky, steady (chilly) north breeze, a new week opens like one of those daffodils we walked past – bright, full of energy, new growth – but Gusta seemed far more interested in sniffing out rabbit-candy …
Reader feedback / comments always welcome:
The other side of the fence. I miss my mother, my dad, not so much. Years ago at his funeral, the saddest part , was I was not sad, tried to hide that. As age arrives for me, almost 66, I do forgive him, know he was a man who did not stand up to pressure, the drinking, the fights, the lack of any fatherly support, all that happens in many forms in many homes, so I don't feel "special" , just one of many. Working in a mental health area, Am aware that I see life at it's worst, not the happy stable families. Erickson' stages of development, the task of the senior ( 60 + ) is a satisfactory life review. I feel have many years to grow, learn ,give, try new things. Will in all honesty wonder if when the time ends for me, if there are those who will say," she did the best she could, could have done better". So, as I go on, maybe can do more, keep open to live & learn , have a few more adventures, keep being better, MLD, Memphis, TN
Here's my take on this subject, SG, Calgary, AB
My mother died when I was 11 and she was 46. Every time my friends would criticize their mothers I would tell them to cherish each moment as it may not last. She was outgoing, social and loved to laugh. She also was a relentless tease. She also was the parental disciplinarian. Heaven knows how we would have been if she was around for my teens. I challenged her then so I can imagine how we would come at each other. She had many sayings to help me cope with life: "sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you", and my favourite "Good, better, best, may you never rest, until your good is better and your better is best". Her words of "wait until your father gets home", did not fill me with fear but dread that he would say, in a disappointed tone, just one word..."Nikki". I would burst into tears at that every time. I adored that man, and lost him when I was 25, and he was just in his early 60's.. Parents may have made mistakes, but they did their best. Miss them both! My older siblings, who are now in their 70's still complain about things that happened that hurt them. It may be my nature or may be because I lost them so early, but they loved and adored each other, and we knew, or at least I did, that we came second and I loved them for that. Everybody can be mean and cruel at times. It is human nature. It is also in us to forgive, love and understand that the hurt was unintentional and that circumstances happen to cause these things, that we may never know, NL, Lanark, ON
