March 16, 2019 – A quote and this and that

QUOTE:

         In the March/April edition of Writer’s Digest, is Padma Venkatraman’s essay, The Science of Writing.  It is in the Inkwell section under 5-Minute Memoir.

         What caught my attention was the side bar:

         . . . “When we read, we respond not just to the meanings of words but to rhythm and cadence – we listen to the music of the language because language, at is best, sings.”

         Padma couldn’t have explained it better.

         That is what I am striving for – the “SINGS” writing and I am far from it. 

         I don’t find enough of that type of writing to read.  But, when I do find it, I savor it as I read and re-read it slowly like a piece of good chocolate being held and melted on my tongue.

THIS AND THAT:

         I took the new [to me] pickup truck to the convenience center, what they call the dump in this area.  When I got there, four men were jockeying their pickups to back them up to the green metal dumpsters.

         Me, I decided to pull over to the side out of their way and park.  I unlatched the tailgate and carried my trash three car lengths to the green metal dumpsters.

         “I see you got you a truck,” called the friendly attendant.  He came out to look over the truck and said,

         “Nice looking . . .” and he grabbed one of my trash bags and hauled it to the metal dumpster while I made the second trip.

         “You should have gotten closer,” he commented.

         “When I got here, the place was filled up with men backing in.  I wasn’t going to jockey around with them.  I can walk.”

         He laughed at me smiling, “There is no one here now.”

         “Yeah, they’ve all left . . .” I said as I glanced around.

         “Is it good driving?”

         “Lots of giddy-up and go.  I haven’t gotten a load of mulch in it yet – I expect to in the next couple of weeks.”

         He nodded and peered into the empty truck bed commenting,

         “I’ve always owned a pickup truck. In fact, I’ve never driven a car.”

         I rolled those words over in my mind and smiled.  I couldn’t think of anything to say. 

         I confidently lifted and closed the tailgate.  Yes, that was one reason why I bought the truck.  That and it had running boards so I could easily climb into it and it is an automatic.  But, the real reason I picked it out – the color - blue. 

         I’ve thought about that comment – never driven anything but a truck.  I can’t image a man in his late 50s or early 60s not having driven a car, at least once in a while. His wife’s car, or a loner, or a rental?

         Did he take his gal to the prom in a truck? Maybe he didn’t go to a prom. What about going on vacation with the whole family – they haven’t had extended cabs but for the last dozen years . . .

         I have mulled over that comment for a couple of days now.  No, I am not judging, I am just thinkin’ about it and the ramification of only drivin’ a truck.

CHASE – AIRIN:

         Today I needed to get new keys for my truck.  I’m at the Dodge service desk and one of the fellas is cutting me new keys.  On the back wall there is a white board with the words in caps across the top:

         “CHASE – AIRIN”

         Directly under the dash is a vertical line dividing the white space in two.  There is a note on the left “Wm Paul battery”. There is nothing on the right.

         I am wondering – could those be names?  We did have a Chase community in the southern part of the county. I used to live there, so I am familiar with it.  Was Chase the location? Chase could also be a man’s name or a women’s name.  I seem to be noticing more “both” gender names on nametags on places that I shop recently.

         AIRIN? Something to do with air in tires?  I glance around the rest of the room and notice a first name “Chase” is on a technician diploma with level 1 and another with level 2 above the right computer terminal at the front counter.

         I look to the opposite computer and look for anything that may give me a clue to Airin.  No diplomas.  I lean to the left of the terminal and hanging on a nail is a lanyard with the picture of the fella who is cutting my keys just out the side door.  I can hear him, but I can’t see him.  Airin is his first name on his employee identity tag.

         I wonder, anything to do with Erin go bragh [Ireland Forever].  It is St. Patrick’s day week.

         I am so curious. It is taking forever for the keys to be made.

         When Airin comes back I launch an inquisition at him.

         “Airin that’s your first name?"

         He nods at me suspiciously. I can’t blame him. 

         “Anything to do with being Irish as in Erin go bragh?”  That seemed logical to me, he has reddish hair.

         “It is just a different spelling, that’s all.”

         “It is an unusual spelling, it’s pronounced like E-R-I-N?  Any reason why.”

         “Yeah, my Mom didn’t want me called A-RON.  Instead of A-A-R-O-N, she spelled it A-I-R-I-N.”

         “Does it cause you any problem?”

         “I wish I had 20 bucks, no a quarter for every time it has been spelled wrong . . . I’d be a millionaire by now,” he laughed with a big smile.  He was a good-natured fella, probably under 30 – he’d have to deal with it the rest of his life.

         He had my credit card now and was ringing me up.

         I said, “Yeah, like everyone wanting to pronounce the “H” in Theresa when it is silent.”

         He looked up and knowingly smiled.