Sunday, August 08, 2010

On the Loss of Familiarity

M called and is bringing tacos. As I sit waiting for breakfast and coffee, the fog is slowly clearing. This morning is one of few that will never quite be reproduced in familiar form. These summer weeks that I have lived year after year, hoping for some form of change, sometimes wistfully, at other vociferously, are apparently going to change. My home will be different, my routes strange, and my acquaintances sparse. I will no longer be able to walk into a coffee shop and find O or V or C or even one of those vaguely known faces that I smile at but cannot put an initial to; I will no longer be a well-trod footstep.

This is a loss. It is minor. But in a world of catastrophes that are so large that they only have minor impact, the minor losses are hard. Not very much so, but slightly difficult to comprehend and it is their minor incomprehensibility that bothers and pinches. Like a stone in my shoe.

So this morning, in a bid to banish what is after all, a small, niggling pain, I will have tacos. And listen to Kishore Kumar. And type a blog post. I will gather into my consciousness a few, familiar, markers that will travel with me. Food, music, words. In a life mostly ordinary, this is all one can do. And it is enough.

Pierre August-Renoir
Gypsy Girl
Oil on canvas
73 x 54 cm
Private collection, Canada