Musing

today’s Musing written and published from The Woodlands, Texas

24C/77F (high 32C), grass heavily laden with dew, at lease 5’9” deep . . . I feel like I am walking underwater in a pool, morning sun ball cleared trees, burned off morning fog; my walk (nobody walks here . . all grass, no sidewalks!) through the pines, left an impression, each street heavily treed shrouding housing, office parks, industrial and institutional facilities side-by-side but you would never know it from the road . .

the worse an event is, the longer it seems to last or be perpetually re-remembered; good news, unfortunately, does not sell soap or newspapers – so 5.9 billion people are not media worthy, which has nothing to do with worth or value or people living lives of quiet perspiration; what will today’s disaster, tragedy or debacle du jour be, what impression will it leave us ?

for most people in most places this is a just another Friday; end of the week, end of the month, end of summer – either anxious to get home, or to get away, looking forward to this weekend when we celebrate labour by closing cottages and raking leaves – an impression on memory, not just any weekend but a memorable labour day weekend after which it will be back-to-work, back-to-school, back-to-basics . . meanwhile camping trips and media regurgitations of everything Diana and Katrina will fill us way beyond our tolerance level . . to that point of saying ‘I’ll scream if I read or hear one more thing about that!’; then we turn on a TV or turn a page – again, there they are - one an enigma, one a hurricane – each left repercussions, each leaves an impression

time spent in new places always leaves an impression; I’ve seen pretentiousness, arrogance, kindness, citizenship, courtesy and work ethic since I’ve been here – it feels comfortable because it feels pretty much like being anywhere else or being at ‘home’; I’ve not been here yet long enough to function in a car without two maps on the go, not gathered a sense of being much less belonging . . but it feels like home

I looked around the hotel lobby this morning, watching actions, listening to the banter – it could have easily been anywhere I’ve been; wasted conversation on things way too petty to be called petty, one-up-manship (women do it too, only better) of one man trying to appear slightly superior to his colleague on the other side of the table; as if value is measured by the cut of one’s clothes, road warrior toys, or the rocks worn on the trophy-wife’s finger while their conversation with children is surreal (I wonder, do they really talk that way at home?)

most of us believe we leave no impression at all – that we live our life and then we are gone, having no impact on the world, on future generations; true, most of us are not named Edison or Einstein or Ghandi, but as I look around I see that most of us live to be called grandma or grandpa . . it seems they leave an impression

I looked around the hotel lobby this morning, I saw little ones turning away shyly to hold an outstretched thumb from mom or granddad, sitting up smartly to eat their French toast without getting syrup all over everything . . they are not at home, they are in Houston

places to go, people to see, gotta run, Houston waits; good news, good places and good people always leave an impression

Mark Kolke
341,300
201.8


What do you think? Join the discussion - your comments are welcomed - please write.

To subscribe to Mark's Musings daily email distribution, write to musing@maxcomm.ca