Every time I see your face… I heard Ringo Starr singing this yesterday in the grocery store (all right, it was a recording on the speaker; he wasn’t really there singing in the aisle to the whole-grain spaghetti….) I woke with it in my head, and I keep hearing it.
Beyond an easy tune, with a set of memories triggered, as so often happens with the soundtracks of our lives, I find myself wondering. He and George Harrison wrote the lyrics one way, and it seems clear Ringo sang about a lost love. But there are so many lost loves in all our lives. Is it telling that now in my sixties, I find myself yearning over this with thoughts of my parents? Thinking of walks in the late summer woods of New Hampshire on almost forgotten paths my father recalled from his father’s footsteps, with the maidens hair fern and the old brown ghosts of past lady slipper leaves, barely visible if you know what to look for? In my mind I find myself walking on warm night roads with my mother, daring the amazing depth of an African moonless dark, with only the shimmering glory of stars for light. You can tell me that we shouldn’t have done that, given the danger of snakes, but we did, and it was magic and I’m here to tell you about it.
But all I’ve got is a photograph...and what photograph can ever tell anything? Like a song it’s just a fragment of the riches of our lives, a trigger for the tenderness of our pasts.
A friend wrote to me the other day: The truth is, most of us receive much more attention, encouragement and love than we merit, or even notice. It’s with maturity that that realization comes, if it comes at all. So many of our contemporaries seem to be on a treadmill of earning money to educate children to maintain social status, etc., that they cannot even stop to admire a rainbow, or ask news of a friend in the same town, or spend an hour or two with an elderly person whose kindness enhanced their lives at some point.
Years ago, Barbara Bush declared at a commencement address at Barnard College: “You’re bright, well-educated, ambitious, and you’re determined to succeed in your careers. Just don’t forget that at the end of your lives, what will count for you, is those you have loved.” — Those words created a scandal, and many rued having invited a housewife, be she a First Lady, to speak at such an occasion. They make sense to me, however, as does the first tenet of Jewish faith (according to one of our classmates, to whom I admitted my Presbyterian ignorance of Judaism): leave the world a better place.
In a wonderful way my friend’s letter is an invitation to live, and live well. I take it personally, I needed that. It is so easy to become trammeled about with anxieties and worries that in the long run fade, or were never one’s personal business to be offended by or fraught over. I’m not arguing for indifference, for political passivity, but I am thinking that cultivating your own garden is necessary before you can offer vegetables to your neighbors.(You should see the basket of eggplant I just harvested!)
How does this go with walks by night or in the New Hampshire woods? The point is this– all these generosities made us. Time spent, often quietly– shared time. The point is gifts given freely to allow us to live. These are messages from the dead to the living, from experience to youth. Pick up your bent photograph with its tattered edge, and remember, and in remembering make it real. Step out, go, give, share, even the silence.
I have often thought that our job is not to listen for God’s words, but for his silences. Walking together, we live forever under this holy sky.