In a previous post, readers were introduced to You can call me anything.
I’m feeling teary-eyed and nostalgic today so this entry will cover This about that as mentioned elsewhere in my wide web of wordiness.
From what I’ve acquired from my late father’s Muskoka’isms, it is idle chatter, small talk filling in the silence, the void between two physical beings. In some way though, the chat would bring us to some deeper subject, some connection to our lives, those of others and how they intertwine during our short performance on this beautiful theatre in the round.
“Well, it’s nice to hear this about that,” my dear old Dad would chime from the other end of the telephone. After his passing away in 2001, I missed our monthly chats with the kids piping in to talk with him and ask about Sylvester, my old, fat cat who still resided at the homestead. I miss my Dad and his small town ways, his slow saunter through his village, his soft heart, his stories and his lush, experimental gardens.
I miss those simpler times when there was no super information highway, no shameless theft of intellectual property or electronic scams, spams and phishes. The only phishes we knew were the fishes he tried to catch through a hole in the frozen Muskoka lakes and bays. There were walks to the post office, the corner store, chats with neighbours and porch chair sessions in view of the intersection, the towering sunflowers, busy bird feeders and the hungry, hungry giant pumpkins. THAT was interactive.
You can read ten years’ worth of This About That posts under my different names of days gone by, and witness the birth and evolution of my novel, The Year of the Rabbit. You can obtain an electronic sample from my publisher.
Thanks for dropping by.