Wednesday, March 30, 2016

tears and napkins

Tears and napkins seem to be on the mental menu this morning.

Of the former, I was listening to a random collection of musical pieces last night and found myself welling up with tears. I had saved the music because, for one reason or another, I found it beautiful ... and by "beautiful" I mean dissolving in one way or another.

Putting that together with the fact that I probably didn't cry enough when I was little -- whether from joy or sorrow -- and the music uncorked my tear-filled casks. I wondered if musicians were aware of the magic they were capable of weaving. I wondered if their own music made them cry. No matter ... I had tears, inescapable tears, on my agenda.

Real men don't cry. Or is it real men do cry? Does it matter much if a man cries in the forest and there is no one else around? And no, I am not a politician who has been caught out in some routine dalliance.

Dissolved: Isn't it enough to weep for? But with a lifetime of not enough weeping, it's a newish occurrence in my life. Something has changed.  I do so love being consumed and am less afraid of the consequences.

Of napkins. Fewer people are using and/or buying them:
The use of paper napkins has been declining for 20 years. According to Georgia-Pacific statistics, six out of 10 households purchased paper napkins on a regular basis 15 years ago; today it’s slightly more than four out of 10.
This feels somehow important -- a social sea change of some sort or perhaps another knuckling under to that grubby harlot called Facebook. The last time I used a napkin was in a cafe over coffee and a sweet roll. There is a largely untouched stack of paper napkins in the paper-goods shelf in the kitchen. But generally, I use paper towels as napkins ... and Kleenex as well. It's convenient and -- as distinct from Facebook -- has a functional outcome that does not pretend to be something other than what it is.

1 comment:

  1. Someone gave me free tickets to Revels some thirty years back. It was an annual event held at christmas time at the Oakland masonic hall, a capella, folk music, and beautiful beyond tears. I sobbed through most of it which scared the woman i was living with at the time. She grew up in an alcoholic household and i was supposed to beat her, not cry at music. I hung in there for five years, mostly for her kids. Hindsight tells me what i wish i had in foresight. But the terror in her eyes wasn't going to dry mine.