One of the lessons I learned in college, one that has stayed with me, with my poetry then in those angst filled and overly dramatic days, though I haven’t been poetic in quite some time, is write of what may be just right in front of you, even if it’s just a thing. Wrote one years ago of my Dad’s cracked coffee mug. It was a simple well worn and cracked coffee mug but it was his, had his imprint, marbled brown and warm even before being filled and it sat on the kitchen counter every night waiting for the start of another his day. I’m sure he would have loved to take it with him, probably tried to on messy lap irritation occasion, maybe that’s where the crack from, a time before our now covered easy tumblers. But the writing of that mug and that simplicity opened a world of words for me. Just write what’s in front of you. A just a thing? Why not? No imagining your words greater than they are. I’d like to think that that “just what’s in front of you” is reflected in some of what have done since. I try, often, only to write of simple well worn and cracked coffee mugs.
Just a thing.
I have a clock, an actual one, not for decoration, that sits on the wall above my PC, a Pittsburgh Pirates one not surprisingly, but it’s always gaining time forcing me to constantly adjust to what the hell the real time may be. It was just 10 minutes not too long ago but now sits at around 23. Could I get the time with a phone check, sure, always exact, could I just grab the clock off my wall and change it, again sure, but there is something about this real clock that gains time, that reminds me of imperfections as they are reality plus that adjustment keeps me on my toes, especially when, early mornings, I shine a flashlight on it and have to do a little imperfection’s math.
It’s one of the first things I remember about Mom and Dad and a trying to teach me of stuff, back when clocks were something you looked to to give you reference to when you were. “Stephen … the small hand is here, the big hand is there …”. I can never look at a clock without a Mom and Dad thought or a cracked coffee mug that kept it’s own Dad time.
Those are the best of thoughts.
Just a thing.