Wow - its the middle of a busy Tuesday. I have 3 papers to write and a presentation to prepare for tomorrow. But i thought i'd take a short break while walking over to pick up some books from the library. On route the thought of tea and donuts called to me - who doesn't need a donut and a cuppa tea when writing papers?
When i got to Timmy Ho's, i made my order, and discovered, true to university's mandate on inconvieniences, they do not have debit. Nor do i ever have cash. Nor am i willing to put in the effort to go find cash when i should be back writing my papers. So i appologize and prepare to walk away. As i do, another Timmy Ho's lady says - "here, let me fill it up..." and takes my travel mug. I say "no - i don't have any cash" and she says "what did you want?" I repeat - "uhh - i don't have any cash..." and she says "what did you want." Its funny - i have no problems giving people things - but accepting freebies is a humbling experience.
Naturally, since i'm supposed to be writing papers, i'm thinking about anything but papers, and i was preoccupied by the thought of grace. Her simple GRACIOUS act has changed my day - i couldn't find any words to thank her enough for a cup of steeped tea she was probably going to throw out soon anyway. But she made such a big impact on me. I know this is going to sound "floofy" but in all seriousness - what kind of impact do i make on other people on a daily basis by the things i do and say?
This is a quote i was struck by in one of my classes yesterday. Its directed at teachers, but i think it applies to "everyday" situations as well ...
I think it might be one of those things i need to print out and stick on my desk - just to remind me.
I leave you with TS Elliot - one of my favourite - scratch that - my FAVOURITE poet.
AMONG the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
You have the scene arrange itself—as it will seem to do—
With “I have saved this afternoon for you”;
And four wax candles in the darkened room,
Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
5An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb
Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole
Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips.
“So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
10Should be resurrected only among friends
Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.”
—And so the conversation slips
Among velleities and carefully caught regrets
15Through attenuated tones of violins
Mingled with remote cornets
And begins.
“You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
20In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
[For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind!
How keen you are!]
To find a friend who has these qualities,
Who has, and gives
25Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
How much it means that I say this to you—
Without these friendships—life, what cauchemar!”
Among the windings of the violins
And the ariettes
30Of cracked cornets
Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins
Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,
Capricious monotone
That is at least one definite “false note.”
35—Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
Admire the monuments,
Discuss the late events,
Correct our watches by the public clocks.
Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.
40IINow that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in his fingers while she talks.
“Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you who hold it in your hands”;
45(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
“You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see.”
I smile, of course,
50And go on drinking tea.
“Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all.”
55The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune
Of a broken violin on an August afternoon:
“I am always sure that you understand
My feelings, always sure that you feel,
Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand.
60You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles’ heel.
You will go on, and when you have prevailed
You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
To give you, what can you receive from me?
65Only the friendship and the sympathy
Of one about to reach her journey’s end.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends….”
I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends
For what she has said to me?
70You will see me any morning in the park
Reading the comics and the sporting page.
Particularly I remark
An English countess goes upon the stage.
A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance,
75Another bank defaulter has confessed.
I keep my countenance,
I remain self-possessed
Except when a street piano, mechanical and tired
Reiterates some worn-out common song
80With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
Recalling things that other people have desired.
Are these ideas right or wrong?
IIIThe October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
85I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.
“And so you are going abroad; and when do you return?
But that’s a useless question.
You hardly know when you are coming back,
90You will find so much to learn.”
My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac.
“Perhaps you can write to me.”
My self-possession flares up for a second;
This is as I had reckoned.
95“I have been wondering frequently of late
(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
Why we have not developed into friends.”
I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
100My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark.
“For everybody said so, all our friends,
They all were sure our feelings would relate
So closely! I myself can hardly understand.
We must leave it now to fate.
105You will write, at any rate.
Perhaps it is not too late.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends.”
And I must borrow every changing shape
To find expression … dance, dance
110Like a dancing bear,
Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.
Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance—
Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
115Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
Doubtful, for a while
Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon…
120Would she not have the advantage, after all?
This music is successful with a “dying fall”
Now that we talk of dying—
And should I have the right to smile?
