Second Friday

José Saramago

One of the things I like and enjoy in life is really smart people who ask good questions. In my opinion however, they are often far too humorless and abashed in this endeavor=defensive.

Nuts to that.

I was challenged by two people today on my several core issues I often talk about, or perhaps have not talked about enough.

I am not sure where I got it, but I have a sort of fearlessness that without humor would be daunting, or perhaps damning; and even with it can be unnerving. As I have given up, in a very real sense, on anything but hanging with my “Tribe” it’s okay. They stretch from coast to coast. No bloodlines except perhaps sister and the offspring.

You know who you are.

I talked earlier tonight with someone in my Tribe. I am protective as I should be…yet respectful. The same.

It is an open discussion, which is part of what makes the Tribe I am in really work. If you don’t have that you cannot run with us.

Not everyone in your Tribe agrees with you all that often. In fact, they often are your best challengers. So with my friend E who took the time and care to send me Saramago’s The Stone Raft, a novel where the Iberian Peninsula breaks off from the European continent and begins to “drift as if it were some sort of stone raft”.

Like all my best friends, we often disagree on major issues, yet we listen. That is what makes us of the same Tribe. I listen to E…Always. She has often changed my mind or been at least instrumental in giving me a different lens to see through.

I have read the first chapter and I am enthralled and delighted. I am reminded and humbled by the fact that I write pulp essays, farce, reviews, and fiction. Saramago is several castes higher. He is a finely crafted sword and I am a Swiss Army knife.

Saramago has as been as large in her life as Walker Percy has been in mine. She always dreamed of going to the Canary Islands and sitting with him and watching the ocean.

I always dreamed of sitting on the old Southern porch with Walker Percy and banging back a nice bourbon neat…but only one (Percy had a stomach condition that excluded further embibing…lucky him).

Ironically, E grew up, or now lives down the street from Walker Percy’s old house.

She advises “Relish every word. A first Saramago novel for anyone is something you will never forget.”

I believe after just chapter one. Even the smallest phrases are packed.

From E to K



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