The packers are assembling our lives in boxes. With care and appropriate respect. As husband said last night when I had a little melt down while packing for the next few weeks and (the deep storage stuff) for the rest of our lives: you’re feeling the pain of busting open the frame. Precisely right. My edges are unclear.
And I miss my assembled wall of books already as I watch them gently packed into boxes, to that soundtrack of moving, that explosion of adhesive tape unspooled and plunked on cardboard box flaps, that provides the syncopation to these thoughts.
Here’s a delightful part of being a grown up: other people are making and filling those boxes for this move. I can indulge in the emotions.
So .. what does Flannery O’Connor have to say to us at a time like this?
“Everywhere I go, I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them. There’s many a best seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.”
“I am not afraid that the book will be controversial, I’m afraid it will not be controversial.”
“The writer can choose what he writes about but he cannot choose what he is able to make live.”
“The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location.”
“The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require his attention.”
Let us begin.