She was not inclined to do anything without telling someone. I mean, did it really even happen if you didn’t tell someone, almost anyone, even a child? She called it “being an open book”.
Most of the time she didn’t notice she was doing it, but when she did, she prefaced her story with “I don’t want to toot my own horn, but…”
And, telling people the stories of what she didn’t do in secret absolved her a little from the promises she had made and not kept, yet. Promises to herself, to God, or another human.
She did accept it as a spiritual principle, of course, and acknowledged the solemnity of those who did it by nature. Like her brother-in-law, Richard. What must it be like to dwell in such anonymity as he possessed? What did he do all day? What did he care about? What was his passion?
He was reliably available for his children and their children, within limits, she supposed. But she imagined him sitting in his armchair in the sunny living room his dead wife, her sister, had vacated more than a decade ago. He kept it clean and tidy. Not obsessively so. One could imagine paying him an unexpected visit and being welcomed with a coffee, if requested, probably not offered, but readily available. Then, one could imagine sitting with him. Awkwardly. He would offer nothing, but a kind heart, she knew.
She would, naturally, fill the silence with chatter, eventually. Chatter inevitably coming around to herself. She was a storyteller, and the ones she knew best were the ones that had happened to her. She doubted that he had a secret life, but imagined him making sandwiches in the church kitchen for the rural poor in and around Clinton County. She had never even met them, didn’t know if they existed.
She finally asked him, after coming up for air from her own retelling of important stories, “were there poor hungry people in Clinton County?”
“Sure, I guess so.”
She waited to see if he would say more, tell a story of his own about the soup kitchen or delivering Thanksgiving turkeys. He didn’t.
Though she thought she understood the concept of giving in secret, she found it a tedious part of conversation and relationship with those closest to her. This was why she never spent time alone with her brother in law.
— Gina
Most of the time she didn’t notice she was doing it, but when she did, she prefaced her story with “I don’t want to toot my own horn, but…”
And, telling people the stories of what she didn’t do in secret absolved her a little from the promises she had made and not kept, yet. Promises to herself, to God, or another human.
She did accept it as a spiritual principle, of course, and acknowledged the solemnity of those who did it by nature. Like her brother-in-law, Richard. What must it be like to dwell in such anonymity as he possessed? What did he do all day? What did he care about? What was his passion?
He was reliably available for his children and their children, within limits, she supposed. But she imagined him sitting in his armchair in the sunny living room his dead wife, her sister, had vacated more than a decade ago. He kept it clean and tidy. Not obsessively so. One could imagine paying him an unexpected visit and being welcomed with a coffee, if requested, probably not offered, but readily available. Then, one could imagine sitting with him. Awkwardly. He would offer nothing, but a kind heart, she knew.
She would, naturally, fill the silence with chatter, eventually. Chatter inevitably coming around to herself. She was a storyteller, and the ones she knew best were the ones that had happened to her. She doubted that he had a secret life, but imagined him making sandwiches in the church kitchen for the rural poor in and around Clinton County. She had never even met them, didn’t know if they existed.
She finally asked him, after coming up for air from her own retelling of important stories, “were there poor hungry people in Clinton County?”
“Sure, I guess so.”
She waited to see if he would say more, tell a story of his own about the soup kitchen or delivering Thanksgiving turkeys. He didn’t.
Though she thought she understood the concept of giving in secret, she found it a tedious part of conversation and relationship with those closest to her. This was why she never spent time alone with her brother in law.
— Gina
Comments
Post a Comment