Fine story to which I relate a little as I go to a gym three times week and work out my 87 year old body on the tension machines. My 6'2" frame has shrunk to an under 6' frame. The muscle bulk is gone and I look admiringly at some of the youngsters working out with their sculptured musculature, where once I was similarly inclined. But inside a few months I have maxed out the tensions and move to the "big boy' machines. Figure soon California will pass that '90's rule and I'll have to be culminated. Bon voyage.
I did love it, Peachy, because it made me think. And it made me cry. The conversation between her and the statue.. the realization of what she had done those many years ago and at great cost…my eyes welled up. And I had this thought about all of this ugliness these days. The never ending cacophony surrounding “reproductive rights” and “women’s health care” and all the euphemisms they continually spew to dress up and sell child sacrifice to young women and young men, the latter being the class of people who benefit the most from their barbarism. Made me think of the young women in today’s world who aren’t strong enough to stand up to the mob. Aren’t strong enough to stand up to “well intentioned” people who think only of themselves and expediency and don’t for a minute think of the terrible spiritual, psychological and emotional cost that a woman will pay when she kills her child. The mob outside Nick’s apartment robbed her of the life and children she would have had with him, like the mob here most certainly robs young women. All so they can advance their horrible, selfish ideology. You’re a wonderful writer. I admire your work. I admire your thinking. I’m Catholic and I find sometimes I think that maybe I should arrest that impulse I have to punch someone in the mouth, sometimes figuratively. Pray more and all that. But I have to say that lately I feel as though it’s high time to start swinging. Swinging hard. God bless you. God bless your family.
Beautifully written! Yesterday there was a Homer-thon at local university, an out loud reading of all 23 chapters of The Odyssey by whoever wanted to take the mic. Started around 9am and went well into the night. I enjoyed reading a bit of Chapter 2. I enjoyed more the reading of this essay.
Brava, Brava! It was like LeGuin meets Star Trek: Next Generation. Life affirming message and cutting social commentary.
Editor's note: I think you missed a negative in this sentence, "He loved postmodern conceptual art, places she knew Nick would ever visit." Suggest "would not ever" or "would never"
"Anyone who says they have no regrets is a nincompoop." ~Mia Farrow
My father is 89 and my mother passed away a year ago. The recounting of his life over the last 30 years is boring and stale even for him, but ask him about his childhood, his high school days as the star of the basketball team in some podunk berg in North Ohio, and his eyes smile, he leans forward with new energy and tells stories with amazing clarity. I've heard many of the stories before and time has gilded his memory so that the stories are a little more golden and grandiose than before.
And that's perfectly fine with me.
He is too old for regrets. His choices were made, the consequences lived with, addressed or forgotten.
I wonder how I will view my life when I am 89. If the rose colored glasses are a blessing issued by God for having lived that long.
Fine story to which I relate a little as I go to a gym three times week and work out my 87 year old body on the tension machines. My 6'2" frame has shrunk to an under 6' frame. The muscle bulk is gone and I look admiringly at some of the youngsters working out with their sculptured musculature, where once I was similarly inclined. But inside a few months I have maxed out the tensions and move to the "big boy' machines. Figure soon California will pass that '90's rule and I'll have to be culminated. Bon voyage.
I did love it, Peachy, because it made me think. And it made me cry. The conversation between her and the statue.. the realization of what she had done those many years ago and at great cost…my eyes welled up. And I had this thought about all of this ugliness these days. The never ending cacophony surrounding “reproductive rights” and “women’s health care” and all the euphemisms they continually spew to dress up and sell child sacrifice to young women and young men, the latter being the class of people who benefit the most from their barbarism. Made me think of the young women in today’s world who aren’t strong enough to stand up to the mob. Aren’t strong enough to stand up to “well intentioned” people who think only of themselves and expediency and don’t for a minute think of the terrible spiritual, psychological and emotional cost that a woman will pay when she kills her child. The mob outside Nick’s apartment robbed her of the life and children she would have had with him, like the mob here most certainly robs young women. All so they can advance their horrible, selfish ideology. You’re a wonderful writer. I admire your work. I admire your thinking. I’m Catholic and I find sometimes I think that maybe I should arrest that impulse I have to punch someone in the mouth, sometimes figuratively. Pray more and all that. But I have to say that lately I feel as though it’s high time to start swinging. Swinging hard. God bless you. God bless your family.
You are an excellent writer, a very good story.
A short story indeed! Boy, oh boy, you've touched quite a few nerves. Thanks. Hope to read some more down the line.
"Covid 89" "Blackrock Residential" LOL. Excellent!
Bittersweet. Beautiful. Poignant. Prophetic? Time and choices will tell. Thank you.
A wonderful story, Peachy. You are following my thoughts lately. Paths taken, paths not taken, and the end of the story.
Beautifully written! Yesterday there was a Homer-thon at local university, an out loud reading of all 23 chapters of The Odyssey by whoever wanted to take the mic. Started around 9am and went well into the night. I enjoyed reading a bit of Chapter 2. I enjoyed more the reading of this essay.
Well written Peachy but really depressing.
Brava, Brava! It was like LeGuin meets Star Trek: Next Generation. Life affirming message and cutting social commentary.
Editor's note: I think you missed a negative in this sentence, "He loved postmodern conceptual art, places she knew Nick would ever visit." Suggest "would not ever" or "would never"
hm i htink you're right!
"Anyone who says they have no regrets is a nincompoop." ~Mia Farrow
My father is 89 and my mother passed away a year ago. The recounting of his life over the last 30 years is boring and stale even for him, but ask him about his childhood, his high school days as the star of the basketball team in some podunk berg in North Ohio, and his eyes smile, he leans forward with new energy and tells stories with amazing clarity. I've heard many of the stories before and time has gilded his memory so that the stories are a little more golden and grandiose than before.
And that's perfectly fine with me.
He is too old for regrets. His choices were made, the consequences lived with, addressed or forgotten.
I wonder how I will view my life when I am 89. If the rose colored glasses are a blessing issued by God for having lived that long.
Echos of Flannery O’Conner and Leguin. Thank you.
Might have to pass on to my AP lit students.
The older I get, the better I was.
I can’t find the best words to express how this story touched me. It’s hurting my heart.
Just brutal. Depressing. A description of our future?