July 07, 2002

Will Nap for Food

Will Nap for Food

I am a champion cat-napper. I set my watch alarm for 14 minutes, sleep for at least 10 of those, and wake up feeling rejuvenated. The feeling of lethargy-suppression is enough 'proof' for me that this mid-day snooze-time is a good investment. Now, the guys in the white jackets have evidence that this is for real.

A Time to Refrain from Knowing

I probably have read at least 80% of the popular essays, books and articles published by C S Lewis, going back more than 25 years in my reading life. Mr. Lewis died on the day John Kennedy was assassinated, about 10 years before I read the first of his work. Consequently, hearing his 'voice' through his reading has been a creature of my imagination of how I have supposed he would sound. British of course, but not thickly so. Gentle and avuncular to be sure. So somehow his writings heard by my mind's ear have always entered through that filter of projected expectation.

Today in church, we heard a 15 minute recording of CS reading a selection from his essays "The Four Loves". There was his actual voice, thickly British, jowly and viscid, raspy from years of pipe smoking, he sounded nothing like I had imagined. It was unsettling at first, like finding that someone familiar has been wearing a mask and is slightly alien underneath. I imposed the mask, I realized, and was able after a few minutes of adjustment to accept him as he was/is, and soon found myself mesmerized by his wonderful examples, clear logic and typical mastery of the language and his (and my) faith.

Somewhat in the same vein, I have never seen Fiona Ritchie of Thistle and Shamrock (Celtic Music program on NPR that we listen to rather regularly). Her lilting Scottish accent is so fresh and crisp, so perky and sexy. Surely she must be rather tall, thin, with long auburn hair, unpretentious, with green eyes and strong but attractive features. And I fancy that she secretly is in love with me. How I dread the day when, despite all my avoidance, I will see her pictured somewhere. Could I love her, fat and dowdy, gray and coarse?

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. And sometimes it is just ignorance.

Posted by fred1st at July 7, 2002 07:06 PM
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