Fun/Work

In 1978 or 1979, my piano instructor at the University of North Carolina, where I attended law school the rest of the day, said, "I envy you.  Whenever you play piano, it's fun.  Whenever I play piano, it's work."

A few weeks ago, I enjoyed digging a few post holes, not all 51.  Last year, after practicing Schumann for 4 months, I looked forward to an hour of sight-reading. A month ago, 2 hours cutting up a hog became the "same old same old."  When we bought Elk Cliff Farm, spading a new garden begged me to buy a tractor.

"Attention deficit disorder," says Virginia.  "Get a life."

I used to like her, or maybe she's kidding.

"You're spoiled," she laughs, "not nearly hungry enough."

That's partly true.  In younger days, punching a time clock was standard operating procedure.  It made no sense to dwell on other ways of using time.  Besides, the life ahead seemed endless.  Unless Kurzweil is right, endless now has an endpoint.

I think it's important to keep trying to number the points in between as almost infinite, so at night one sentence cannot describe the entire day (unless maybe you're a master of long sentences, like Faulkner or Joyce).