More Delights and Disdains . . .

of a diminutive nature of late . . . Number 3

Disdains:

Learning that Martin Amis had passed away. I realize that this news is technically a disappointment but I have a great disdain for death.

I read his first book, The Rachel Papers, over 35 years ago and I still remember the effect that his dry adolescent voice had on me. Since then I read him as the mood struck - London Fields, Money, The Information, and The Zone of Interest come to mind as well as two of his volumes of short stories, Einstein’s Monsters and Heavy Water. He died from the same esophageal cancer that took his friend, essayist Christopher Hitchens and incidentally, my sister. Though I doubt that I would have agreed with either of them on political or religious issues, they are great writers who wove satire and irony into their writing with a subtle elegance.

Delights:

Watching my son walk across the stage to receive his high-school diploma. No trips or falls from either of us. Since I was seated in the balcony, I notably stayed away from the edge lest I tumble over or drop my phone on some unsuspecting parent as a lady did to me when my desk was in the back corner of the SC House chamber. Or maybe she threw it at me to wake me up.

Listening to the clatter of my son’s new vintage Royal De Luxe typewriter. That and a new Lamy fountain pen were his graduation presents. And yes. A teenager who once built his own computer has written with a fountain pen all through high school. With the typewriter addition, he now has three centuries worth of writing technology at hand. I guess he will be wanting a Gutenberg-like printing press for his college graduation.

Admiring my brother-in-law’s collection of Civil War memorabilia. He’s a retired school teacher and was gathering his collection to present at a nearby elementary school. His Confederate bonds are worth more now than they were originally.

Reminding myself of the brilliance of Amis’ novel The Zone of Information, a satirical love story set in 1942 Germany that ultimately twists to describe the horribly mundane lives of those who carried out the Holocaust. Small ordinary people doing big horrible things.

Watching my militant dachshund chew up my old motorcycle gloves. I wore them to roughhouse with him until he chewed the knuckle guards off with his very sharp teeth. Then I just capitulated, giving him the spoils of war.