From the same walk, the sunny day walk, to and from the pharmacy. Solo walk. Cars passed in both directions. Not a single driver would make eye contact. People walking dogs or pushing a stroller passed. Again, no eye contact. I didn't want much - even a nod acknowledging our shared distress. The pharmacy woman was the only person who seemed happy to see me, happy to work out the transaction for which I'd walked the drive-thru lane. She had fabulous lilac nail polish and smiled after I told her I loved the color.

Consider now the four photos of the one tree I took while on that walk.

How does narrative form? Where does the storytelling start? How does our urge to story organize apparently disparate units into apparently inexorable order? And what drives that urge? 

Solo walk to CVS. Very polite drivers left me plenty of room as we all waited our turn on the drive through pick up lane, where I felt almost exuberant to be alone and on foot. Not smug, exactly, but somewhere in the vicinity of, and for no real reason except for how beautiful a day it was, sun-wise and blue sky-wise. The nice CVS window person told me to stand in the middle of the lane, not as I thought because of the virus and my proximity to her but so that the cars wouldn't hit me. I thanked her and told her the drivers seemed extremely aware of me. The above photo is one of several I took on my walk. And looking at it now, I want to ask, do some of us see words first and then shapes and then a story? In what order do we take what's in front or around us? How do we process all the stuff? How much do we miss? How pre-determined is what we miss? 

How do I know that what I'm seeing is what you're seeing? What is there that I could do that would bring my thoughts closer to your thoughts as we both regard this photo? How many words would it take? How would I be able to tell that you're listening? What if we both regard this photo but neither of us speaks about it? What would be the overall effect of silence in this case? 

Well, so here's another photo from the drive down and back along Route 95 for the nighttime retrieval mission paired with a December entry from my fifth grade Expressional Writing notebook. I'm not sure what the writing assignment was, but looks like I really got into it. 

Backward Land

Welcome to "Backward Land!" Hey, watch out, try using your back eyes and watch where you are going. Excuse me, that fellow just backed into me, boy, you would think 4 eyes are enough! Oh! My aching feet! Wait a second while I put my shoes on the right way. Imagine; I actually put my left shoe on my left foot and my right shoe on my right foot!! There, that's better. Did you say that you are from "The Right Way" land? You did. Well, did you know that here in Backward Land, people walk in first and then knock!!! You have to go now? Okay, Good Bye; come again, and don't forget, walk in, then knock. 

Notes: The B, c, and L are written backwards in the original - the look is pretty odd. I like the escalating number of exclamation points, and how easily I slipped into this kind of dramatic monologue voice.  

I debated with myself about sharing this November entry from my fifth grade notebook of what the teacher called Expressional Writing because it seemed so revealing. Then I decided the picture it gives of the way the writing exercise worked, and of the world I was living in, were worth sharing. Plus, I think they're kind of funny. The photo is another one I took on that crazy journey along Route 95. We were heading south then, and used the bathroom at the Chili's in the picture, wearing disposable gloves and trying not to breathe too much indoor air. I held the door for someone on my way out and we both wordlessly acknowledged how strange the world had become. Anyway, here's the results of that long-ago writing exercise, where I assume the teacher played sounds from a recording or maybe even a portable record player.

Sounds to Hear             Expressional Writing

The first sound sounded like something tinkling and jingling.
It sounded like something for Jingle Bells or the Night
Before Christmas, or Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

The second sound sounded like a rubbing sound.
It reminds me of a shopping cart at the supermarket.

The third sound sounded like a rough sound. It reminds me of a bird.
The fourth sound reminds me of a clicking sound.
It reminds me of my grandfather clicking his teeth.
It was loud. It sounded like a father
spanking someone. 
It sounded like a car when it doesn't work.
It sounded like a car backfiring.
It sounded like someone who is nervous and is
tapping his foot.
It sounded like my mother scraping the
plates from dinner.
It sounded like my sister kicking over the
garbage.

Notes: The entry was dated November so I guess holiday songs were in the air; we're Jewish and this was Brooklyn so most everyone we knew was also Jewish, and yet... Our grandfather loved shoving his dentures out with his tongue, where they balanced precariously on his lip; this was also how they convinced my sister and me to go to the dentist. Spanking was a thing; but mostly I remember it as other people's (Jewish) mothers trying to smack the bottoms of their sons. Cars definitely backfired. They also needed to be warmed up in the morning during cold weather. People would go out and start the car, leave it running, and then come back to go to work. Good times. I didn't know I was aware of nervous foot-tapping. We never had a dishwasher. And if anyone kicked over the garbage (in the kitchen or outside where the metal cans were stored in the 'bin'?) I'd have thought it would have been me. Could be a case of blaming my sister for something I did and wouldn't be the first. Isn't that what siblings are for? In Brooklyn at least?