It was billed as the summer solstice block party. The email announcements had begun to arrive several months ago from two enterprising women, Ali and Jill.
For the eighth time, our neighborhood was celebrating the season with a street gala. It has become one of our best traditions.
“Life Itself” is the title of a fabulous new film. I saw it on July Fourth of 2014 in an audience deeply caught up in its story.
This documentary centers on Roger Ebert, the critic who covered movies for the Chicago Sun-Times, television stations, and other media.
The film covers the whole range of Roger’s life, starting from his early years and finishing with his death in 2013. It gives much attention, of course, to his views of the movies.
My experience of growing old sometimes echoes that of a psychologist named Florida Scott-Maxwell. When in her eighties, and living in a nursing home, she wrote:
“A long life makes me feel nearer truth, yet it won’t go into words. So how can I convey it: I can’t and I want to. I want to tell people approaching and perhaps fearing age that it is a time of discovery.
THE FUTURE?
Sometimes I wonder how the world will look after people in my age bracket have gone. Will it have changed greatly or will it be much like what it is today?
Will our successors improve on what my contemporaries have brought about? Can they manage to deal successfully with the looming issues of their time?
The saddest wake I can remember came recently. It wasn’t seeing my friend Joe in his coffin but it was the absence of a member of his family. That person was his oldest daughter whom I had known long ago.
Recently, I found a letter that I wrote at age eleven. It is postmarked October 2, 1939, and addressed to “Miss Margret Desmond, 28 east 10 street, New York City.” (Note: I misspelled Miss Desmond’s first name.)
My parents and I had stayed with Margaret during my initial visit to the big city.
Little known fact: Baseball outfielders, when the inning was over, used to leave their gloves in the field!
In my early years I regarded this as normal. That’s when my father would take me to games played by the Red Sox and the Boston Bees.