Travels with MaryE

Most things I love best are about good light and good timing. That's where the adventures start. Don't be in no hurry here. Here you'll find a little bit about bluegrass music, fox hunting, life on the road, time on the mountain, and a whole lot about other things, too.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

My Life Story???

After quite a long break from blogging due to a fairly unremarkable series of days and nights I'm returning to ponder a question that was posed to me yesterday by what I'd call a "good acquaintance." Now it happens that this friend is a member of one of the local hunts I follow and also a friend to the folks at the farm where I live, and he's also a neighbor. After yesterday's hound exercise in some of the prettiest country around here we threw a little supper for the folks who'd driven about 3 hours to ride with us over these beautiful, as it happened, snow-dusted hills. I went along to the supper not because I was part of the mounted field but just to lend a hand in the kitchen and make our nice guests feel welcome. Since I didn't really have a thing in the world to do on a Saturday night I first helped serve the dinner (delicious beef stew - I can say that because I didn't make it!, baked potatoes, peas and rolls) and then helped another girl do all the dishes, pots & pans. I like doing dishes, always have.

After that we had to clean the village hall we'd rented for the occasion and after that there was a matter of a bottle of port and bottle of wine that the four of us needed to finish off so they wouldn't "spoil." As it happened we had some good conversation about local politics, farming, famous old hunts on the hills around us, and good stuff like that. That's part of the spirit of community that these down-to-earth countryside hunts engender among mounted field and followers alike. We had a jolly time!

Anyway I took it easy on the port - which I love - since I had to drive a few winding miles back to the farm where I stay. One of the port drinkers and his wife live right up the road from where we were drinking, so he was taken care of, but the other bloke, it soon became evident, was not in any shape to drive home, so of course I offered him a lift home.

Now this man is young, newly married and has an adorable little boy. I know his wife well, and he happens to farm just about a mile from where I stay so it was no big deal to offer him a lift home. But he decided on the way back that he'd very much like to have a drink at our local pub just up the hill from me. So I said okay, but I'd need to stop home to change out of my wellies before going to the pub. Being a city girl, I feel no shame in wearing wellies anywhere at all (since they're a relatively new piece of apparel to me) but the local farmers and their wives think it is an abomination to wear wellies anywhere but around the farm - wouldn't be caught dead in town in them! Isn't that funny!

Stopping here where I'm a housekeeper, we all got talking and this young man asked me something along the lines of what's my life story? I didn't quite know how to answer that do you answer it? First I have to say that I don't think my life makes a particularly interesting story, though I'm not complaining! I kind of said, "uh, you know..." but he was quite serious and adamant that I should tell him (by now I've poured him some port) and suddenly it dawned on me and I said WAIT! and ran to my room and grabbed this photo album of me as a child in goofy sunglasses sitting on the front steps in my hometown, me as a bird-legged teenager on high school graduation day posed with my parents, both of whom died way back in the 80s, me with various musical heroes through the last 25 years or so, and things like that. My idea was to use the photos to trigger my memory since that's how "me as a photographer" started in the first place. I go back to the table where this friend is sitting and I plunk the book down before him (remember, he is not at ALL sober by now, and adding to the port consumption by the moment, a nice bottle of Graham's vintage port at his disposal) and tell him to open it and he says no! no! no! I don't want to look at photos of your life, I want you to tell me about your life. Isn't that a difficult thing to do?

And it's funny but I just couldn't come up with a thing to say. Surely it's not that bad! (no it isn't.) But where do you start to tell someone about your life and help them understand that it's a lot of little things you can't really put your finger on or even remember at all maybe that make you who you are here and now, it's a collective, and a lot of it is probably largely unnoticed by yourself or by others. And when folks ask you a question like that what they really want is a two sentence summary, don't they? I ain't good at that!

Fortunately for me he got off the topic of my life as the port took its toll and we were all soon off to the pub for a drink. But before we went to the pub there was a revelation, one that has been put before me at least once before in life (by a counselor in fact): why do you always have a camera in front of your face? What are you hiding from? Why don't you just experience things directly???? He said he wished I'd leave my camera at home sometimes and just go out and follow the hound exercise and enjoy the hounds as they run across the moors among the horses and sheep, not be thinking of angles and light and the juxtaposition of things (oops, that bit was me talking, inferring what I think he meant). Now that got me thinking.

So what all this is about is to wonder how one responds to a direct question (in an island nation where it seems direct questions are few and far between as folks do elaborate dances to avoid stepping on others' toes, so to speak) regarding "what's your history?" "what's your past?" or in effect, who are you sat there before me? Now I could have started in chronological fashion from my earliest memories through yesterday which would have taken several weeks and been a total bore, but I was wondering just what he wanted to know? He wouldn't answer that! But it did get me thinking. Why is it so difficult to come up with a life story? I do like to write (duh!) so what would I write about myself that would tell who I am and some of what I've done (and failed to do) without being too dull, too rambling or put anyone to sleep? Say, what would I write in 500 words, who am I in a nutshell? It is, I think, very hard to do.

Now I'm left to ponder...what HAVE I accomplished? Have I made any positive difference? Why DO I hide behind that camera (out of the mouths of drunks...there was a lot of insight in that question!) And what's next?

Maybe it's the rain. the rain. the rain.......................


At 7:29 pm, Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's a hard question, because nobody but YOU really knows the answer. But with your writing ability it could be woven into such a beautiful story. No doubt.

At 1:27 pm, Anonymous Lowell Jewell said...

And I, for one, would love to read it.... if you write it!


At 6:10 pm, Blogger SistaSmiff said...

I think you've had quite an interesting view from behind that lens and that you should tell more snippets of that innerstin' stuff.


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