This morning there was a spider in the kitchen. It wasn't a huge spider, but it was slightly bigger than small, slightly thicker than the usual daddy longlegs. My grandfather was there and I pointed him out to him. Of course, if it were up to him, he probably would have left it, but knowing my "affinity" for bugs, he got a Kleenex to take it outside. As he picked it up, he spoke to it - asked it how it came inside, explained that he was going to take it back out. He held the napkin very loosely, and, surprisingly to me, the spider did not seem agitated at all as he walked from the kitchen to the back door.
My grandfather has spent 70+ years in a rural environment, working on the land and living very much by nature's laws. When I ask him the time or directions, his answers are always in relation to the sun's path throughout the day. When I jump at a bug, he laughs. I am an oddity to him, I'm sure, a suburban native who knows neither life on a farm or the inevitable infestations (cockroaches, bedbugs, rats, pigeons) of city life.
When I spend time with him, it is easy to be in awe of the beauty of my roots. And to wonder how much we have traded for our digital lifestyles.
An ironic reflection when you consider your means of communication and publication.
ReplyDeleteM-spark
Ah, but I suppose I'm assuming that if we lived his sort of lifestyle, we wouldn't be so scattered and need this to communicate easily. Although, you're right with respect to the publishing.
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