My friends had a housewarming party last night. While I know the connotation of “housewarming” does not mean that the house has to be warm, the rising temperatures in that house gave made me consider this. It was, thankfully, not warm enough to cause me to…um…glisten.
Two minutes after arriving to the party, a friend and I ascended the stairs to the loft. This actually turned out to be somebody’s bedroom. But how were we to know, for there was no bed. (Which begs the question, can it be referred to as a “BEDroom” if there is no, you know, bed?) I sank into a comfy leather couch with my friend and we had one of those good conversations, the long kind is filled with storytelling, poking fun, catching up.
Eventually we descended back to the main part of the house. It was crowded and there were a few tight circles of conversation spattered about the small living room. I wedged my way into the largest of the circles and soon found fingers pointing in my direction. “Okay,” said they, after laughing at a story involving an abandoned warehouse, a bit of fire, and, thankfully, no one hurt or incarcerated in the end. “Your turn to tell a story.”
We told stories.
We talked about short stories.
We shared our personal stories.
Lots of stories.
Somewhere in there, I thought of how I like my posts to be like stories. I wish that, with each post, I could write something so animated that it would draw you in to some specific moment. Be it a insignificant and mundane moment or one that is large and exciting, moments can all be turned into incredible stories.
I like stories that are about moments in life. They are so often filled with vivid detail and so enrapturing. I think this is because they are about the small picture and the time spent on character building can now be spend on little details. Like the way that a tiny yellow fire flickers and dances upon the wick and wax in that way that only candlelight can. Or that wonderful way that the flower shaped leaves of a tulip poplar tree shudder in the wind. You do not even have to know the people swaying to the jazz music emitting from the speaker upon which the candle sits. You do not have to know the best friends who are picnicking under the tree and enjoying the cool breeze.
You simply find yourself becoming enthralled in one of those little moments that, put together, make the story of life.
Two minutes after arriving to the party, a friend and I ascended the stairs to the loft. This actually turned out to be somebody’s bedroom. But how were we to know, for there was no bed. (Which begs the question, can it be referred to as a “BEDroom” if there is no, you know, bed?) I sank into a comfy leather couch with my friend and we had one of those good conversations, the long kind is filled with storytelling, poking fun, catching up.
Eventually we descended back to the main part of the house. It was crowded and there were a few tight circles of conversation spattered about the small living room. I wedged my way into the largest of the circles and soon found fingers pointing in my direction. “Okay,” said they, after laughing at a story involving an abandoned warehouse, a bit of fire, and, thankfully, no one hurt or incarcerated in the end. “Your turn to tell a story.”
We told stories.
We talked about short stories.
We shared our personal stories.
Lots of stories.
Somewhere in there, I thought of how I like my posts to be like stories. I wish that, with each post, I could write something so animated that it would draw you in to some specific moment. Be it a insignificant and mundane moment or one that is large and exciting, moments can all be turned into incredible stories.
I like stories that are about moments in life. They are so often filled with vivid detail and so enrapturing. I think this is because they are about the small picture and the time spent on character building can now be spend on little details. Like the way that a tiny yellow fire flickers and dances upon the wick and wax in that way that only candlelight can. Or that wonderful way that the flower shaped leaves of a tulip poplar tree shudder in the wind. You do not even have to know the people swaying to the jazz music emitting from the speaker upon which the candle sits. You do not have to know the best friends who are picnicking under the tree and enjoying the cool breeze.
You simply find yourself becoming enthralled in one of those little moments that, put together, make the story of life.
Ah, stories...my favorite things! :-)
ReplyDeleteAll of your posts are interesting stories! Maybe the bed was one of those fold out ones in the wall.
ReplyDeleteBedroom: a room for sleeping in. The whole room is my bed! I'm not limited by a mattress. It's what makes me so tough. I like your blog.
ReplyDelete