Closing the Book

This quote is from Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White.

“You have been my friend.... That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die....”

Funny. I seem to have run out of things to say along with any desire to say much of anything at all.

When I wrote here on Thursday, January 6, 2005, “So let’s see if I can keep this one up,” I never imagined I would “keep it up” until the summer of 2014. I have surprised myself.

I think I began this blog to find out who I was and who I would become.

Who did I turn out to be?

An ordinary man, nothing special. Not particularly gifted in any way. A dreamer. But a worker, too, a laborer. A man who tried and failed and tried again until he was just too tired to keep on trying.

I have found comfort here from time to time. I hope you have, as well.

Good luck to you.

Good bye.

---

A Little Slice of (My) Life

The telephone just rang.

When  I answered it, a heavily-accented voice said, “’’Allo. Is this Mr. Gland Maché?”

“Yes,” I said, “it is.”

“Mr. Maché, I am calling you from the United States of America Government [garbled] Department.”

“What department?”

“The United States of America Government [garbled] Department.”

“I don’t understand what department you are referring to...”

“The USA Government Grand Department!”

“Grant Department?”

“Yes. The United States of America Grand Department.”

“But I didn’t apply for any grant.”

“No matter. Your name has been randomly selected...”

“I don’t want it,” I said, and hung up the phone.

Fool, I thought. Ain’t nothin’ free.

---

To Be Or Not to Be

A funny thing about getting old is that you remember things from long ago that you didn’t have the time to recall when you were younger, more vital, and working at a job you had to do.

This morning, just now, I recalled my stint in summer stock up in Springfield, Illinois back when I was in my early twenties. The incident that came to mind had to do with our director sitting and talking with a couple of members of the company, holding forth on the attributes of this actor and that one.

When he came to me, he said that, although I was talented and had a wide range, I would never amount to anything because I wasn’t a bastard.

They told me this as soon as they could, and I thought to myself, I’ll show him.

Of course, he showed me.

Working in this tiny pond of what is euphemistically called “New Orleans Theatre,” I have come to know some of those theatre bastards with their self-absorption and their cluelessness.

I’m glad I’m not a bastard. I’m okay with that.

How does that corny old ballad go? I’ve got to be me.

And, really, I’d rather be.

---