Week of June 12th, 2022: “Survival mode.”
Days of yonder, days of yore
days of now and days before
times the same, same is time
things they change
things they rhyme
do not hold on to anger
do not hold on to negativity
positivity moving forward
the harder they push back
the further I go inward
the further I go outward
the further I go forward
“The type of man who give speeches”
A radiant sun shinned down over the open water of the proud Potomac’s blue fairway, as the early afternoon glided into the early-evening and the rowers practicing crew began to disappear, their images slowly fading beyond the quickly darkening horizon as the sun continued to set. The change in daylight preempted the change in atmosphere that soon would sweep it’s way across the tables and chairs arranged across an expansive backyard lawn overlooking the river.
Barry Kimono looked over from his table underneath the outdoor dinning tent and worried, as any diligent host would, that the onset of the evening would bring along with it the beginning of the end of the day — a day Barry did not want to end. A day spent with family and friends along the Potomac’s swooping banks, a day with drinking and food and sailing and laughter, a day with pleasures and vices and napping and daydreams, a day when the world smiled down upon the Barry and his entire family and he took a moment to sit back and enjoyed basking in the of the warmth of the worlds love as all seemed content now in his heart. But then Barry looked up from his half-finished plate of cranberry walnut salad, poking around it’s crumbled croutons and dried dates with his fork and thought for a moment about a speech he could give to rouse everyone’s spirits and convince them all to stay on as their continued together their incredible day. Barry was always the quiet type, never the kind of man to give rah-rah ‘that-a-boy’s’ or motivational speeches to the masses. Barry preferred to draw his inspiration by example, yet he knew in this moment that though was neither a speech that he had rehearsed nor recited, it was still something he felt nonetheless prepared to give. He would begin his impromptu soliloquy by calling his patrons attention as he gently tapped his glass with the side-edge of a knife and asked everyone in attendance to please pause momentarily as he raised a toast to the family, knowing fully in his heart that the one people he wished could be there with him on that day with him were also the people who could not.
“ Excuse me I’d like to have everyone’s attention for a moment if I may, excuse me, just one moment please, I promise I’ll be brief. I’d like to raise a toast —though fraught with bitterness and hyper-polarization, days such as today provide me with hope in our present times. Though we bicker and squabble back and forth with over slight differences and misunderstandings, the larger truth is that it is only when we try to understand that we can begin to overcome our differences. It is in that regard that I would like for us to raise our glasses in honor of all the people we meet along the way that help us to understand, for they forge the bonds of solidarity from which the love of family is born.
Ladies and Gentleman, raises your glasses alongside me in honor to all those gathered here and also to those unable to join us today; to all those who help us on our journey as we navigate through our time, and to the people we know and love who make our journey worth living, tonight we toast in their honor.”
He would down his glass and depart for the evening, leaving them behind in their rejoinders to debate the merits of his call upon them, his heart satisfied for the time being with the knowledge that for a moment he had spoken of those whom he longed for in a manner that would have given them satisfaction.
It was exactly the type of speech he would have given, if only he had been the type of man who gave speeches.