I’m not feeling in a terribly philosophical mood this evening, though I have been touched by nostalgia. Which means that tonight, dear readers, I am going to confine myself to a personal story.
More than a few years agone now, I was helping my mother with one of her various craft projects. She always had one project or another going, as my mother was a rather creative woman. In this case we were making snowmen. I believed they were going to be used to decorate something or other. There was nothing particularly complicated about our faux snowmen. At base they were simply rolls of toilet paper inserted into a sock. Various decorative gewgaws would then be added.
As one might imagine, this was not exactly the most physically or intellectually challenging task I’ve ever engaged in. Over the course of the conversation I first gave each of the snowmen names. I then assigned them a political structure. But I realized something was missing. Then I hit on it; the snow people were missing a complicated myth cycle centered around the idea of “The Great Melting.” So that’s exactly what I gave them.
I, of course, was rather fond of the idea, and suggested I call up some of the folks I know who paint and ask them if they might be interested in doing a children’s book with me. My mother advised against it on the grounds that a children’s book shouldn’t be about traumatizing children….
You was a sarcastic pain in the ass sometimes, mum, but not so much as I don’t miss you all over again every time I’m reminded you’re gone.