Worth Sharing
/I LOVE A GOOD SCONE. There is a certain texture and composition that makes a scone good--to me. I've tried to find a recipe that would be true and foolproof so I could make my own, but it eludes me.
When we first moved to our current house we had a neighbor named Julie. She was in fact one of the reasons we chose the neighborhood we did as we were house hunting. Julie, in addition to be a superb baker, was a prolific artist, particularly in pottery and fiber arts. Her too-young death was one of those that leaves you wondering why--when the world so desperately needs human beings like her.
Julie's scones were the standard that I strived for. Probably if I had asked her for the recipe she would have shared it. She was a sharer--of baked things, of hearty conversation, of knowledge and skills and techniques, and of pottery pieces like our teapot and the urn that held my parents ashes in between death and burial. Even if I had had her recipe the scones would not have turned out like hers.There is this real thing I'll call essence for lack of a better word.
I want to make a scone at least so good that I would want to take a bite, close my eyes a second, chew slowly to savor and then swallow with gratitude. I also want them to be of a level of goodness that I would share them with others--they would be share-worthy.
I like to write. From time to time, I write words that I think are worthy of sharing: maybe an insight or something humorous, maybe a eulogy for a friend, maybe something that will encourage or inspire. Sometimes I do share these words--here on this blog, or maybe in a card, or spoken out loud, usually quietly.
Many times; most times, the words I write are never shared. Maybe one of these days someone will dig through the wooden box of journals I have and read a few words, but those wouldn't really be shared words would they?
If you're old like me you might remember a song by the Moody Blues that said:
Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I've written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I've always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can't say any more
So why bake scones you wouldn't share? Why write words that may never be read by others?
There's a line in one of my favorite movies, Finding Forrester, "Why is it the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?"
Maybe: we can be a little more honest, worry less about grammar and spelling and syntax. Mainly though we don't worry that our words will offend or hurt; or be twisted or misconstrued. To quote another song from the 60s, this time the band called The Animals:
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
That's all for now. My scones are in the oven and about done.
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.”