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Cape May

Nothing Ever Happens On My Blog

Our bookshelves, ourselves

Saw a banner outside a church the other day–a photo of a bewildered guy wondering something like–“Isn’t there more to life?” That is not the question I pose. Isn’t there less to life would be more like it. There’s too much noise, too much clamor, too much media after our attention, and not enough space between our ears. I want less in front of my eyes and less rattling around inside my head. Last night after sitting through a workshop at a public library, I walked outside just before closing time and had a bit of a deja vu. Something about the air and the bare trees and the high school kids rushing inside to pick up whatever they needed for tomorrow’s homework, made me feel like I was somehow in every library parking lot I’ve ever been in on a winter’s night: Wheaton, White Oak, Bon Air, Tuckahoe, etc. etc. I didn’t have any homework due or children with projects hanging over our heads. AHHHH. This was Plato’s ideal world perhaps. Why I couldn’t find the ideal world on a tropical beach rather than a suburban parking lot, I’ll never know, but I had a few moments of space in my head that I appreciated after getting it filled up with banal workshop terminology the previous 2 hours. Empty-headedness gets a bad rap. Another case of less is more.