Read other letters about this article

• Wednesday, June 28, 2006 03:34 AM

  longing for meaning

  I applaude GK's thoughts on today. I can't vouche for the accuracy of hoeing potatoes, but I can recall working with my grandfather keeping hundreds of tomoato plants in perfect condition for hours on end. I hated that work, but I loved my grandfather more than life itself.

  I watched my father work as a merchant in a small upstate town for 51 years. His store was a icon of well-being in our little town. He worked long twelve hour days six days a week. Never did I see him slouched in his chair, paper in his lap sleeping in exhaustion. I did see my uncle, a corproate leader sleeping at the dinner table on Sundays, my aunt nudging him unforgivingly in his self imposed exhile from humanity.

  I find my wife waking me every night from my chair, the one I collapse in every night from mental exhaustion unable to even read the paper before crashing. Ah, yes, the good 30 years of company service I put in!

  I have planted tweleve tomato plants out back, where a large farm field butts up to my yard. The rich aroma of the vine fills my nose with more than memory, there is understanding in those vines. A sense of belonging to something more alive than the artificial world we have created.

  And my dad? He's 80 now and still fills his day with the joy of work, not the old store, but still a joy in simple accomplishment that has meaning in the art of Being. If I am lucky enough to have him with us next year, maybe we'll plant a hundred tomato plants together. Maybe we'll go to have a cup of bottomless coffee he so much enjoys (I'll take a vente mug of dark roast at Starbucks, thank you).

  Thank you GK. We've lost the art of living and work having meaning and a simple end. If you need help hoeing, call me.

  —alc Read alc's other letters
  Permalink
  Flag
  Click "Submit Flag" if you feel this post is inappropriate. Explain why below if you wish.

  Cancel