Gerald "Ski" EvansMentor, friend, karate teacher, chess fanatic, gentleman
I spent Saturday in Philadelphia with my longtime friend and mentor, Ski.
I hoped to talk with him about my worsening medical situation. I wasn't seeking advice necessarily, but I always find that when he and I discuss something, I invariably walk away with a deeper understanding of the matter at hand.
We skirted the topic of my health. The crux of the conversation was Ski asking me if I believed in reincarnation. I have no idea what happens after death, I answered. I neither believe nor disbelieve in reincarnation. "You will," he said.
We wound up going to a big chess tournament at a Center City hotel where I met old acquaintances, made new ones and took photos of people engrossed in pitched battles fought over 64 squares.
Coming out of the tournament, Ski and I discovered that my car had been towed. I swear, that car is a magnet for the parking authorities.
I came to Philadelphia wanting to talk with Ski about mortality, perhaps seeking advice even though I wasn't aware of such an intention.
We instead went to a chess tournament and my car was towed and I spent a couple hours getting it back, paying $125 cash for the tow and owing $41 for the fine.
And perhaps therein lies the answer: Life goes on.
I hoped to talk with him about my worsening medical situation. I wasn't seeking advice necessarily, but I always find that when he and I discuss something, I invariably walk away with a deeper understanding of the matter at hand.
We skirted the topic of my health. The crux of the conversation was Ski asking me if I believed in reincarnation. I have no idea what happens after death, I answered. I neither believe nor disbelieve in reincarnation. "You will," he said.
We wound up going to a big chess tournament at a Center City hotel where I met old acquaintances, made new ones and took photos of people engrossed in pitched battles fought over 64 squares.
Coming out of the tournament, Ski and I discovered that my car had been towed. I swear, that car is a magnet for the parking authorities.
I came to Philadelphia wanting to talk with Ski about mortality, perhaps seeking advice even though I wasn't aware of such an intention.
We instead went to a chess tournament and my car was towed and I spent a couple hours getting it back, paying $125 cash for the tow and owing $41 for the fine.
And perhaps therein lies the answer: Life goes on.
10 comments:
Hey! You were in Philly?
Yes. For the day.
City of Brotherly Love? The Wikipedia entry, which this post inspired me to look up, seems to confirm the tendency that everything has to turn into its opposite.
Thanks, Michael. These days I don't find myself attracted to other blogs, but I still find myself attracted to yours.
I tend to be too verbal. But some of your photos convey something, even to me, by-passing the verbal part of the brain.
Thanks again.
Hey Mike,
More like City of Brotherly Shove, as poet/activist Gil Scott-Heron observed many years ago.
Thanks for your kind words about my blog. I truly enjoy reading yours, as well.
For me, this post has to do with the contrast between being truly engrossed in some process (like putting one foot in front/back of the other), and having an intention that we are not aware of to gain some end. That always seems to be what you and I are struggling with, post after post.
Yes, true enough. I don't think I'll ever lose my fear, though one never knows.
I agree about your photos, Michael. That they convey something you didn't expect. Often one of them will get into my thoughts and continue to occur to me throughout the day/next day. The one of the stairway, e.g., which hangs on a wall and is just above my computer screen pulls me into it differently every time I look at it.
FA
Thank you, FA. I really appreciate your comments.
Fireant's echoing stairwell finds another echo here. Worn stone stairs echoing well. But not necessarilly one step in front of the other...
That's the good thing about staircases. :)
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