It is no secret to my closest
friends that I am not
much of a conversationalist.
Perhaps I am a reaction
to a mother who loved conversation
and ranked it right
up there with other forms of
expression that she revered:
theater and art. Ironically, so
long as I can stay awake, and
no matter how vibrant any
conversation might be, my
preference has always been
for listening.
The only conversation arena
that appeals to me is the
classroom, a place where
for thirty years I encouraged
discussion for the sole purpose
of developing critical
thinking and reading skills.
Get me out of the classroom
and my conversation skills
disappear. Who knows
why? I have always been
comfortable in my own skin
and have never needed
thought to be fueled by talk.
I enjoy writing because I can
communicate with others
without the immediate give
and take of conversation.
Of course, writing requires
a conversation with the self
that emerges as black letters
on a page.
My most prized form of
conversation is either with
my inner voice, which does
not hesitate to put me in
my place when I get a bit
high minded, even unintentionally
disingenuous, or
a private chat with a close
friend. Lively conversations
do energize me from time
to time, but they are as rare
as the chance appearance
of a sand hill crane in my
neighbor’s pasture.
I have been thinking a lot
about communication since
reading this passage in Reinhold
Niebuhr’s book ``The
Irony of American History’’:
``The inventions of writing
and printing represent two of
the most important chapters
in the history of culture. But
the further elaboration of
communications in the arts of
mass communication have led
to the vulgarization of culture
as well as to the dissemination
of its richest prizes among the
general public.’’ We hear a lot
about twittering and tweeting
these days. Curmudgeon that
I am, I will never be caught
either twittering or tweeting.
Actually, as a birder I will
tweet once in a while to cajole
a bird out of hiding, but that is
as far as it goes.
Young people especially
seem to be drawn to instant
messaging, as if waiting were
some sort of spiritual sin.
I have never quite figured
out what all the hurry was
about anyway. Most of the
public chatter that I hear
these days is utterly useless,
insignificant, and often quite
inane. We rightly lament the
loss of those cultural practices.
Hawthorn Hill
Hawthorn Hill: Prefers listening over talking
- Hawthorn Hill
-
-
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
-
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Making sense of things
A book I have been reading investigates the various ways over time that we have made sense of the world. It carries the reader through to the present via several seminal classical texts and ultimately aims to suggest a strategy for “ finding meaning in a secular age.”
-
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of birds and faith
I watch birds quite a bit. Every five days or so I send in a report to Cornell as partof its annual Project Feeder Watch program. The data, collected from volunteers from all over the country, enables scientists to track population trends. I would spend quite a bit of time checking out the visitors to our feeders anyway. Participating in the feeder program makes a personal pleasure that much more meaningful. It is rare that aesthetical and scientific endeavors work in tandem.
-
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Circularity
When she was a puppy my dog Gabby would run in what I described then as “circles of joy.” She celebrated her15th birthday a few weeks ago and despite the inevitable frailties that old age imposes upon all of us, she is doing pretty well.
-
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Irony abounds
These are querulous times. Dissent and disagreement, as uncomfortable as they sometimes are, are essential components of a viable democracy. Democracies are always messy because everyone has a right to speak his mind and because whenever a majority is able to gain the numerical upper hand it pretty much runs the show. Several political philosophers have written quite persuasively of what they characterize as the “tyranny of the majority.” Get enough people on your side and you have the opportunity to get your way so long as you are able to maintain power. I suspect that most thoughtful people would agree that wisdom is hard to come by.
-
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of kinglets and mortality
This is that transitional time of year when fall begins to take its final bow and winter starts to seep into our lives not always with a great deal of subtlety. It is also a time when body seems quite willing to step aside and let mind have dominant sway for a while.
-
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Wisdom
I do not know about anyone else, but I tired of selfcongratulatory political talk a long time ago. Fact is, I have never liked it much. One candidate interviewed yesterday had nothing at all good to say about the present administration. In the process of lambasting its record on just about every front, this individual never once offered any specifics as to how he would go about creating jobs, ending Medicare fraud, or terminating these idiotic wars that we seem intent on embroiling ourselves in.
-
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Rights
There is a lot of chatter these days about rights. It gives one pause. Several weeks ago I heard a politician claim that it is time to win our country back. I was not aware that we had lost it. I wonder who stole it. If you ask a rabid conservative, the answer will most likely be those bleeding heart liberals.
-
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Looking for diversions
It has been a long, psychically trying winter. I always feel more comfortable knowing that I am not alone, so when friends complain openly about cabin fever and wanting “to get the hell out of here” for a while I know exactly what they mean. We are planning a trip to Costa Rica in March, so in order to keep one’s head above the darkening inner clouds, it is necessary to look for diversions that have, as Wordsworth put it, a renovating virtue. Luckily for me, Redpolls fit the bill.
-
Hawthorn Hill: Quietness
I want to make a case for quietness. Thoreau writes that he never found a companion as companionable as solitude. It is a sentiment that I share. As I sit here looking out over the snow-covered hills I am struck by the absence of movement. I am awed by a stillness unstirred by wind or activity of any kind. There is no noise, neither human nor animal. How nice that is.
- More Hawthorn Hill Headlines
-
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
