I thought I’d braid my life into cultural history. What do you think?” “I don’t know.” We stood silent, kicking at leaves. One of us said, “Did you see that?” “Yeah, what do you think?” “I don’t know. Autumn leaves covered the sidewalks and ground.
When Presley finished, I left the house and started walking over to my friend Richie Sievers’s house. My grandmother said, “Disgusting!” My parents made discontented sounds.
#RADI OS RONALD JOHNSON SUMMARY TV#
On September 9, 1956, in the very small Minnesota town of Farmington, my family of seven settled in, as we did every week, to watch “The Ed Sullivan Show.” We had the living-room lights off because we were still confusing TV with film. I ended up using most of the money to buy a garden tractor. Twenty-some years ago, I got a Guggenheim grant to write a memoir. (That’s diseased me now, I suppose.) But the real one sits gleaming on East Seventh Street today. The other night, I dreamed that I fetched the car from a parking lot only to find that it was another Subaru Forester, with two hundred thousand miles on it, dirty and falling apart. I was at the wheel of my first brand-new car since 1962, a blue Subaru Forester that I dote on. She was thirty when she died in a plane crash, consummate. Patsy Cline was playing on the car radio: “Walkin’ After Midnight.” Not a great song, but performed in Cline’s way of attending selflessly to the sounds and the senses of the words. How many times had I seen and loved the sight? How many more times would I? I thought of Thomas Cole’s paintings, from another angle, of those very old, worn mountains, brooding on something until the extinction of matter.
At mile eighty-one of the New York State Thruway, the gray silhouettes of the Catskills come into view, perfectly framed and proportioned. After the call, I found myself overwhelmed by the beauty of the passing late-August land. I got the preliminary word from my doctor by phone while driving alone upstate from the city to join my wife, Brooke, at our country place.
0 kommentar(er)
