Young Lady, that skirt is mighty short! Ha. I believe the dress that my young neighbour wears today is called a ‘sheath’. It is a tube-like bit of apparel in knit fabric of red colour. The red is not fire-engine, not wine, it is moderate red. Just red. In combination with the over-dress or long-tailed open jacket of a medium black and the heavy leotards of the same, she looks elegant. It is ok that the skirt ends right about there. She is not vulgar. She is casually elegant, go-anywhere elegant. She is going somewhere.
I am not going anywhere. I am in my thin cotton housecoat, pyjamas and socks. I am plain. I am ordinary. I have no colour scheme, no contrasting textures. I am not elegant. Still, I am observing from the elegance of my ‘solid-wood’ dining-table and one of it’s padded and beautifully fabric-covered chairs. I’ve my bits and bytes at the ready, my back-lit screen is cautiously optimistic. My pyjamas are a sort of cover-all and very discreet. My robe is open, as her over-dress is open. Neither of us are vulgar. I notice my neighbour as she slips into her little red car and goes on about the business of her day. She, probably, does not notice me.
How much of what is around us deserves our attention? Are the comings and goings of my neighbours, imagination’s property? Should I/we spend energy noticing things that appear to have no import? Should we see and not note, go on about our focused lives? Is it a waste of time to stop and see the red of a moderate rose when we have work to do? (Ha. I should call my neighbour ‘Moderate Rose’. That is a good name for her.)
My dear Moderate Rose, I know you cannot hear but I ask you to forgive me. I have drifted into a short story about you and it is not your fault. I was sort of minding my own business until your world collided with mine so briefly. Our circles became tangent for a moment. I was avoiding my day and your, possibly more interesting day piqued me. In consideration of what I took to be my mundane day ahead, I was ready to drift. This is likely not the best thing. I am not getting anywhere, not getting anything done by conjecture about you. I have started with a discussion of your wardrobe and will probably continue to imagination of what your day will be, thoughts of where you might be going, consideration of your goals and relative accomplishments.
Your goals are none of my business, they will likely not affect mine. My imaginations about you are certainly pleasant but the inner voice that tries so hard to drive me toward my goals disallows all this distraction. We argue a bit but mostly… I agree that allowing distraction, imagination, day-dream to interfere with my business at hand will delay the process. A fella can’t get much done when a steaming teacup full of ideas drifts into reach. So. I stand up. I pick up the breakfast dishes, carry them to the waiting sink for a quick wash. Drop any leftover waste (not much these days) into the bin and head off to the shower. There is much to do today and Moderate Rose will have to wait if I am to get anything done at all.
Robert On The Air 