Last week was busy with posts, editing, considerations. I was pondering the work, my family, music; twenty-five years ago I married my husband, which is still some fixed point that cannot be altered. Sort of Doctor Whovian, okay, sure. There are fixed points in time from where all change occurs.
Of course those points don’t mean squat to any but those directly affected, or do they… I’m writing this somewhat fuzzy post because I said I do; no way would I be where I am in my life, location and sanity-wise, if not for that man. We wouldn’t have the kids we do, I wouldn’t have logged the experiences that touch all aspects of my writing. The writing, huh! I wouldn’t be writing if not for that chap, because while he wouldn’t read one of my books to save his life, his life centers mine, which in turn allows for all this authorial blog-blogging.
More fixed points: when my daughter told me about NaNo. When my husband called me about jobs in England. The first record album I bought in the Chester Rexall Drugstore; it was either Paul Simon or Elton John’s Greatest Hits. Fixed points can be little or large, but they are immutable, no matter the size or their presumed positive or negative appearance.
Last week another fixed point occurred. In the future, when I think back to it, I will always combine it with my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, an additional marker enhancing the meaning. I will probably recall what I was editing at the time, hopefully I will not conjure a recent football loss. I will most likely tie it with the latest musical finds, “Hickory Wind” by The Byrds (I’m on a Gram Parsons kick right now, in addition to Subaqwa), alongside “Alive and Kicking” by Simple Minds. I came across Parsons as he’s on the cover of the most recent Uncut magazine my husband just received. The headline is “Gram Parsons: The Untold Story”. Really, how can anything be untold at this point about late 1960s-early 1970s musicians? But for some, hearing Gram Parsons for the first time is a fixed point, or his death is a fixed point.
For me, it’s an anecdote. Later, when I muse the most recently fixed point, “Hickory Wind” might waft through my head.
This doesn’t have much to do with writing proper, not today. But it will down the road; how many further manuscripts will emerge due to one fixed point, like planets aligning, that sort of claptrap? Except it’s not rubbish, it’s life.
It’s reality, which piles on itself, sometimes like a brick, other times imperceptibly. I had no idea when I wed my boyfriend how that would alter my world, just like when I bought that Greatest Hits record, or my eldest causally mentioning a writing competition. Well, I sort of knew getting married was going to be a big deal, but it wasn’t a fancy ceremony, just a guy and gal pledging their lives together. I was twenty-one years old, that seems like… Well, not to offend any young twenty-somethings, but I was just a kid back then, or maybe it was only me.
I’m not a kid anymore, fixed points and all that sort of grown-up thing.
My husband took the photo below last night at dinner. I turned it into black and white on my smartphone, but it’s just a snippet, one moment of time that is already long gone. Yet every time I see that picture, I’ll know what we were discussing, I’ll probably recall what we were eating (cottage pie and oh was it good). I’ll remember why that smile was so… telling. It was one of the first smiles after another fixed point, where all that is known is something is going to be different from here on out.
If nothing else, it’s the next chapter with my husband. Maybe another twenty-five years, maybe far less. Whatever it is, writing will be involved, music too. He bought albums yesterday, a binding thread of our days together. That some of those records were unlistenable was par for the course. Some were treasures that will follow us the rest of our lives. Maybe they’ll be fixed points one day.
Or maybe fodder for a garage sale. Or novel fodder; it all ends up in a book one way or another.