Way back then, I was a flight-attendant, a steward on board, as they say, some forty years ago, on one of it, and for some years on a Convair 640, a similar aircraft, before that it was retired. And many times hovered over The Leman Lake, and Swiss Alps on the French Plane, on Caravelle 210s too, longtime retired now.
Beautiful memories for old days to come.”
“I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory
Now that I’m grounded to the (floor of cows,) I was a few Blogs away behind, writing and editing some old posts, like the one right now, when the chime of (the prompt post: Object), the muse_dinged. And, I had no time, neither to catch up with the past prompts, nor to think about it, commuting obliged. So, during the lunch break, I had a tiny moment to read a quote of the day from Mr. Alec Lee-Nevela, which is actually it falls in the slots, à propos: how does new come into being?
At that moment I had no answer for this question. It might be uplifting as it seamed to me at first but it wouldn’t be as nifty to craft. Yet, I had to wait until I went back home to work on it. Usually, I treasure an old passion for classical music, and more particularly for Puccini, and for watercolor panting also; an old hobby, a guilty pleasure that I affectionate for longtime. For that, I mean the panting, I have gathered over time, a multitude of objects, that I used for textures, lights, and specific stokes, all weird-looking tools as well, as one might think, at first glance. That’s the thing, that triggered to the morrow, to mull over the image above.
So, I read the prompt, and looked around for a singular trove; from a cristal-glass glob like, that used to be for cooling a bottle of champagne, that I found in garage-sale, and which I use instead, as bowl full of water, to paint and wash in it my watercolor brushes ; an expensive Siberian Blue squirrel hair-quill that I got in Christmas – my wish-list, as a gift from my daughter. Then, I was lost in meditation , in front of a cut-n’ past of panel of Quotes of the day, that I pined to the wall au fil- temps, while listing to ” Caruso”_Puccini, a vinyl. Then, the train of thoughts made it way, hill and dale, through a landscape of wilderness of familiar things. I found myself thinking about an object, but which is a fleeting moment, it don’t mean nothing , so I shuddered to it, turn my eyes away and stop on a zen drawing, to look to a timepiece, a family heirloom, lunging aside on a wall , in at last a forlorn attempt. For hours, I read a book about Zen in the Japanese culture, by Daisetz Suzuki, it said about the place of objects in meditation, like a hanging scroll into an alcove, with a theme carefully chosen by the host, with a bamboo plant pined aside. There is a story in it also, about a broken caldron, yielded and bought a second time by a master of tea ceremony, after he sold to an aficionado merchant of teas. that is, to say isn’t?, a long process of getting things put together.
I had my laptop on my lap and a bunch of ideas jostling in my head, and I was “itching for words”, in the same way the Poet Stevenson was a time ago ; I want to express them in my own words, then suddenly I googled the word timepiece, and got the image above; it resumed a lump of symbols, and debris that we call meanings, in ane word: Object of a fleeting moment. “Size the thing and the words will follow”_ Cicero
The answer is:
“How the “new” comes into being:—One natural question often raised is: How do we ever get new verbal creations such as a poem or a brilliant essay? The answer is that we get them by manipulating words, shifting them about until a new pattern is hit upon…How do you suppose Patou builds a new gown? Has he any idea in his mind yet to embroidery about?”