Monday rambling . . .

I spent the weekend writing a script for a roast of a dear friend. Or he was, before the roast. Writing humour based in fact while working under a deadline is perilous. You can't force funny. Or a least I can't. In fact humour seems to resent guidance and control. It is a fearful thing, much like waiting to see if a cake turns out right. By the time you know, it is too late to do anything about it. You just try to form the crumbs or the lopsided layer into something presentable, slap on some extra icing to hold it in place, and begin apologizing. And if it is a problem with taste, there is no solution.

So between minor chores on the may-do list, I tried to remember funny things about the roastee, and about my friends who were to be the vessels for my script. At first it was hard. That was my fault. I have been in such a serious mood, generally speaking, for so long.

Finally one of my friends, the only one who was concerned about appearing foolish, reminded me of a few specific memories that were mildly amusing. Even though the disclosure was motivated by pure self-interest, it was helpful. A couple of the other actors put in their thoughts and we were on our way. In thinking of them I began to laugh to myself. The laughter broke the hardened ice of my self-important seriousness, and helped me laugh more as more memories came to life.

Our part of the roast turned out okay. We didn't have to use much extra icing to make it presentable. And generally it was in good taste. A little salty in one or two places, but acceptable.

Memories are great. But, like humour, they resist control. Sometimes the only way to control memories is to shut them out all together, to freeze them, like I have been doing. Because even good memories can be painful, when memories are all that remains.

One of my friends got a new car and gave me the tour. Shiny and kinda cool looking. Great gas mileage. Bright headlights like new cars have these days. Good safety features. Brilliant dashboard. We sat in the new seats for a moment and talked about how great it was.

But we both knew there was a bit of dishonesty in what we were saying. We missed the old one. We missed the memories.

And that is an option you just can't buy, except with time.


.