January 25, 2009

Kenneth Y reports that my inaugural poem appeared in the Hendersonville Times-News on the sports page, marked “advertisement.”

Saw Slumdog Millionaire at Cinnebar the other night. You feel good at the end even though most of what happened in it was just horrible. Like life, I suppose. Its assertion that some things happen not out of reason or as a return for effort, but just because “it is written,” is the truest thing I’ve heard in a long time.

An Ellet classmate writes on my wall in Face Book:

Really enjoyed the pictures and seeing you in a different persona than I experianced in HS. Many moons have past and your still the invirgorous soul with his own set of rules and living your life as you feel! Good for you David. What a joy to have you as a former classmate who has touched so many lives around the country with your acting talents . Please post your schedule so those of us may be enlighted with your craft! Hope your in good health and have the faith in your heart to thank him daily. My best to you and your family!

Live Life with Passion!

Terry Lee

It is touching. . . though odd. Many of my high school classmates remember me as a “free spirit” with my own rules, while I remember myself as a calculating conformist, steering a careful course between would and ought. Maybe more of what I actually felt broke through than I intended. This same person wrote me a kind note at the death of my father.

Speaking of father, ten times I’ve prepared–before thinking– an explanation for him of the workings of the Prius, imagining him fascinated by it, and praising me for buying one.

Dreamed vividly before morning of doing a performance in a distant city, staying at a vast hotel, and realizing I had forgotten my tuxedo. Getting a tuxedo there was an unimaginable ordeal, not because nobody would help, but because everybody was too helpful, measuring just so and offering me infinite choices in style and accessories. I woke and the dream was interrupted, but hours later, when I fell asleep briefly during the sermon, the bit of dream was exactly where I had left off dreaming the tuxedo dream.

Strange perception in church this morning. We were singing a hymn in which God asks the soul if she will surrender to him, go where he leads her, without asking why or where. At one time my soul could have answered “yes’ to this. But I have been fighting for my own road so long, I wonder if I am still able to take another. I wonder even if I remember where the road was supposed to lead. I think, though, if the Voice said “do this,” I would do it. I would be relieved to have a guide instead of slashing through the underbrush on my own all the time, unable to see ten feet ahead. Any time, Driver, take the wheel.