In the context of a forthcoming Bank Holiday weekend at the time of writing, and just following the Easter break, I wanted to share with you an extract from a piece by American author Kurt Vonnegut. Regular readers will be aware that I’ve referenced him previously – specifically, his dystopian science fiction story “Harrison Bergeron” which I found fascinating and “If this isn’t nice, what is? Advice for the young”. Both are highly recommended.

I’ve more recently gone down a proverbial rabbit hole with his other fiction and non-fiction works. I find his writing so insightful yet in no way impenetrable.
So, without further ado, here’s the extract – from “A Man Without a Country” (2005) in Chapter 6 (entitled “I have been called a Luddite”):
“I work at home, and if I wanted to, I could have a computer right by my bed, and I’d never have to leave it. But I use a typewriter, and afterwards I mark up the pages with a pencil. Then I call up this woman named Carol out in Woodstock and say, ‘Are you still doing typing?’ Sure she is, and her husband is trying to track bluebirds out there and not having much luck, and so we chitchat back and forth, and I say, ‘OK, I’ll send you the pages.’
Then I’m going down the steps, and my wife calls up, ‘Where are you going?’ I say, ‘Well, I’m going to go buy an envelope.’ And she says, ‘You’re not a poor man. Why don’t you buy a thousand envelopes? They’ll deliver them, and you can put them in a closet.’ And I say, ‘Hush.’ So I go down the steps here, and I go out to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it’s my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience center down the block at the corner of 47th Street and 2nd Avenue, where I’m secretly in love with the woman behind the counter. I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it. Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home. And I’ve had a hell of a good time. And I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.”

This blog is sometimes (I hope!) beneficial to others but is also something for me too. Vonnegut’s endorsement of finding a reason – however tenuous – to connect with the wider world and take pleasure in its many and varied trivialities is a valuable “note to self” as we draw to the end of a working week and toward the extended weekend.
As a child, my friends and I were often on the receiving end of an injunction to “go out and play!” from parents who, in part, wanted us from under their feet but also wanted us to experience the same wonderful world where Vonnegut can get his envelope. And this is not the same world as one of Amazon deliveries to the door. Propelled by bicycle wheels, we would embrace the day – without a plan other than to be home in time for tea, and without an objective other than to have fun.

As the lockdown restriction of the Covid 19 pandemic becomes more of a historical event than a recent memory, in my opinion we would all benefit from remaining extremely grateful for the little things we can encounter beyond our own doorstep, which we all pined for during that time.
So, I hope whether it was at Easter at this Bank Holiday weekend, or at some point in the summer, you take some time away from the pressing considerations in order to “fart around” for at least a brief time. I know that when I do, I’m a better person for it.
Thanks, as always, for reading.

Mike




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