![]() |
| Paulino and Lupo Grageda and his painting Memory of a Lost Friend |
Whatever the case, they still inhabit your mental
theater. My boyhood friend in the Philippines, Lupo Grageda who was born in
1934 and died in 2011, is still on the wings of my mental stage, waiting for a
summon. It’s easier to do so for Lupo whose two gifts are hung in the living room:
a framed picture of twenty-nine pinned butterflies and an acrylic abstract
painting he captioned Memory of a Lost Friend. A painter’s depiction of
memory, like a still from a filmmaker’s montage.
This is perhaps how the living relates to a “dearly
beloved” friend or family member. They are on the wings, waiting for you to
apologize for not telling them how much you loved them, or failing to do what
they asked you to, when they were still with you.
This is a familiar trope of family dramas. In Tennessee Williams's Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” the son Brick (Paul Newman in the film version) tells his dying father (Burl Ives), “You never showed or expressed your love for me.”
Susan Cheever, herself a writer like her father John
Cheever, dipped into her father’s letters to write a memoir that became an
episode in the TV series Seinfeld. The memoir reveals that her father was serially unfaithful to her mother with both male and female lovers.
W. Somerset Maugham knew what happens to letters you
keep, and made a bonfire of them before he died. Letters are of course a
familiar trope in fiction, as in Thomas Hardy’s tragic novel Tess of the d’Urbervilles. As a narrative device, they constitute the genre of the epistolary novel, e.g., Samuel Richardson’s Pamela and Alice Walker’s The Color Purple.
Now that the pandemic is over, I would like to thank
Charles May, whose complimentary close “Your friend forever” in an email is the
first entry in the blog, Pandemic Dream Diary. My daughter Claire, who edits the blog, supplied the subtitle “A place to share my latest musings.” I shall continue to do so. Thank you for reading.


Comments
Post a Comment