Because it’s a short idea day, this is a column about nothing.
“How can you write about nothing?” comes a voice nearby. “Nobody wants to read about nothing. Please don’t bore the readers. Think of something.”
Suppose I could write about the wedding I just attended. Really emotional if you knew the situation. My journalism buddy Mike took to the dance floor with his step-daughter Stephanie and the applause rang forth. If there was a tear or two in the crowd, it was warranted.
You see, Mike was in dire need of a kidney and was undergoing dialysis. Doctors feared the worse if a donor didn’t step forward and told him to advocate on his own. People were tested but nothing positive came out of this.
It wasn’t until his step-daughter came forward when a match was found. They both joined hands at Dana Farber and the operation was a success. She returned to her teaching job and Mike was a new man hacking out stories for the Eagle Tribune.
Now, here they were, dancing up a storm on her wedding day and the whole place went ecstatic. It only goes to prove one important lesson: There are no hopeless situations, only people who have grown hopeless about them.
“Not bad for an opener,” the voice intervened. “But you still have a way to go before finishing this column. Anything else?”
Well, there was that moment last week when my two grandchildren paid us a visit at the lake. They each grabbed a fishing rod and off we went in a boat for that elusive bass.
The granddaughter, age 7, appears fearless. She grabs a worn, baits the hook, sends off a nifty cast which she’s mastered, and reels in a sunfish. Nothing to get really excited about and off into the water it goes for maturity sake and perhaps another catch.
The 5-year-old grandson tends to go the extreme. He lands a perch the size of my thumb and lets out a yelp that reverberates across the lake.
He suddenly thrusts the rod into my hands for fear of being eaten alive and I have a hard time convincing him otherwise.
“How can a fish that small swallow you?” I try explaining.
The day was a complete disaster for this young angler until he landed another fish from the dock and we both handled the reel. The fear suddenly disappeared and as he was leaving for home, he whispered in my ear, “Papa, can we go fishing again real soon? I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” came the voice. “Looks like this column about nothing is gaining some momentum. Anything else?”
Well, yes. This morning I was reading a bulletin from a well-known energy firm and this was the opening line: “As summer temperatures ‘sore,’ staying cool and safe is important, especially for elderly people, young children, and people with chronic illnesses.”
Did they mean soar? Okay, so typos are an embarrassing part of journalism and the printed media. I’ve had my share of snafus over these past 43 years and they still strike a nerve, whether my fault or the editor handling my copy.
I remember some years back of an English class at my high school where the instructor was a former newswoman and a stickler for accuracy. Every time one of my stories appeared in print, back it would come with correction marks.
The teacher made it a point to scrutinize each sentence and point out discrepancies. It did make me aware of my inadequacies to some degree and I turned into a more careful writer on her account.
“That’s a good one,” the voice laughed. “All these little ditties are fascinating but do they add up to a column?”
How about this new dilemma I’m facing? After ridding my collection of some 1,000 records three years ago, I now must reconsider the 1,000 cassettes I have piled up over the last three decades, especially since the new car we just purchased comes without a player.
It’s become a CD world, whether we like it or not. So I went through my collection, the hundreds I purchased at library book sales and second-hand shops, and off I went to the Salvation Army discount store downtown with a donation.
I still have another 300 of these tapes remaining and turn to them with my Walkman in hand during an occasional stroll. It’s only a matter of time before these also find their way to obscurity.
Well, there you have it, a column about nothing special except some immediate thoughts. When everything else fails, try doing what the mind suggests. It often works.
Tom Vartabedian
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We Armenians need to recognize and appreciate those in our midst who give not only of their treasure, but also of their time and talent. Tom Vartabedian is indeed a treasure for our entire Armenian community. Whether writing about personalities, events or experiences, his ability, warmth and heart shine through. Thanks, Tom for all you do. ABRIS!