Is Rice Pudding Taller Than a Sense of Shame?

I remember the days of Summer when I could take two weeks and go to upstate New York. Disconnect. There was one place in the yard at Ravenswood where you could get one bar of service, and even that one bar was not guaranteed. My friends still had dial-up Internet. It was a time where I had nothing to do, absolutely nothing.

I realized some years ago that people need noise. I used to find it so refreshing to go to a restaurant in Europe and I could not hear the conversation at the next table less than two feet from my head. It was not that they were speaking in a language other than English, it was that they did not feel the need to share their conversation with the entire room. It was quiet. Contrast that with going to a restaurant here in the States. The first thing that hits you is the music (what was a favorite song in high school – now, an “oldie”), and then the palaver of people trying to be heard over the din, creating more of a din. (Perhaps that is why some refer to the meal as din-din?)

The music plays for “ambiance.” We know this to be false, there have been studies about volume and tempo changes in the background music that will either hurry you along or invite you to stay and converse. It is just noise, but carefully curated noise. You and your party have the first obstacle, the background music. You must speak over that and if there are others doing the same, you must compete with their noise to be heard.

When you are watching TV, eating supper, while simultaneously checking your phone, are you really focused, or does one of the three become the focus and the other two background noise? I know that I have eaten an entire meal with friends where I did not speak a word. I was too engrossed with my crayons.

Cambridge, New York, August 13, 2010.

It was a beautiful late afternoon at Wren Cottage; the humidity was gone and there was a breeze. It was one of those rare afternoons where we could enjoy a cocktail in the gazebo. The view was stunning atop Scotch Hill. Mt. Equinox arose majestically in the middle distance. As we sat there regaling each other with tales of the day, one of our party spotted two deer along the edge of the tall grass.

We watched in silence as the pair made their way along the mowed edge of the property. They were not 100 feet from us but seemed oblivious to our presence. Once they were out of sight, I made my way back into the cottage. It was time for my medications. I went to “my” room and grabbed the bottles. To put things in perspective, this was a time when I was first getting used to taking anti-anxiety medications. One of the things that was plastered all over the bottles, “AVOID ALCOHOL.” Naturally, I went back into the kitchen, refilled my Negroni (with an extra splash of gin) and took my medications. It was my second Negroni of the evening. Quite frankly, I needn’t have bothered with the meds, I was reasonably numb already.

I went back out to the gazebo and started slipping into a reverie. At some point, it was decided that we were going to a local restaurant, One One One in Greenwich, NY (that’s Green Witch). By the time we got there, I was not there. This is one of those places where they had paper on the tables; they provided crayons. It was not a place for children.

I grabbed the crayons and began to draw. I do not remember anything clearly about the meal. I must have ordered at some point. I do recall holding a salad in my right hand and eating with my left hand between crayon strokes on the paper. The silence in my head was deafening.

The only time I looked up or engaged anyone was when the bill arrived. I made eye contact with the waiter for the first time all evening and handed him my card. No one else had a chance to react. I left a generous tip (as I later learned). I got up from the table and realized that there was a drawing on the paper. I tore it off the table and we went back to Wren Cottage. I awoke the next morning in a complete blackout from the night before. I saw a piece of paper rolled at the end of the bed. I unrolled it and studied it intensely. I remember walking out to the kitchen, scroll in hand. The friend I was staying with had already made his way down Scotch Hill to Ravenswood to meet the rest of the group. I had a car, so I drove down. I walked into the kitchen at Ravenswood and inquired about the drawing and the night before.

Much of this tale is told from stories I was told, not from memory. There was much laughter mixed with a fair amount of concern for my mental state. Needless to say, I was ashamed of my actions. How is it that I can be in a place and be completely unaware of my surroundings? Except I was there, I ordered food, I ate the food, I paid the bill, but as far as I was concerned, I was alone.

I was obsessed with Kurt Weill at that time, hence the “Touch of Venus” on the drawing. What is apparently a drawing of an Angler Fish with an incongruous reference to the goddess of love – how dangerous love can be – is my legacy of why I should not mix drugs and alcohol.

There is so much noise. Cars passing on the street, the sounds of sirens, music playing, people talking (without speaking), the television droning on about something, and all the while, we are engaged with our phones, computers, or tablets. I used to listen to music, loudly, when I was writing, or working. It kept my mind busy so I could focus on the job at hand. I know people who need silence to work, but is there ever true silence?

Quiet. Thinking. A wise man once said, “Not every single second of your life needs to be drowned out by noise.” It is true. You need time to disengage, power down, reset. I have experienced this in an artificial way, and in practiced reflection.

Why do I read so much? I believe that John Green phrased it best, “Books are quiet and interior experiences in a very loud world.” Lately, I have become a part of the loudness, the time has come to go back to quiet. I need to reflect on the void that allowed my mind to wander into that “Touch of Venus” state without altering my conscious state.