by: fandy
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Word Count: 556
Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 Time: 1:09 AM -
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An old friendship had grown cold. Where once there had been closeness, (here was only strain. Now pride kept me from picking up the phone.Then one day I dropped in on another old friend who's had a long career as a minister and counselor. We were seated in his study -surrounded by maybe a thousand books and fell into deep conversation about everything from small computers to the tormented life of Beethoven.The subject finally turned to friendship) and how perishable it seems to be these days. I mentioned my own experience as an example. "Relationships are mysteries," my friend said, "Some endure. Others fall apart. (http://www.cathayschool.com/)
Article Source: DirectoryArticles.com
Another boring form of conversation is that of the man who, when talking politics, trots out all the old threadbare arguments with the air of a person using them for the first time. I have been a bore of this kind myself. As a boy I was blind enough to regard Mr. Gladstone's proposal of Home Rule for Ireland as both dangerous and wicked, and, whenever I met a great friend of mine who was a Home Ruler, I would drag the conversation round to the great theme. I shouted the wildest nonsense into his ear as I walked beside him in the streets, telling him with blazing eyes of all the good England had done to Ireland and yelling all the usual musty quotations from the Pre-Home-Rule Gladstone and Sir William Harcourt. Not once did I use an original argument, for I knew none. I was merely an infuriated parrot, speaking out of the richest store of ignorance conceivable.
Gazing out his window to the wooded Vermont hills, he pointed toward a neighboring farm, "Used to be a large barn other there." Next lo a red-frame house were the footings of what had been a sizable structure."It was solidly built, probably in the 1870s. Hut like so many of the places around here, it went down because people led for richer lands in the Midwest. No one took care of the barn. Its roof needed patching; rainwater got under the eaves and dripped down inside the posts and beams."
"One day a high wind came along, and the whole barn began to tremble. You could hear this creaking, first, like old sailing-ship timbers, and then a sharp series of cracks and a tremendous roaring sound. Suddenly it was a heap of scrap lumber. "After the storm blew over, I went down and saw these beautiful, old oak timbers, solid as could be. I asked the fellow who owns the place what had happened. He said he figured the rainwater had settled in the pinholes, where wooden dowels held the joints together. Oriel those pins were rotted, there was nothing to link the giant beams together. (http://www.cathayschool.com/ccie-routing-and-switching-mock-lab-workshop.html)
We both gazed down the hill. Now all that was left of the barn was its cellar hole and its border of lilac shrubs.My friend said lie had turned the incident over arid over in his mind, and finally came to recognize some parallels between building a barn and building a friendship: no matter how strong yon are, how notable your attainments, you have enduring significance only in your relationship to others.
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