Life Through These Eyes

: “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?” “Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” Edgar Allan Poe This story is about six people. People I have admired and the questions I would like to ask them, but never will. These six have interested, fascinated, and influenced me in many ways. Although impossible, as you shall see, I’ve even imagined a formal dinner party and you’ll never “Guess who’s coming to dinner” at our home. Seated to my right is Ernest Hemmingway. Across from him is William Shakespeare. Beside Mr. Hemingway is Thomas Jefferson. The other three haven’t arrived yet. I’ll introduce them later. Different times. Different personalities. Different accomplishments. All brilliant. All gave the world so much. Can you imagine having them all around one table? Remember, it’s all right to dream. What my guests have given to the world is well documented. What I would like to say is, “Please, just talk among yourselves. I just want to listen. Tell me about your world. And where you feel ours is heading.” Glancing toward Shakespeare: I see, who many consider, the greatest writer in the English language. His plays, sonnets, and poems have been translated into every major living language. I would apologize, for not taking his work seriously in high school. I hope he would understand and forgive me. “Much of one’s youth is wasted on the young.” I would like to know about his private life, which little has been written. About his family, his fears, and regrets. Sitting beside him at the Globe Theatre in London for a performance of “Hamlet” would be beyond words. He was only 52 when he died. Across the table is Ernest Hemingway. A man’s man. Or so it seemed, as I read his many novels throughout the years. His characters were usually strong but had a certain grace about them. Such brilliance and such a tortured soul. He battled demons we could never imagine. Funny though, he’s one of the few artists who achieved fame within his lifetime. He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1953 for “The Old Man and the Sea” and the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1954. I visited his home in Key West a few years ago. As I stood beside the desk where he penned many of his manuscripts, I imagined: Papa, as he called himself, handing me a draft of For Whom the Bell Tolls and saying, “Well, what do you think?” The descendants of his 6-toed cats still roam the property. When I was 12, he took his own life. He was only 62. He would have loved West Virginia. His memorial is inscribed with: “Best of all he loved the Fall. The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods. Leaves floating on the trout streams. And above the hills. The high blue windless skies. Now he will be part of them forever.” Sitting beside him is Thomas Jefferson. The quiet one…thinking. I can see him jotting notes in that small notebook he always carried. How does one properly address him? Would it be Mr. President, Mr. Secretary (of State), Mr. Ambassador (to France), or simply…Mr. Jefferson. So much knowledge in one mind. Beyond the obvious, he was an accomplished architect, inventor, archeologist, gardener and planter, musician, wine lover, and noted gourmet. Most of all, I would like to walk with him around Monticello (his Virginia home) and listen to him talk about his gardens and his beloved orchards. And listen to him talk about the future…his hopes and dreams. Years ago, as I stood beside his grave at Monticello, I read his epitaph, which he wrote: “Here was buried Thomas Jefferson Author of the Declaration of American Independence Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom And Father of the University of Virginia” Such an understatement. But, that was Jefferson. He died in 1826…on July 4th. How appropriate, for a man who gave us so much. Ah! I see my other guests haven’t arrived yet. I hope you won’t mind waiting until next week to meet them. To be continued When I began writing this story, I knew it had to be continued. Please read on.