The Day People

Terry Brooks

When I was about 13 (1986ish), my father apparently got tired of me reading only comic books. He was (and probably still is) and avid library user, my dad. He reads junk, just like everyone else, Tom Clancy and James Michener and whatnot, but he definitely reads a lot, which is more than most people can say.

I think it troubled my parents that I only read comic books. “At least you’re reading SOMEthing,” my mom would say, but as I got older, she said it with less and less sincerity. I think my dad picked up on this, and wanted to give me a nudge. So on his weekly trip to the library, he stopped in the fantasy section and grabbed a book. Pretty much at random.

My dad has never been able to understand what makes me tick, entertainment-wise. But he did know I liked watching Robin Hood movies with him, and he knew I loved my Lord of the Rings set (though I had only ever read the Hobbit, at the time). I also had and loved my D&D rule books and read them all the time. “Peat likes fantasy,” I imagine him thinking. “One fantasy book is as good as another.”

The book he chose was The Wishsong of Shannara by Terry Brooks. I had nothing to do that… year, so I said “what the hell” and read it.

And it fuckin’ Blew. My. Mind.

With the exception of the Hobbit, which was practically a bedtime story I fell in love with, I read it so young, I had never read a fantasy book.

Now I had to read them all.

I started by finishing off that Shannara Trilogy. Wishsong was book 3, so I read Elfstones (#2), and then Sword (#1). Not sure why I read the trilogy backwards like that. I was crazy in those days.

Then I read the Magic Kingdom For Sale: Sold!, and ran out of Terry Brooks books.

So I moved on to Dragonlance, and the Forgotten Realms. I read Piers Anthony and Lyndon Hardy, and CS Friedman. David Eddings, Robert Jordan, David Farland, Raymond E Feist, George RR Martin, and Tanya Huff. Dozens of others. Whatever I could get my hands on and make time for in the ensuing years.

But Terry Brooks was on the ground floor. He started me on the journey, and his books have a special place in my heart and as strong an influence on how I see the fantasy genre as D&D or Lord of the Rings.

I have distinct memories of every Brooks book I have read; of the actual READING of the book, where I was, what time of year, who was around when I read certain passages, etc. For the last 19 years, I’ve always dropped everything to devour the new Brooks book as soon as it came out, usually retreating to a quiet place of beauty with a hidden store of goodies. I remember reading The Tangle Box on the great terrace at Ellicott student housing at UB. I remember the thrill of finding the lost elfstones in The Elf Queen of Shannara while on a ski trip with my dad. I got in trouble for paging through The Druid of Shannara in Mr. Blackburn’s art class.

The new book, Straken, came out last week. Despite my unemployment, I went right out and bought it. I finished King Rat on Sunday, and dove in.

I say all this just to begin to illustrate how deeply… nourishing these last few days have been. I’ve been wrapping up everything I have to do as early as possible each day, grabbing my iPod and putting on my new Iron & Wine catalog, packing some water & fruit, and setting off for the park.

The Park

Living near the park was the smartest thing I ever did. As a Westchester kid moving to the city, I wanted to retain some kind of contact with nature. The city is too dead, too depressing some time. I need reminders that the world is supposed to be green. So when Cobie and I were looking for a place, “near the park” was my only non-negotiable criteria.

Six minutes walk from my front door, past the horse stables, stands Prospect Park, second in size only to Central Park. Another ten minutes walk, and I am so far into the green that I forget I am in Brooklyn at all. It’s just rolling hills of grass and lush trees, their green not yet tinged with autumn’s drain. There are lakes and streams, laughing children, and pure clean air. Acorns dig into your back when you lie under the shady trees, and even the sickly sweet smell of rot in the damp, wooded areas is welcome compared to the fumes of any NYC street.

I like to go to the lakeshore and collect smooth stones, skipping them across the surface and feeling like a child playing at Carpenter’s Pond again. I hate the fences that prevent you from leaving the paths, treating nature like it belongs in a museum. Look, but don’t touch!

I’ve been trying to get a little color while summer still reigns. I’ve been chained indoors for one reason or another all summer, and this year Dani and I agreed that the expense of the remodeling ruled out our annual Caribbean vacation this year.

As a result, I am paler than a fucking vampire, and I hate it.

So I’ve been going to the park, taking off my shirt, and lying in the strongest sun I can find. I put Australian Gold sunblock on my tattoo, so it won’t fade or blur, but I don’t bother with sunscreen otherwise. I fear no New York September sun!

Australian Gold, though, is something Dani and I depend on heavily during our aforementioned Caribbean vacations. We both burn to fuck, otherwise. We use AG exclusively, because we both love the smell. And because of that, that smell alone is enough to arouse vivid memories of the beach and utter contentment.

So I’m reading Terry Brooks, listening to Iron & Wine, smelling Australian Gold, drinking in the sun, breathing fresh air, surrounded by green life, and eating that most delicious of fruits, the Asian Pear, along with water and other snacks from my bag.

I swear, I could do that for the rest of my fucking life. The only thing that could make it better is if I was actually on a beach in Aruba, with Dani beside me, and a scantily clad woman was serving me a frozen strawberry daquiri.

Three days in the park this week. Maybe 7 hours, total. But I think I gained back a few years I’d lost.

The Day People

Which got me to thinkin’ about unemployment, and how the downside, not having any money, sucks. How it can eventually destroy you. But the upside, the payoff, is the right to take back that which rightfully belongs to every one of us. The day.

I don’t mean that in a trite Carpe Diem bumper sticker kind of way. I mean it REALLY. We spend so many of our days mindlessly shuffling around an office handing each other pieces of paper and sending e-mails. The park, this amazing, rejuvenating place, is practically empty during the day. A handful of retirees feeding ducks. Some fitness nuts jogging or biking. The occasional housewife with a stroller.

And, like me, a chosen few who don’t have anywhere they have to be, and can actually do something we want. We shuffle around in wonder, breathing deep and unable to believe our luck. We people know depth of the gift we have been given, and we appreciate it.

My friend Fotini calls us the Day People. Since she quit her day job a few years ago in order to control her vast real estate empire, she has joined those ranks, and hasn’t looked back. She gave me a lot of advice when I told her I lost my job, and the best was her assurance that I would quickly grow to love being a Day Person.

A woman both fair and wise. She is definitely right, and that scares me. I need to find a new job before I crack and move to Hawaii and become a beachcomber. I know a guy that did it, and he was never happier.

Mankind was not meant to spend its days in cubicle mazes, working so hard and under so much pressure to create things that, with a very few exceptions, have no real bearing on anything. Does anyone care if they stop receiving unsolicited junk mail about drugs someone is selling? Or if the Bloomingdales catalog is late? Or any of a million other things we twist our guts and sacrifice our daytime for?

I could never be one of those people who keeps working after making enough money to keep myself and my family in comfort. Unless I achieve my dream of writing fantasy for a living, I am retiring as soon as I fucking can, building a porch that faces something beautiful, and sitting on it with a book, my laptop, and a glass of iced tea for the rest of my life.

Posted on September 23, 2005 at 1:24 pm by PeatB
Filed under Life, Musings
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