“Yes," I said, gesturing toward the Erasmus quote on the side of the carry-on I had purchased at Barnes & Noble. "Read what the bag says.”
“Read what is written,” he said.
“Read what is written. The bag doesn’t say anything. The words are written on it. So you read what is written.” Then he added, “My mother was an English teacher.”
I, Miss She-who-corrects-your-English, while subject to Airport Insecurity—the imperious, impersonal and oftentimes invasive of U.S. Constitutional rights, which prohibits unlawful search and seizure—learned a lesson.
I should have hugged him, freaked him out, invaded his space. Instead I thanked him. I really did. I felt grateful, almost giddy in spite of the irony.
What is written? And where? And who validates what is written that people should pay any attention?
So much information, too much white noise and so many voices vying for consideration.
In a matter of days, the calendar page will turn to 2010. It is written, 2010, or soon will be. How will the numbers scrunched together sound to the ear?
Will you say two-thousand and ten? Or two-thousand-ten? Or twenty-ten? Or two-zero, one-zero? Or does the ring of this New Year remind you of 90210?
It is written in Luke 2:1 that in the days of Caesar Augustus a decree for a census set in motion the events surrounding the birth of a person whose life and death changed the way the world tracks time.
Quibble over exact dates or the time of year or change B.C. to B.C.E. [“Before the Common Era”] to dismiss or diminish the significance of that single birth, the sounds at Christmas remind us that Jesus Christ still brings Joy to the World.