Normally, we walk briskly around the park. But today we are strolling my three-week-old grandson, Robert. Despite the fact that he is peacefully sleeping, we have to stop frequently to admire him. I say “we have to stop” because we are compelled to admire the sheer purity and newness of his every expression and gesture. We exclaim over the way he rounds his mouth, as if he is blowing a bubble. We sigh when Robert curls his right hand near his right cheek. And we ponder when his eyes flutter open and shut: is he dreaming? Each movement is an event and we pause to celebrate.
Later in the day, Ron and I drive to a large gathering. Ron asks me what the guest of honor looks like.
“Well” I say, struggling to retrieve an image of her from my Robert-clouded mind, “She’s medium height, with shoulder-length straight hair.”
“What else?” Ron asks.
“I think her hair is reddish,” I say.
I have seen this woman several times but I haven’t stopped to marvel at her nuances. My grandson is teaching me to look more deeply. I vow to really notice and appreciate her looks and her mannerisms so next time, I can describe her more fully.
This week, I’m trying a quick exercise in the art of noticing and characterization. Every day, I’ll focus on one of the people I encounter and write a paragraph that attempts to capture his or her look and persona. And, of course, I’ll continue to work on my “Robert file.”
How about you? What are some of your tips for swiftly and vividly describing a character?
Thank you Deborah for sharing this delightful observation of details.
Congratulation on the arrival of your grandson ROBERT. We are blessed when we have children, yet we are really blessed when we are granted grandchildren. Thanks for reminding us to perceive all the small details with our heart. Blessings, Annemarie
Congratulations, Deborah, I share that blessing with you and our Connor is almost 3 years old. When he was born, he spent the first 3 weeks in the hospital. At 10 lbs 11 oz, he looked like a healthy, 3 mos. old boy, but he would not breathe outside his cozy original home. After 2 weeks of tubes and probes coming out of him everywhere, his parents and I finally got to hold him for a little while. I took in every little feature of him – his wrinkled brow, the tufts of brown hair, his fearful dark eyes, the pudgy little fist, the one without needles sticking in it; how he waved it, as if to swipe away all of the painful paraphernalia. When I watched my daughter holding Connor those first days, I mainly observed the tears running down her cheek, her tenderness, and little by little, her new expression of protective motherhood.
I believe that moments of emotional transformation make us observe more deeply because we become fully invested and engage our soul in the process.