Me and Poetry Today

I’ve quite often wondered, and probably blundered,

When I’ve tried to discern and really to learn

An important life fact—although nothing exact—

from those opening words, singing to me like birds.

they’re the words, don’t you know it,

that this morning were coming

from my first favorite poet,

i mean good ol’ e.e. cummings.

They’re from, I think, the opening stanza

of a virtual poetic bonanza,

of an old poem—to me a song—

one I’d been hearing all night long

It seems I’m always wrestlin’

With those words of edward estlin.

“I have never loved thee as now I love”

they sing to me like angels from above.

There’s another that I like, it can stop me at the door

“I carry your heart in my heart.”  Oh allow me one more

“The best gesture of my brain is not worth your eyelids flutter.”

Failing to find a rhyme I’d accept, let’s just say “like butter.”

Now, I recall how this business started,

A simple task from which I soon departed.

What did he really mean, “I have never…”

“…as now I love.”  Was it not forever?

but instead merely a fleeting glimpse

of love that cannot fly but only limps.

Then while caught in the embrace of death,

Once more the love takes away his breath

To think I b’lieved some simple verse of mine could do it

I knew it, I knew it, I just simply blew it.

‘cause I started looking at all of his other stuff.

But fear not for me, it wasn’t that rough.

Just know that love’s precious and so,

We really must share it wherever we go.

Traditions, Traditionally Speaking

Traditions, Traditionally Speaking

I've been thinking about Christmas traditions lately, and I noticed none are stronger than those we used to observe at Christmas when I was very young.  My version of the traditional Christmas is entirely from that time of my childhood.  We did our major observance on Christmas Eve.   My Father's brother Dick, his sister Rita, her husband Hank and their child, my cousin Jim all came over for the evening.  We (the kids) opened one gift on that night, then opened the rest on Christmas morning.  If I recall correctly, we opened our gifts before church.  This saves Santa from having to completely wrap what he brings, making the trip around the world more easily achieved.  It means when we came down the stairs on Christmas morning, the largest of Santa's gifts were in plain sight on or near your pile of presents.  No problem there, after admiring the gift Santa had not wrapped, we tackled the pile that was wrapped.

I think as young parents we rotated Christmas visits between our respective parents' homes.  We headed for whichever grandparents' home was on our schedule and did whatever the respective grandparents' tradition called for.  By contrast, my siblings began to observe Christmas at their respective homes with their "nuclear" families, dropping in on Grandma and Pop later.  Soon a new tradition became established, the "family" party took place earlier in the month of December and was attended by all who were in town, usually not including us after 1984, as we had moved to Atlanta in 1985.  For the next five years or so, our "tradition" was to drive for eleven or so hours to Chicago, then on to St. Louis, or vice-versa.  Since we had to travel six to seven hundred miles each way, it was not an easy tradition to carry on as our kids got older, I think.  

The result of all this was that we did not establish the kinds of "nuclear" family traditions my siblings did.  We had even abandoned traveling home for the holidays by the mid to late1990's.  Both of my parents had passed away and my wife's Dad came to live with us a short time later.

No worries, because as the kids reached college age, the whole Christmas thing became a homecoming by one or both of them, which was sometimes fun, and sometimes less so.  Most of the time, they both came home and spent only Christmas Eve and Christmas at home with us, attending church when we did.  Without grandkids, things proceeded this way for a number of years, changed little by the marriage of our oldest.   Oh, they had to be at the in-laws' on Christmas morning in observance of their strict tradition of not opening gifts until the entire family had assembled, but they could still sleep at our house, then get up and go to his parents' when they got up.  Our focal point was probably Christmas Eve anyway, but there were no "traditions" to which anyone strictly adhered.  We just went with the flow, so to speak.  We even find ourselves doing that with our new grandchildren, adopted simultaneously three years ago.  Nothing firm has been established that I would term "a tradition" on our side

Which leads me to wonder what the rest of the world does.  I spoke to several of the adult ESL students I tutor, and none of them had any tradition beyond attending church on Christmas.  Some of the adults living here travel home for the holidays to be with children and grandchildren, but others have abandoned that practice as their grandchildren entered their teenage years and lost interest in their grandparents, or as the distance and the heavy holiday traffic became harder to bear.  Some are now single, and that seems to diminish local traditions even further, unless they simply move to where their children live.  The trouble with that strategy is that the children are more mobile than my parents or my parents' parents ever were, so you might face move upon move just to keep up.

So, as yet another non-traditional Christmas season approaches, I pay some heed to an article I ran across.  It's about starting holiday traditions.  The link is below.  While many of them are only a fit for young families or large ones, there are surely a few nuggets for everyone.  If not, try thinking of one that fits you and your situation as number fifty-one.  Give it some thought and try talking it over with a friend or family member.  With a little luck, you might just come up with one that works for you.  I sure hope so.  May you make a new tradition that helps make this--the most traditional of holidays--a Merry one.

http://www.cozi.com/live-simply/50-holiday-traditions

SCD Syndrome And Me

SCD Syndrome And Me

I was in a contemplative mood this morning, I'm not sure why.  Maybe because it was Friday the 13th, or maybe it was just the fact that it's that time of year again.  Especially at this time of year, SCD is highly prevalent.  Like many other syndromes, this one arises out of defense mechanisms that are generally benign.  As Freud said, the ego employs them to deal with anxiety--anxiety produced by conflict between the id and the superego and reality--I could go on, but you probably know the basics.  

I learned mine while I was majoring in Psychology, an endeavor I abandoned when I realized I'd have eight more years of school before I could make enough money to support myself.  But not before I learned enough to understand that defense mechanisms can also get us in trouble when they begin 'to distort reality."  They begin to distort when they are overused.  

Denial was the first defense mechanism described by Freud, and is commonly at the start of every list I run across.  It is the easiest to spot.  Here's the overweight middle-aged guy pretending he's not, saying he's still in pretty good shape, and he could lose those few extra pounds quickly if he wanted to.   It's the guy who goes out for "a few drinks" and wakes up late for work and doesn't remember how he got home last night, saying "I don't have a drinking problem, I could quit any time I want."   

Sometimes denial works, allowing enough time for the ego to get back in control, deny the reality for a bit and take some positive action.  But not always.  Take SCD syndrome as an example.  It begins with the small things.  "No one knows I did that, he didn't see it anyway." Or, "He doesn't know.  I'll straighten up before the end of the year and everything will be fine."  But the days pile up and before long the victim realizes that his mistakes are piling up too, and a list is being made.  He also knows the list is being checked, more than once and that he will wind up in the wrong category when the big guy comes to town.  

Yes, the big guy's going find out.  When it really sinks in, he decides to deny the whole thing--to deny the big guy even exists--to become a "Santa Claus Denier," a victim of SCD.  Some reach that stage and stay there for a long, long time, even into adulthood.  Then, it goes away for a few magical years--roughly coinciding with the early years of parenting, if they get the chance; but it comes back again.  I know from personal experience.  Only recently was I able to undergo successful treatment.  It came in the form of two magical  grandchildren, God bless 'em.  I am no SCD victim today.  I believe--again....   Merry Christmas, Santa.   

Life Imitates Art vs. Life Imitates Weather

Life Imitates Art vs. Life Imitates Weather

You've heard the expression that life sometimes imitates art.  The thought goes way, way back.  From Ancient Greece comes Aristophanes' famous question about the comedies written by Menander: "O Menander and Life! Which of you took the other as your model?", much later comes  Oscar Wilde, who opined in his 1889 essay The Decay of Lying that, "Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life", and later still, in George Bernard Shaw's preface to Three Plays he wrote, "I have noticed that when a certain type of feature appears in painting and is admired as beautiful, it presently becomes common in nature; so that the Beatrices and Francescas in the picture galleries of one generation come to life as the parlor-maids and waitresses of the next."  Does Art lead perception, or is art such an expression of life itself that the question is indeed circular?  Darned if I know.

But today, I am sure of yet another notion, that life imitates weather.  As I sat at the breakfast table watching the fog slowly lift off the inlet outside my window, I could sense the fog lift from my own head.  I could focus on the moment first, observing my self and what I was feeling, what I needed to do for the day, where I would go and more.

Later, by 11:30 or so, the sun appeared, briefly at first, and the pace of things around me quickened.  More people appeared, making more noise.  Things that had slipped my mind were in place again.  I had energy and focus.  I ticked things off a mental list that was more complete than the one that came into focus when the fog first lifted.  The day was perceptibly warming up and so was I.  Even as the sky clouded over, the warmth it left behind sustained the level of activity around me.  I sat briefly by my window and watched the pelicans swoop over the inlet, feeding on fish at low tide.

Later, with the higher tide, human fishermen would return on their boats and fish far less efficiently than the pelicans do.  But still, the warmth would draw them out.  As it was, it sent me back out for more.  The sun returned, sparking enthusiasm for one final errand on my list, one I had put off for weeks because of the effort involved.  

Still the sun sustained us all.  Not a blazing sun, just the sun returning after a few chilly days.   As the sun went down--so early during December here--we relaxed and cooled as the evening did.

A Shell-Gift

A Shell-Gift

What is this, she asks, what does it mean

See it from my side, he thought with a smile.
Step away from your own side once in a while,
The gift's hard to make sense of, I already knew.
There's not a thing I can offer, no obvious clue,

That explains why I've given this shell to you,
it's lovely, it's fragile, yet somehow it's strong.
It's old and looks empty, but it will sing for you,
sending forth the magnificent sea's endless song.

The gift's not expensive or especially dear.
You may never see it as I did right here,
seeing you touch it, hold it up to your ear
and listen a moment was truly, my dear,

All I really wanted that shell-gift to do.

Why Don't Gym Shorts Have Flies?

Why Don't Gym Shorts Have Flies?

If needles have eyes, why don't gym shorts have flies
If brakes can have shoes, why don't cars get the blues.
If Air Jordans make news, when will sweatshirts amuse

When porkers can't fly, why do blackbirds make pie
If horses become glue, when will Brunswick be stew.
If all those turkeys are eaten, when will all eggs be beaten.

If there're dogs called Ol' Blue, when will my sis be Ol' Sue
If that earns me the dog house, know I'm not such a big louse.
Rhyming's not that much fun, if you can't dis anyone.

In fact, it's so boring, you'll soon all be snoring.
Unless I get to the point, then get out of this joint.
But some yarns are pointless, and prostheses jointless

Questions don't become serious or even mysterious
when asked all the time, just in order to rhyme,
but a life with no questions can lead to suggestions

one is really quite shallow, and lighter in weight
than a single marshmallow, your best friend just ate.
So let's just forget it, or soon we'll regret it.

If your gym shorts lack flies, understand they're a prize
when compared to a leotard, really, you guys.  

Plumbing the Heights and Depths

The other day, after careful searching, I called a plumber about an intermittent problem we were experiencing that just wouldn't seem to quit, and seemed to have become continuous. We asked around and looked around and called this gentleman.  He's been in the area for a long time and several people recommended him highly.  Naturally, between the time of my call and his scheduled arrival, the problem went away, as it had before.  He stopped in and I described the problem.  He gave me a quick diagnosis, then confirmed it by simply running some water in the kitchen sink for a few minutes, never even bringing a tool into the house.  Talk about plumbing the heights, and there was more.

He spent the next twenty minutes or so telling me about himself and the life he's had on this island for nearly seventy-five years.  He was entertaining and I nodded, smiled, commented and so on to the effect that he kept right on talking.  We had some work done recently and asked who I had used.  I named the contractor but could not recall the last name of the plumber he used, only recalling his first name as"Barry."  He didn't recognize the name, but proceeded to tell me a story about a man he knew with that first name, with whom he had a serious falling out, but that he was on his "prayer list."  He acknowledged that many people have forgotten all about prayer, but that he had a list of people and he prayed for some or all of them each night.  I was suitably impressed and said so.

Next he told me about a brief skirmish he had recently had with a stranger.  For some reason, he and this fella had bumped into each other as he was leaving the store.   The collision had caused the stranger to drop what he was carrying, and he proceeded to try picking a fight with my plumber over it (you can tell he already has me on his side--"my plumber." indeed).  In any event my plumber apologized several times and advised the stranger the he (my plumber) was a good Christian man and had no intention of getting into a fight with him (in the American South, it is quite common for people of a certain age to bring the fact of their religion into almost any conversation.  I swear I once asked a man for directions and wound up knowing which church he attended every Wednesday and Sunday without fail).  The stranger walked away, and my plumber noticed he was getting into a pickup with a name and the words "General Contractor" on the side.  He decided to have one more word with the man.  He asked him if in his work he used blueprints, if he had them prepared by an architect, and if he had someone who could interpret them.  The stranger said, "of course I do" or words to that effect.   My plumber then told him the same was true in life--that the Bible was the blueprint, Jesus was the architect, and the stranger had better learn to interpret them or he was going straight to hell.

Plumbing the Heights and Depths

By now, I expected the next words out of his mouth would be to invite me to join his church.  Instead, he launched into another tale involving a confrontation between him and another stranger after a fender-bender that was clearly the other man's fault.  He recalls looking at the minor damage to his truck and saying something like "That's OK, Pops.  Just forget about it."  The other man came back at him, with "who are you calling' Pops?"  He insisted he wasn't going anywhere until my plumber paid for the damages to his car.  When my plumber pointed out the accident was clearly the other man's fault, he was met with more grief, and the man began getting physical, pushing him several times.  Both men's wives were present, and my plumber told his wife, "If he pushes me one more time, I'm gonna make him stop."  He told the other man the same thing.  The man pushed him again, twice, each time harder than before.  My plumber finally wound up and punched the man in the jaw.  The man fell back and was unconscious.  The man's wife asked if he would help her get him to the hospital.  My plumber agreed, and drove the man and his wife to the hospital.  The man stayed unconscious for two weeks and two hours, then died.

My plumber was charged with involuntary manslaughter, but the man's wife insisted on testifying on my plumber's behalf, pointing out her husband was at fault and out of control, that my plumber was merely defending himself.  The judge agreed and dismissed the charges with a warning to my plumber.  Now we were plumbing the depths.  He started telling me another tale, but when we heard my wife opening the front door, he dropped it, saying it wouldn't be the sort of thing he could say in front of a woman.  After talking for ten more minutes, he prepared to leave.  We tried to pay him for his time and effort in coming over, but he insisted he had done nothing, so he couldn't charge us.  (Ahh, back to plumbing the heights--I've had electricians charge me for flipping a circuit-breaker on and off).  It seemed that together we had plumbed a lot of territory, at least that's how I saw it.