A Winter’s Day On the Island

Walk the beach on a cloudless day

Circum-navigate tidal pools

Feet will get really wet anyway

Shells, crabs, the occasional dog,

Sniffing around a hollowed out log

Drive on home to the chores of the day

Boats in our backyard, fishing for

Same ones that grey old pelican

Swallows up quickly nearer to shore.

Fishermen motor off, calling it a day

Pelicans long since flew away.

Here we sit watching, dining late.

For Dummies, Times Two

Did you know For Dummies is copyrighted and trademarked by John Wiley & Sons?  I learned this today as I coincidentally wound up at the same web site while pursuing two totally unrelated topics.  Not long ago, I decided that among the many possibilities that life offers to someone like me, fishing was one I needed to explore a little further.  It may be that I decided on this path while looking out the window in my current residence.

It seems on any given day, at almost any hour, a bateau may appear in the waterway behind us, with one to four occupants either holding the fisherman's end of a rod and reel or casting a net.  Fish, however, seemed to avoid the fish's end of the rod and reel as I never saw anyone reeling one in or anything else that successful fishermen do with fish they have caught.  The cast nets were being used to capture bait, so I think what they hauled in using the nets does not count as success in fishing.  With that said, I didn't consider asking any of these fisher-persons for advice on fishing--they weren't catching anything.

So, I asked myself, how have I learned most things?  I started by picking up a book and reading about it.  Somehow, that has always seemed to get me started in the right direction (or scared me off completely--see my short-lived interest in skydiving).  So, in looking for the right book, it came to me--there must be a Fishing For Dummies book somewhere.  After looking one up on Amazon, I decided I probably didn't want to wait several days to get my hands on it, so I logged on and found that my local B&N store had a copy.   I clicked on the "pick me up" button, and now I have my copy.  

But, instead of reading it, I decided I needed to pursue my alternate topic--the use of rhythm and meter in poetry.  I learned a few things along the way.  But I just can't hold it back anymore.  Do you know what I discovered?  In poetry, rhythm is all in the feet!  I mean, is it like tap-dancing?  It turns out that the patterns of stressed and unstressed syllables are contained in units called "feet." There are five kinds of feet--iambic (x-unstressed, /-stressed), anapestic (/xx), trochaic (/x), dactylic (/xx) and spondaic (//).  

Meter, on the other hand, refers to the number of feet in each line.  This can range from one to eight  (monometer, dimeter, trimeter....octameter).  So, with a little For Dummies.com magic, I found the following illustration of iambic pentameter.  The example they offered was the famous five iambic feet string below:                 

Christopher Marlowe's line from Dr. Faustus:

Duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh

Which reminds me of a conversation I overheard a few days ago--
Dad:  Son, don't touch that cat!
Son:  D-a-a-a-a-d, why not?
Dad:  'Cause we're dog people, not cat people. 

Me, too.

Bookworming FDR, The Man He Became

I just read an interesting book.  After hearing about it and thinking about it, I asked for it for Christmas.  It’s called The Man He Became, How FDR Defied Polio to Win the Presidency.  The book is a biography focused on the period between the summer of 1921, when FDR contracted polio and his inauguration as President in March of 1933.  


It begins by unraveling the notion that FDR “hid his illness from the public."  Instead, it was an ever-present condition that people knew but simply didn’t focus upon every day.  


It reveals that he dealt with the effects of his bout with polio by forcibly trying one thing after another.  He began with denial, a path all of us know well.  It's a temporary one, but, in its best form, it buys us time to adapt to new and challenging realities.  He tried others, beginning with exercising the muscles of his upper body alone and trying constantly to transmit the message from his brain to his legs to move.  Those pathways no longer existed, it seems.  


He tried braces to stiffen his legs and allow him to stand, but he could not raise himself.  He worked himself to exhaustion many times over trying to restore the ability to walk without assistance. 


He was willing to follow doctors' orders only when they shared his goal--to walk again.  If their goals were, in his view, too paltry, he would overdo it, at times to his detriment.  Upon learning that warm water baths seemed to ease the painful contractions that came with his paralysis in most but not all of the muscles in his legs, he rented a houseboat and cruised around the Florida Keys in search of places where he could get in more time in the water and the warm sun which seemed to help him  


He found, in Warm Springs, Georgia, that the mineral springs afforded him the temperature and the buoyancy to stay in the water long enough to allow him to get in much more exercise time.  He invested money and time, and found resources to turn a failed resort into a place there where others similarly afflicted could come to try to restore ability where polio had left only disability.  

Further, in that same process, he developed a feel for the concerns of those around him in Georgia and the rest of the American South that a wealthy scion of a New York family would never have had otherwise.    


He remained committed to becoming able to walk unaided again because he believed he could never realize his ambition of becoming president without overcoming it all the way.  In those days (and society still hasn't completely shed this attitude) a cripple was someone to be shunned, and if not shunned, then pitied.  This would hardly befit a candidate for president.   Through it all, he kept his "game face" on and to those outside his inner circle and family he was incessantly buoyant and cheerful. 

But he began to move forward again only when he came around to accept the reality that others had tried to push upon him from the beginning--that complete recovery was not possible.  He amended his world view and simply wanted to recover sufficient "So that they'll forget that I'm a cripple."  When this became his goal, he could move on in his life, continuing to work on battling the effects, but focusing as well on the political life he loved.   


The story goes that Al Smith, then Governor of New York and Democratic nominee for President in 1926, pressured FDR to accept the party's nomination for Governor of New York to enhance Smith's chances of carrying New York in his (Smith's) run for President.  When asked, FDR was making meaningful progress in Warm Springs, and declined to accept on that basis.  He said he needed two more years in Warm Springs to complete his recovery and realize his goal of walking unaided.  In fact, he had indeed walked five steps across the living room unaided just a few days before.  When Smith and other NY Democrats he could not afford to lose for good continued the pressure, FDR "walked" away from the Warm Springs work and agreed to run for Governor.  In the end, Roosevelt won, and Smith lost--failing to carry New York in his failed bid for the presidency.  

Did FDR learn how to arrange his movements, meetings and appearances as Governor so that he avoided the embarrassment for himself (and those who might be present) of a fall or spill in front of them?  Yes, but his disease and its effects ere never "hidden" from the people.


In the years to follow, FDR became, not an object of pity, but a hero who overcame being "knocked to the canvas (by polio) and got back up to knock out the other guy."  His image as someone who never quit and made the comeback made him a man that people looked up to and who might just be able to bring them out of the Depression.  That image carried him even further when America was attacked by Japan and faced the Second World War. 

Did FDR become a different man in the process?  Of course.  Would he have become the President he did without facing polio?   All of the trials involved shaped the man.  He drew power from his doing something that was extremely difficult.  He defeated the stigma that people with disability faced.  Such an achievement required a fierce will, a lot of wiles and a lot of help. In the words of author James Tobin, "He might have retreated into a comfortable retirement.  Instead he chose to exert his will and exercise his wiles, and that act of choosing, more than anything else, revealed who he was.”[1]   


















---

[1]A major concern I have these days is what I will do/have done with my life since I was diagnosed with PD.  I realize, in part due to some persistent commentary from my dear wife, that I have become a little wrapped up in it, but it is difficult not to have it dominate my thoughts each and every day.  With that said, here I am looking at a story with some possible application to my own life, which I had convinced myself was only half over when I reached retirement (second half of life is what I was referring to when I chose the name for my blog—What’s on 2nd).  

Believe it or not, I went to a life expectancy calculator a short while ago and, after responding to several dozen questions about diet, lifestyle, history of disease in my family; it calculated 90 years of age.   Think about that for a minute.  I “retired” at age 62, and had 28 years ahead of me.  That means, I will have had 68 total years of adulthood (defining adulthood as the year I graduated college) and that more than 40% of my adult years lie ahead of me.         

So, I am asking myself, do I have time to get on with living that life I have imagined?  While I don’t expect to become President (or even, if you’ve read any of my poetry, Poet Laureate), I suspect there are some lessons I (in fact, all of us) can learn to apply here.

Sand and Beach On the First Day of the Year

Sand and Beach On the First Day of the Year

We tramped over expressions of eternal love written in the sand.  I thought of how I'd write my own but never dared take stick to sand, so to speak.  

As we trod the beach we saw strange fish leaping from the water.  Curving like dolphins, but these were smaller, and moving much faster.  We chuckled as we realized these were among the slowest moving creatures outside a shell in the ocean--humans.  

Five young girls pedaled past in single file.  They carried on a longitudinal conversation as best they could.  It was interrupted by a girl reading aloud a text she was receiving.

Later--in the afternoon--we were summoned to the beach again, the sun was making one of its all too infrequent appearances.  By the time we reached the beach, the only evidence remaining of the sun was the reflection made in the water as the sun edged to the west.

One of our party observed "Thursday it was hotter than Hades."  Silly girl, she thinks in Hades it will be in the 80's. 

The sign read: "Three lots for sale--Gulf views."

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.