Want a cookie little girl?

Magpie # 149

 

Trust

 

image by R.A.D. Stainforth

 



You call him your friend.
He who, like a thief
in the night, steals your
Precious possession;
The breath of your life.

Your heart beats faster.
You cough ‘til you puke.
Your blood pressure goes up
And you tell yourself;
This friend relaxes me!

His lies fill your head;

need me to feel good.

always there for you

while you tell me your

troubles. A friend indeed.

Following  blindly
you drag me into
The abyss of cruel
Agonizing death.
Not my friend, not me.

Steal my money
Steal my breath
Leave me flailing
in the ashes of death.
You are my friend.



Change: the only constant.

Nothing endures but change.  Heraclitus

I was thinking about this much talked and written about concept of the constancy of change while driving to work yesterday morning.  It's no less than a fifty minute drive with little traffic.  What triggers the mind to bring particular  ideas to the consciousness remains a mystery to me.  Perhaps it's the music or dialog emitting from the radio.  Maybe it's a product of the stream of consciousness that happens all the time when a person has prolonged periods of monotony such as a long drive.  Today, more than twenty-four hours since that first embryo of an idea took form, I'm trying to recapture and unravel all those thoughts.  It's like picking through a can of wriggling worms.  Each idea slipping away before I can get a good grip on it.  So I guess I'll just start and see if anything coherent morphs out of these random thoughts.

Change is a concept that we all acknowledge if not accept or relish.  Empirically we know that change happens but even at that we try to halt, modify, deny or accelerate change.  A comment that I hear frequently and see far too often on Facebook is: "I can't wait 'til...... (Friday, next week, or month, ad infinitum.")   It grates on me, when I see or hear that phrase, like fingernail scraped on a blackboard makes others cringe.  I think; it's Monday and you want it to be Friday because some pleasant thing is anticipated.  Yet fate has a fatal car crash scheduled for your Wednesday.  I usually remain silent while wanting to scream; enjoy today, the moment.  Friday will come soon enough.  Make the most of now! 

That's not exactly where I wanted to go with this so let's let that squiggly worm go for the time being.  Let's  talk about the irony of this concept of change.  OK, I'll write, you read.  Comments entertained at the end.
Quickly now; we are born and change daily, make that hourly, no by the minute.  If you are a grandparent who observes this phenomena intermittently, say every few weeks, you know what I mean. The accelerated growth between day 1 to 3 months of age is astonishing in all dynamics: weight, length, motor skills and facial expression/personality.  That rapid change is relished by all: parents, siblings, friends, neighbors, and grandparents.  Soon, a few years, so it is by the child themselves.  We've all read those memes about wanting to be older so as to drink legally, drive legally etc. and then say around age thirty decry the fact that we're getting older and try to turn back the hands of time.  The changes  from age thirty on, to say 50 or 60, seem to slow enough as to be able to delude ourselves that  we aren't really any older looking.

Somewhere around age forty for men, probably earlier for women we try varying techniques to stop the clock.  We quit smoking to stop the wrinkling process and to give us more lasting energy with which to exercise   There are spa treatments, gym memberships, salves and youth engendering creams to stop or reverse the process of looking older.  We diet, run marathons, take multitudes of vitamins and nutritional support substances to help us live forever or at least to be healthy 'til we die. There is Rogain and hair dye to let us look young and virile.  And purple pills to keep us erect for four hours or longer (go to the ER?  Are you crazy? and waste this.)  Breast implants, hair plugs  tummy tucks, and face lifts;  the lengths we go to to preserve youth are innumerable.  But change is inevitable and at age 50 or 110 the heart will stop, the brain will falter and we, each in their turn, will die, decompose, decay and lose our youthful looks, figures and exuberance.

All that and no mention of the changes in the environment (global warming), or in technology.  Change is all around us in every aspect of our existence and deny it or embrace t happen it does.  The irony (if that is the correct word) is how we resist change, more and more as we grow older, in order to preserve habit.  A little caveat I've learned to embrace from observation of life's repeat-ability is that the most important mechanism to retain and maintain youth is to embrace change.  Break habits on purpose.  Do more difficult crossword puzzles when the daily ones become too easy.  Learn to play chess.  Learn to win at chess.  learn a foreign language.  Learn 7 foreign languages.  Habit makes us old.

Again I'm rambling.  Not too far from the main topic but rambling non-the-less.

The thought crossed my mind as I was driving to work and contemplating the constancy of change that somethings really don't change all that much if at all.  People still fall in love, lust, infatuation, the same way since before Adam and Eve.  Evil is ever present.  Oh, and lest we forget, those rapid changing babies are still made the same way!  The process by which the spermy impales the eggy may have been modified, but still.... you know; yeah OK 'nuff said.  Humans haven't gotten over the joy of killing each other, and civilizations keep reincarnating but never learning the lessons necessary to prolong and preserve themselves.

And so, even though change will endure, as Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr said, " plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose"  (The more things change, the more they stay the same.)

There really is Status Quo Bias.  Especially the more past age forty one becomes.

Mag #143

Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton

 

 

Now here he was, cradled in the webbing seat of the uncomfortable cool cave of the C130’s cargo hold. Looking out at the sunny cumulus cloud filled sky watching the beautiful billowy clouds passing in close proximity to the plane’s window. Eddie was startled by a cloud formation that resembled a person of great stature sitting on a throne. He tried to decide if the cloud sculpture was Odin, or Zeus, or may be Neptune. No not Neptune He’d show up if they crashed in the ocean. No, No it couldn’t be God he thought. Well, He supposed it could be but anyway it was sure a curious apparition. As he continued to stare and conjure imaginings he suddenly heard a voice, a deep baritone voice and there was no mistaking that it was coming from the “God” on the cloud throne. The voice and the words were so clear, he had to look beside him to see if there was someone sitting beside him and talking to him. Nope, he was alone.

The voice said: Don’t come back this way again!

Eddie came home in 1965 and the war continued for another ten years. Interestingly, Eddie refused to watch any newscast or read any media concerning the war because when he did so he would be overcome with a strong to desire to go that way again.

Hurricane Sandy

Boy it was cold when I got up this morning. So I turned up the thermostat and the furnace came on and in a few minutes heat started coming up through the registers and pretty soon I was warm and toasty. What to do next: plug in the toast...

er and make some toast to slather with peanut butter and turn on the Keurig and brew up a steaming cup of French roast. Then I opened the back door to retrieve the newspaper; Brrr, damn its cold and damp out there.
Now that my belly is full, and my heart is warm and I am feeling fine I revive my sleeping lap top and check my emails and check in at FB to see if and what my FB friends are up to.

How was your morning?

Friends of ours have a son who is a NYS trooper and he was sent to the NY metro area to assist with their recovery. He's being housed at the State University of Stonybrook's student housing: NO HEAT, NO FOOD , NO ELECTRICITY,NO GASOLINE (have to scrounge for their own food.) FEMA not there yet. The people there are destitute, have nowhere to go. His statement to his mom; I can come home, they are home.

Donate to the Red Cross or The Salvation Army!

american demagoguery

Muslim extremists killed our people in Libya. Muslim extremists killed our people at the WTC- twice. Muslim extremists killed our people in Afghanistan. Muslim extremists killed our people on the Achille Lauro. Muslim extremists killed our people at the Olympics in 1972. Muslim extremists killed our people in our embassies in 1979. Muslim extremists killed our people at Fort Hood. Muslim extremists killed our people in Iraq. Muslim extremists killed our people on the USS Cole. Muslim extremists killed our people in Beirut. Muslim extremists killed our people on TWA flight 847. Muslim extremists killed our people on Pan am flight 103. Yes, the problem is clearly Mitt Romney.

 

Every time I watch the media fawn over the president I’m reminded of Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”  It’s the media’s job to report, not support.

This quote was translated into English from an article appearing in the Czech Republic as published in the Prager Zeitung of 28 April 2011.

"The danger to America is not Barack Obama but a citizenry capable of entrusting an inexperienced man like him with the presidency. It will be far easier to limit and undo the follies of an Obama presidency than to restore the necessary common sense and good judgment to a depraved electorate willing to have such a man for their president. The problem is much deeper and far more serious than Mr. Obama, who is a mere symptom of what ails America. Blaming the prince of the fools should not blind anyone to the vast confederacy of fools that made him their prince. The Republic can survive a Barack Obama. It is less likely to survive a multitude of idiots such as those who made him their president."

Libya 9/11 debacle

Robert Ludlum

Where is Robert Ludlum when you need him.  For me, he was the premier teller of tales of government subterfuge, conspiracy and intrigue.

You know, I'm a firm believer in the adage that in all fiction there is at least a few nuggets of truth contained there-in upon which the story hinges.

Perhaps James Paterson, or even Nora Roberts could weave this tale of Chicago mob infiltration of the highest levels of government.  Sidney Sheldon would have had us in suspense unable to stop turning pages well past our bedtimes.

No, the best author to write this novel would have been Karl Stig-Erland "Stieg" Larsson a journalist who could write spell-binders of the,  highest quality.

Although I would prefer the unadulterated truth about the debacle of the murder of U.S. Ambassador Chris Stevens, as well as three other American heros, I doubt that that truth will be forth coming.  The administration and higher military personnel are hiding something, that is eminently clear.  In my experience, you don't hide information unless you have something to hide.

So, the story will be written and when you read it pick out the nuggets of truth that are being purposely with held by President Obama, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton (remember she herself is and expert at political and legal subterfuge; recall the Whitewater scandal,) Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta, and Gen. Patraeus the head of the CIA.

There is a foul odor here folks and  if it smells like rotten fish then there is a rotten fish in the barrel.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2201780/Christopher-Stevens-death-US-ambassador-killed-attack-Libya.html

Mag#139

 

Midnight Snack, 1984, by Curtis Wilson Cost

Hoot, Hoot, Hoot.

Awake now to the sounds
Of nature’s “lesser” creatures;
Coons and possum scrabbling
About the crawl space under
My Thoreau cottage.

Toss apple wood in the

Franklin and stoke the coals.
Turn up the kerosene lamp;
Sit in the willow rocker and
Contemplate my
LaBastille lifestyle.

 A Euell Gibbon’s snack of

Wild hickory nuts, rose hips,
And dried blue berries
Washed down with cool spring water
Satisfies my hunger
Sufficiently

 

This is the life:
The simple life of
Helen and Scott.
Off the grid.
Back to basics:

Eat, sleep, procreate.

 

Dali

 

 

CRUSH

This is a story of Limerace Orgilis Le Beau, an accountant who lives in Paris France.

He wakes up late for work one morning and rushes to get to the metro because he despises the crush of the crowd. Once he's on the train he finds himself crushed up against a beautiful young women who reminds him of his new boss upon whom he has a crush.

Arriving at work he is told to go to the boss's office. Therein he expects romantic (lustful) activity to occur. Tongue tied and perspiring with stirring in his crotch he is crushed when she summarily fires him! He is crushed to say the least. In fact he begins to experience a crushing sensation in his chest. He blacks out, waking up in an ICU at the American Hospital.

Sitting beside his bed is his girl friend. The room is full of color, orange color, brilliant orange color. He drifts in and out of consciousness. He holds his girl friend's hand.

A steady intermittent sound filters into his consciousness. Wondering what the noise is, he becomes more and more awake, realizing it is his radio alarm. The sunrise's orange light is streaming through the bedroom window directly in his face, and the song on the radio is "CRUSH" by the Dave Matthews band..

He rolls over cuddles and caresses his girlfriend awake, knowing he has plenty of time for a "little" and still beat the early morning crush at the metro. Basking in the afterglow of their love making, she asks him what he thinks of the new boss. He says he has a meeting with him first thing this morning to discuss his promotion.

As he leaves the apartment gazing at the magnificent nude figure of his love, he says, "Dinner at Les Deux Magots tonight?" Au revoir ma cher, je t'aime, bonjournee ;-)"

CAN'T; another swear word

Instead of dividing the world into the possible and impossible, divide it into what you’ve tried and what you haven’t tried. There are a million pathways to success.

Thirty years, or so, ago I was looking for ways to encourage my kids to believe in themselves, develop independent thinking and come to the belief that they could do anything they wanted to do.
I recognized that success is a habit and likewise so is failure.  A common refrain from our children when asked to do something new or learn something new such as learn to play the piano or learn a foreign language was, "I can't!"  This word in response to attempts to do something new and seen as insurmountable was/is a cultural habit all too common.  In fact the use of can't was/is so inculcated in our society that it could easily be seen as habitual.

I believe in the kernel of truth in the quote attributed to philosopher Aristotle: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit."

How to teach this to my kids?  My dad was a great lecturer.  As the recipient of many of those lectures I knew first hand how ineffective a technique that is to motivate change.  And my approach to teaching my kids was to do it differently than what I found unsuccessful  in what my parents did with me.  On the other hand, my parents taught me that you'll respect the value of money better if you earn it yourself.   I carried on that tradition with my children and they all had various jobs through the various stages in their growing up from snow shoveling, lawn care, paper routes, and dishwashers at local restaurants. One painted houses and another was a lifeguard at the local State park.  The oldest proceeded from dishwasher to hostess.  Each of them learned an early and lifelong respect for the dollar earned.  So  in keeping with that tenet, I thought perhaps a system of fines might work as a behavioral modifier.

Most folks have heard about a swear jar as a way to discourage members of their family or work group from lacing their conversations with racy and or profane words.  We decide to expand on that concept to include certain common words of negativity.  This list was composed of many if not all the not contractions: can't, won't, couldn't, wouldn't, hasn't, aren't, isn't, and did I say can't.

The purpose of this experiment was to develop a thought process of putting thoughts in a positive light; even the negatives, because we didn't want to create pollyannnas but rather critical thinkers who could find different, ways of presenting their thoughts.  Force them, in other words to consider alternative routes to a solution.

The fine for using the "not" contractions was a dime.  But it didn't stop there. There was a way to ward off a fine.  When someone noticed your negative and pointed it out, you could immediately find a more positive way to state your point.  However changing "I can't do it" to I can do it was not satisfactory.  Example: I can't get up at seven AM could be stated like this; Because I stay up late at night I'm too tired to get up at seven.  No fine.  It forces one to examine the whys and wherefores of their comments.

Caveat:  I'm currently in a FB exchange with my sixteen year old grand daughter over this "can't" issue.  She says, "I can't get someone else to change their mind.  I'm not being pessimistic, I'm being realistic."  My response:  If it's important to you to change a persons opinion you can and will.  It comes down to what is important to you.

Adopting the habit of saying I can will give you access to success;  Just saying :-)

It's all about context.

ax, boot out, boot, bounce*, bump*, can*, cashier,   deselect, discharge, disemploy, displace,  drop, fire, furlough, give notice to, give the ax, give the gate, give the heave-ho, give walking papers, give warning,  kick out, lay off, let go, let out, oust, pension, pink-slip,   sack, send packing, shelve,  suspend, terminate. On 2 July, upon returning from vacation, I was summoned to the  human resource's office and informed that the decision had been made to downsize the anesthesia department.  Since I was the last hired I would be the first to be let go.  My end date was to be 5 Aug. 2012. Since those anesthetists still retained would require coverage when they were to take time off, I was offered choices: I could take a part-time position with a guarantee of 18 weeks per year work, a position as a per-diem, or apply for unemployment. I chose the part-time offer and so even though my last day of permanent employment was 5 August I have continued daily employ, covering other anesthetists time off,  'til yesterday.  Today I'm starting my first day of employment and it feels strange.  Of course technically I'm still employed, I'm not working.  And with the exception of covering an anesthetist for his Dr. appointment Monday, I don't return to the OR 'til the 17th of Sept.  That's a good thing because I need to train for a canoe race the weekend after Labor day.  Plans to attend an anesthesia conference in Nov. will get me to Dec. when I'm scheduled to cover Christmas week. My plan at this juncture is to continue this situation 'til the new year at which time I'll return to traveling locum work. (Although many have voiced hope that I'll be rehired, I'm not counting on that.) Maybe with all this unplanned time off, I'll get back to writing more on this here blog.  Of course I've made that resolution repeatedly since the inception of this blog.  Plans are good, but never set in cement: expectations is the root of all disappointment.    Take it as it comes, or as Kurt Vonnegut would say: "and so it goes."

Magpie 130 Talisman

Francesca Woodman

^

Talisman

a

reminder

of

impermanence.

A

token

to

guide

fragile spirits

unerringly

through their

cycle.

Embarrassing moments:

My wife told me this story as related to her be a friend of ours. The subject of this story doesn't want anyone to know about it so just remember that you didn't read it here. ;)

A mutual friend decided to drive in to the village to get something at the local hardware store.  While she was there her husband, a local contractor, stopped in.  He suggested that they drive to Alex bay for supper.  She agreed and the two of them left in his truck.

Later that evening they returned home and retired.  Upon arising in the morning the women in question looked out a window of her home and didn't see her car.  she looked high and low and unable to locate the car, asked her husband if he knew where her car was.  He also was befuddled.  Thinking that her car had been stolen she notified the police.

Yes the police found her car;  it was still parked in the parking lot of the hardware store where she'd left it.

How do you spell embarrassed?

rain; Yay. Wind, look out!

This afternoon we got a reprieve from an oppressive hot humid day.  You know, one of those days that keeps you plunked down in a lawn chair under the cedars near the river's shore relishing the breeze but not having enough energy to do much else.  The reprieve came in the form of a thunder and lightening storm, dropping the tempt 20 degrees.  It's really not so big a deal as to warrant a blog post so let me explain what prompted me to write a post about this event.

The picture below of a placid river at dusk also displays for you  a  bench situated at the end of the dock.  Nice shot don't you think?  It's here for the purpose of comparison.  Oh, this shot took place 12 days ago on 19 July.

Around 2 PM this afternoon we looked up the river and could see the rain approaching from the west.  The position of the ship gave the scene the appearance of the ship dragging the storm along behind it as it sailed down river towards us.  For a few minutes it seemed as if the storm was confined to the Canadian shore and might pass us by but as the ship got 1/2 mile beyond us the full brunt of the storm hit us with a deluge of much need rain,  (we've been experiencing a significant draught here this summer) but the accompanying wind, thunder and lightening was disconcerting.  I was worried that the power would go out and I'd miss Michael Phelps win his silver and gold Olympic medals.  Well the power only flickered  for a brief moment and never really interupted the CBC (Canadian TV) live brodcast of the Olympics.

 Once the storm broke for a few minutes , I went out to my car to retrieve my backpack and on my return I espied the bench of the first photo above having been move a good 8 - 10 feet along the dock, flipped upside down and nearly dumped in the drink.  I went out to retrieve the bench and realized that this 60 to 70 pound piece had been moved by the force of the wind and was awed.

Hand cuffs of time

Arise at 8 hours

Awake twelve revolutions;

Hand cuffed in time.

Paris to Prague with our Texas granddaughters

Two years ago we decided to combine a meeting and a vacation/Christmas present for our two Texas granddaughters.  The meeting was held at the Disney complex in Orlando Florida.  During our stay there we had a conversation during which I said I'd like to take the girls on a trip to France.  They were enthusiastic and so I promised.

The following year, their Aunt Michelle decided to get Married in Las Vegas And we thought we'd best attend so a trip to France with the girls was postponed; they understood.  Last year their father decided to remarry in South Texas and we again thought that we should attend.  Trip to France put off once again; they understood.

This year we're going!!

( we did mention to J, and Kristy that if they decided to get married this year we would be in France, with our Texas granddaughters, so they could get married there or do without us; they understood. ;))

We will leave in a short while; 6 or so hours to fly to Albany to pick up our granddaughters who have been visiting with auntie Michelle for two days.  Together we will continue on to Boston.

Tonight we will depart Boston and arrive in Paris tomorrow morning at 1130.

Rather than confine this excursion to just Paris or even France for that matter, we decided to give the girls a more comprehensive view of Europe.  That fact led us to book a river cruise from Paris to Prague.  You may, after consulting your map question whether or not this can be possible since there is no river that follows that course.  Well with imagination and the assistance of Viking River Cruise we were able to include a 2 day visit to the city of Light, Paris and a concluding 2 day visit in Prague with a scenic cruise along the Mosell river through Germany.  To get to the starting port of Trier we must pass through the country of Luxembourg so the Viking people will shuttle us to the city of Luxembourg and we will visit the cemetery there: Luxembourg American Cemetery and Memorial, On 22 occasions two brothers rest side-by-side in adjacent graves. Most of the interred died during the Battle of the Bulge which was fought nearby in winter 1944/spring 1945.

The four of us are excited to get on our way and are planning to have a fun filled trip.

so until we return to regale you with accounts of our once in a life time trip:

au revoir

äddi
auf Wiedersehen
na shledanou

Memorial Day 2012

Memorial day is a a day set aside for purposeful remembering those, from among us, who have died and gone on to what ever there might be to go on to. It started out as a day to remember American soldiers, both Union and Confederate who died during the Civil War. As America grew and progressed she sent more of her youth to be sacrificed on the alter of war and so Memorial Day was soon a Day to remember the dead of all our wars. And now today, so as to be inclusive of all Americans, it's become a day to remember any and all of our friends,family and loved ones who have passed beyond the living as we know it. There are parades and speeches but I guess the thing that stands out as the thing that signifies Memorial Day activities is the decorating of the graves in our cemeteries; that's probably why it was originally called Decoration Day. Veterans organizations sell poppies as a way to wear remembrance on our lapels, purse straps, or such.

I went to war as did many of my ancestors, but as far as I know no one of them died on the battle field nor from wounds suffered there. At least not wounds in the normal sense of the word. Each of us left a part, if not all of our innocence in those theaters of battle though; our hearts and spirits were wounded and they are wounds that never heal. They may scab over but the sera of memory is easily provoked to spill out with the slightest stimulus. In particular for me is the sight of the Wall. The mere contemplation of this memorial chokes my throat and only a supreme effort can keep the tears contained behind my eyes. To venture near to that Wall or any replica thereof will cause the tears to spill over copiously and anguish well up in my heart and escape past my lips in the lowest of moans.

So today I will go to the cemetery and plant living flowers over the graves of a few of my ancestors, to include a veteran of the Civil War, WWI, and WWII., and their wives, sons, daughters, wives, brothers and nephews.

While I'm kneeling there I'm going to take a few minutes to pray, to pray for an end of War.

random thoughts ,Tahiti & aliteration

random thoughts:

Holy magna cum laude Astrid!

One man's garbage is another man's supper.

I live my life in sound bites and I listen too little.

deracinate....

All this while reading a magazine devoted to Creative nonfiction.

The prompt for Magpie tales this week is a painting by Paul Gaugin,  Since I'm not going to submit to the Mag this week I'll just do my own interpretation by changing the picture and adding some words of alliteration that I left on another's submission.

Succulent

Salacious

Satisfying

Sensual

Sipping

South Seas

Sapphos



Sappho: Sappho's poetry centers on passion and love for various personages and both genders. The word lesbian derives from the name of the island of her birth, Lesbos, while her name is also the origin of the word sapphic; neither word was applied to female homosexuality until the nineteenth century.^[

There's a highway leads to nowhere,
I've been there many times.
For miles and miles it stretches
With nary a soul to find.

There's always been an exit
To get me back to town.

Time and time again
To the lost highway I am bound.
And I know the day will come
When no exit will be found.

The road of life has been kind
To me, and gentle by and far.

That lonely road to nowhere-
I'll trod 'til who knows when.
Put my picture in the obit there,
I won't be to work again.

blog post 1000

A doctor entered the hospital in hurry after being called in for an urgent surgery. He answered the call ASAP, changed his clothes and went directly to the surgery block. He found the boy’s father going and coming in the hall waiting for the doctor. Once seeing him, the dad yelled: “Why did you take all this time to come? Don’t you know that my son’s life is in danger? Don’t you have the sense of responsibility?”

The doctor smiled and said: “I am sorry, I wasn’t in the hospital and I came the fastest I could after receiving the call… And now, I wish you’d calm down so that I can do my work”
“Calm down?! What if your son was in this room right now, would you calm down? If your own son dies now what will you do???” said the father angrily
The doctor smiled again and replied: “I will say what Job said in the Holy Bible “From dust we came and to dust we return, blessed be the name of God”. Doctors cannot prolong lives. Go and intercede for your son, we will do our best by God’s grace”
“Giving advice when we’re not concerned is so easy” Murmured the father
The surgery took some hours after which the doctor went out happy, “Thank God! Your son is saved!”
And without waiting for the father’s reply he carried on his way running. “If you have any question, ask the nurse!!!”
“Why is he so arrogant? He couldn’t wait some minutes so that I ask about my son’s state” Commented the father when seeing the nurse minutes after the doctor left
The nurse answered, tears coming down her face: “His son died yesterday in a road accident, he was in the burial when we called him for your son’s surgery. And now that he saved your son’s life, he left running to finish his son’s burial”

NEVER JUDGE ANYONE because you never know how their life is and as to what is happening or what they’re going through

Post 999

Did you hear it this morning?

At 3 AM or there abouts
I awoke - -
Rain drops? were
pat-pat-pattering
their rhymthmic beat
On our metal roof.

A soothing
hypnotic chant
requiring one to
lie quietly; letting the sound
massage
the ear? the
Brain.

Not so relaxing if one were out-
side at 40
degrees, no coat,
nature pellting you with cold shards
of precipitation.

perspective;
its where you are
that colors
your page.

Mag 15

image by Manu Pombrol

How do you get

An elephant

into a re-

frigerator?

Or get a man

to puddle sit,

reading inside

a mason jar?

No poetic

code implied.

No Rubik's cube

to figure out.

The answer's found

hid in plain sight;

your guide will be

imagination.

it is "better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." - Cyril Connolly

We’ve covered 147 years of American literature in this course and I don’t want to write an essay here in the discussion format. Suffice it to say that after starting with our most famous regionalist, Mark Twain, who introduced us to realism in “The adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” we moved through Crane’s naturalism with “Maggie, a girl from the streets,” with its pessimistic gloominess where people are condemned to their circumstances and hereditary background. The social and cultural changes written about by Susan Glaspell extended the women’s rights issues we were introduced to by Chopin in “The Awakening.” Fitzgerald’s “Babylon revisited,” and Steinbeck’s “The chrysanthemums,” and the urgency of poetry in the works of Frost, Pound, and Eliot brought us to the age of anxiety and post war. For years the feelings of hopelessness were put forward by writers such as Williams in “The Glass Menagerie,” Malamud’s “The Mourners,” and Erdrich’s “The Red Convertible.” Here we must include the poetry of depression and suicide by Sexton and Plath.

Now with the multicultural expansion of American literature we are experiencing a resurgence of subjects with faith, hope and renewal.

In the end though, American literature: 1865 – present, no matter its changing quality was and is always about the human condition.

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Reflect and relate your stance on the superlatives in this study:

· What has been the most important learning experience?

· What has been the most interesting reading?

· What has been the most difficult reading?

· Which author would you most like to have met?

· Which author is most representative of an "American" writer?

· Which author's work represents the highest literary quality?

·

· Reading to discern the author’s motives in writing a piece rather than to read for the pleasure of the piece alone was an eye opener for me.

· I found everything I read throughout the course interesting if not enthralling. The most interesting though was Susan Glaspell’s “Trifles.” I say that because in doing some research for this piece to include in an essay choice I came upon a reference to a man named Floyd Dell who was a friend of Glaspell. I retrieved a copy of his autobiography, “Homecoming,” from a local university and although I really couldn’t afford the time, read it and found myself learning some facts about the times of my paternal grandfather.

· Without reservation I can say the most difficult reading for me was: Pound, Eliot, Moore, and Cummings poetry. Trying to understand their poetry was like trying to solve the Rubik’s cube for me.

· I’d like to meet Stephen Crane and discuss “The Red Badge of courage.” Eugene O’Neil, Susan Glaspell and Tennessee Williams to talk about plays and acting on stage. To Edna Millay and have her tutor me in sonnet writing. I’d like to meet Alan Ginsberg just so I could punch him in the mouth. I like to commiserate with Bob Dylan and sing “Blowin’ in the wind” with him. But mostly I’d like to meet and take a course or two from John Barth. And I’d like to stand in close proximity to Mark Twain and breathe the same air.

· Most representative of an “American” writer? Robert Frost. As I said in an essay; if I met an alien from another sphere and they asked me about our species I’d tell them to read Robert Frost’s poetry and they’d know all they need to know.

· Highest literary quality? Who am I to judge? I’m not even sure I can make a reasoned response but in that light I’ll say Toni Morrison because I think she tells it with sensitivity and insight, her storey that is.

Bobby, St. Petersburg, Russia, Maria Baranova, Hermitage, American Literature: 1865 - present

On 4/22/1991 Our son left to visit St. Petersburg, Russia

     She was tall, blue eyed; her wispy thin white blond hair was pulled back from her already high forehead into a tight pony tail.  She was slight of build with a propensity to carry weight in her backside and thighs. She displayed an air of superiority, spoke impeccable English and made fun of our attempts to speak Russian, especially when we said, Mikail Gorachov. Despite all this, she was awed by the standard of living in our small village of 500+ souls on the shores of the St. Lawrence River immediately bordering Ontario, Canada, and never got over her first excursion into an American supermarket.

     Maria was a seventeen year old high school student from St. Petersburg, Soviet Union who had come with fifteen or so fellow students to spend a few weeks in our community and attend our local public school of 600 students K – 12.   This was made possible due to Gorbachov’s implementation of Perestroika and Glasnost policies in the Soviet Union.  Our School superintendent got the idea from a neighboring school who had implemented an exchange program with a school also in the Soviet Union.  As with all student exchange programs, local residents were asked to provide room and board for one or more of the students when they visited.  We offered to take a student and Maria was assigned to us even before her arrival.

     After her time with us where she shared her knowledge of Soviet Union history but also exhibited a knowledge of American history to rival if not surpass that of our own children, it was agreed that she and her parents, she being an only child, would host our son, a senior student, at her home in St. Petersburg when we sent our students there to complete the exchange arrangement.

     In the end, both of our families had a positive experience, the students living with each other, and we parents enjoyed sharing our homes and exchange of histories.  So much so, that we made arrangements to bring Maria back to spend a summer with us.  Of course this required telephone communication between myself and Maria’s father, facilitated with Maria as interpreter; her dad spoke as much English as I did Russian, that being very little.  But we managed to communicate effectively even on the one occasion where he and I had to converse by ourselves, Maria having been admitted to the hospital for a minor surgery in St. Petersburg.

     Maria’s father was a Captain in the Russian Navy.  We discovered that we both had been in Viet Nam at the same time, obviously not on the same side.  We, two former enemies, by sending our children to reside in each other’s homes thousands of miles apart learned that it was our countries and their politics that were enemies and not us and in fact shared more in common than one might think.  By this sharing two families came to realize the similarities of humanity regardless of cultural differences.

     On a concluding side note.  Through our new found friendship, and contacts I had here in the States, we were able to secure a job for Maria, working for the USDA in St. Petersburg, Russia.  A post that she still holds to this day. 

     For us Restructuring and Openness was the start on the path to peace; if only a small step, it was a major one for these two families.



 

     Can one think of responsibility as an obstacle – personal responsibility?  Are there times when being responsible can hinder a person’s pursuit of their own happiness or gratification?  I think so.

     The main character (as discerned by yours truly) Tom, both narrator and character, in Tennessee William’s “The Glass Menagerie,” (1270-1313) confronts his sense of responsibility to his mother and sister.  They are an impediment to his realizing his dreams.  His sense of duty to them holds him prisoner in a slum apartment, whose entry is a fire escape.  Really? And dead- end job.

      Near the end of the play, Tom ditches his responsibilities and runs away in search of his dreams.  Yet in his final assessment he realizes he cannot escape and remains dissatisfied.  For Tom, meeting or shirking responsibility left him unfulfilled.

     Kessler and Gruber in Malamud’s “The Mourners” (1585-1589), also have found disappointment in their lives relating to their relationship with responsibility.  It seems easier to see that with Kessler, shown to us as a dirty, disheveled, slovenly, anti-social character that left his wife and kids and never looked back.  He definitely reaped what he sowed didn’t he?  Gruber’s conflict with responsibility becomes apparent when Kessler asks him, “What did I do to you?” He bitterly wept. “Who throws out of his house a man that he lived there ten years and pays every month on time his rent?  What did I do, tell me”  Who hurts a man without reason?  Are you a Hitler or a Jew?” (1588)  He’s actually pressing Gruber to be a responsible human being, take pity on a fellow man.  But Gruber reneges on this responsibility in favor of his responsibility as landlord.  Again at the end of the story the two men come to the shared realization that their unhappiness is the result of not meeting their responsibilities.

     Does that make any sense?  In one instance, Tom, meeting responsibility proves to be a barrier to personal fulfillment but vice versa with Kessler.  Maybe; I wonder if maybe the obstacle isn’t responsibility but selfishness- yeah, that makes more sense to me.  What do you think?

Ok, so here’s the deal, I’ve got nothing, unless you count the red wine headache I’ve got from the second glass of wine I had with dinner last night.  But seriously, after reading and re-reading the questions offered for the short essay response in module 7.e.3 I keep coming up blank.  Nothing sparks my muse.  But since I’ve enjoyed this course beyond my expectation I don’t want to blow off this 15 point assignment.

      The easy answer, for me, to the first proposition is to choose Bob Dylan and one of his poem/songs.  Which one?  Let’s see, I’d like to choose “Masters of War” (1787) but that’s in the next module I think so I’ll pick “Blowin’ in the Wind,” from this module (1529).  This song was published in 1962; I was a junior in high school.   Those times were restive I remember.  We weren’t involved yet in Viet Nam or if we were my class mates and I were not aware of it.  Yet in 24 lines with a rhyme scheme of AB, CB,DB, EB in the first stanza and changing in the next two he succeeds in describing the feelings of myself and at least a few of my friends.  We grew up in the shadow of the Atom bomb and were old enough to remember the Korean conflict.  (I had a cousin living across the street from our house who fought in Korea and I still remember the day the war ended and my feeling relieved that Jackie would be coming back home safe.)

     War didn’t make a lot of sense to us and we voiced concerns over some obvious dichotomies in our society and culture. How old does one have to before he’s considered a man?  You can go to war and sacrifice life and limb at age seventeen but you can’t but a beer or get married without parental consent.  Doesn’t seem fair does it?  We studied the Civil War in American History and knew empirically that the black man was freed from slavery but watching TV showed us George Wallace missed that part and Rosa Parks wanted to see if she could push the envelope.  We didn’t have blacks in our community so we weren’t exposed to racial prejudice outright but we saw it every night on the news and so did Dylan.   TV was our window on the entire country and wider world and we 16, 17 & 18 year olds with our altruistic and “all men are created equal’ mentality had difficulty swallowing the images of poverty and hunger not just in far off African countries but right here in our own backyards. 

     We as a generation defined and were defined by this and other of Bob Dylan’s songs.  We wanted to be the change in the world; we wanted to stop the answers from blowing in the wind and right the wrongs we were seeing everyday.