When I start sorting through papers of my life, you have to be submitted to them. Here is a poem I wrote in 2006, when our dog was not a year old. Now he's almost 8 and still the same.
WAITING FOR THE WOMAN
Our dog--only ten months old--
a Puli (Bob Marley's hair walking)
climbs on our bed--our futon, actually,
and lays on the pillows, with one leg
and his head up against the window
that looks out on the driveway of our house.
I found him there tonigh,
Gazing out, looking for the woman,
my wife, who is away
at a birthday dinner
(God bless her....)
I asked him if he were
waiting for the woman.
And from his look, I knew he was.
Totally committed and obsessed,
riveted to the window,
watching, waiting, longing,
for the love she will bring to him.
And aren't we all--each in our own way--
leaning our faces against the window
of Life...watching...waiting...longing,
for Love not yet here
or present, still distant and away?
Saturday, November 22, 2014
The moon
Tonight, as I stepped out on our chilled deck to smoke a cigarette (I know! I know! Don't chide me about it! The cold does more to curb my smoking than all my friends' warnings....) I looked up, as I always do, to find the moon.
It's too overcast to see her, but I looked anyway.
Today I was sorting through all the 'paper' of my past, and found a poem I wrote a decade ago about the moon. I was sure I must have shared it in the 1100 or more posts on this blog, but when I typed 'moon' into the blog search box, I got several hundred responses (I mention the Moon a lot) but none that was this poem. So here it is, from November 26, 2004--4 days short of 10 years ago.
THE MOON
OK, so I'm out on the deck smoking a cigarette
and drinking red wine.
What I'm really doing is watching the moon
through the trees in this, my now favorite tiime
of the year...when all is bare, stark, dying and thin...
knowing what comes next is new life.
Most people I know would chide me for smoking
and more than a few would deride my for
the red wine--but I no longer care.
What I care about is the moon, the moon, the moon.
I know why countless ancient folks worshipped the moon.
Why wouldn't one worship what brings dime light
to deep darkness and moves the seas.
Like the seas, the moon moves me.
Outward into the great chill of the ionosphere and beyond...
though I will never possess the moon, she draws me near,
though I will never own her, I worship her.
When the waxing ceases and the waning begins,
the moon pushes me back, deep inside myself,
down along a dim passage I seldom have walked,
to a door to a room I don't remember knowing,
and I open the door...and there I find, the moon.
So I stand and stare, wishing to know more,
longing to possess the wondrous brightness of it all.
Waiting on my deck, smoking and drinking, watching this only:
through the bare trees--the moon, the moon, the moon....
It's too overcast to see her, but I looked anyway.
Today I was sorting through all the 'paper' of my past, and found a poem I wrote a decade ago about the moon. I was sure I must have shared it in the 1100 or more posts on this blog, but when I typed 'moon' into the blog search box, I got several hundred responses (I mention the Moon a lot) but none that was this poem. So here it is, from November 26, 2004--4 days short of 10 years ago.
THE MOON
OK, so I'm out on the deck smoking a cigarette
and drinking red wine.
What I'm really doing is watching the moon
through the trees in this, my now favorite tiime
of the year...when all is bare, stark, dying and thin...
knowing what comes next is new life.
Most people I know would chide me for smoking
and more than a few would deride my for
the red wine--but I no longer care.
What I care about is the moon, the moon, the moon.
I know why countless ancient folks worshipped the moon.
Why wouldn't one worship what brings dime light
to deep darkness and moves the seas.
Like the seas, the moon moves me.
Outward into the great chill of the ionosphere and beyond...
though I will never possess the moon, she draws me near,
though I will never own her, I worship her.
When the waxing ceases and the waning begins,
the moon pushes me back, deep inside myself,
down along a dim passage I seldom have walked,
to a door to a room I don't remember knowing,
and I open the door...and there I find, the moon.
So I stand and stare, wishing to know more,
longing to possess the wondrous brightness of it all.
Waiting on my deck, smoking and drinking, watching this only:
through the bare trees--the moon, the moon, the moon....
Friday, November 21, 2014
Better than I thought...and what a loss....
I actually lasted 9 days since my 11/12 post promising to stay off the media and news.
Good for me, I have more self-restraint than I imagined.
But Lordy, Lordy, what a waste of blog-worthy material.
I could have done several about Kim Kardashian's butt and Obama's decision to fix immigration by himself. Never mind the Lake snow in Buffalo or the apoplexy of Republicans regarding the aforementioned 'fix' of immigration.
The first two options on my spell check to 'Kardashian' were 'cardigan's' and 'Krishna's' either of which would have been preferable to Kim's butt!
My spell check also hates all possessives, of "Obama's" was suggested to be replaced by 'IBM's' and 'Obama'. At least the president's name without the 's is in my spell check.
Plus, people died--Mike Nichols foremost among them, director of The Graduate. which, if it didn't change the life of any baby-boomer, should have....
A lot of stuff happens in 9 days--my Lord, Mockingjay Part One opened today (I saw it and say go see it as soon as you can if you are a Hunger Game freak like I am!)
A lot of stuff happens in 9 days that I might have written better posts about than the ones I wrote. But I did endure without writing about anything in the news or the media. Good for me. Bad for you because I could have had some ironic and humorous things to say about Kim's butt. But (butt) you'll never know them, will you?
Good for me, I have more self-restraint than I imagined.
But Lordy, Lordy, what a waste of blog-worthy material.
I could have done several about Kim Kardashian's butt and Obama's decision to fix immigration by himself. Never mind the Lake snow in Buffalo or the apoplexy of Republicans regarding the aforementioned 'fix' of immigration.
The first two options on my spell check to 'Kardashian' were 'cardigan's' and 'Krishna's' either of which would have been preferable to Kim's butt!
My spell check also hates all possessives, of "Obama's" was suggested to be replaced by 'IBM's' and 'Obama'. At least the president's name without the 's is in my spell check.
Plus, people died--Mike Nichols foremost among them, director of The Graduate. which, if it didn't change the life of any baby-boomer, should have....
A lot of stuff happens in 9 days--my Lord, Mockingjay Part One opened today (I saw it and say go see it as soon as you can if you are a Hunger Game freak like I am!)
A lot of stuff happens in 9 days that I might have written better posts about than the ones I wrote. But I did endure without writing about anything in the news or the media. Good for me. Bad for you because I could have had some ironic and humorous things to say about Kim's butt. But (butt) you'll never know them, will you?
Thursday, November 20, 2014
The Big Check Came!!!
I got my cut of the class action suit today! (Well, never mind that I didn't know I was one of the plaintiff's and had never heard of the suit....)
What matters is the suit existed and I got my cut today!
The lawsuit was 'Citizens of the US vs. Angie's List, Inc.
What happened was, I joined Angie's List so I could write a favorable review of the guys who did our roof last year. They were great and even paid for me to join Angie's List to see if the compelling nature of my prose could get them business. I hope it did.
That was the first and only time I ever went on Angie's List except for going on a month later and cancelling my membership--or that's what I thought I did. Bern pays the bills so I never look at credit card bills unless she asks me about that charge to "Too Foxy for You". She catches false charges from time to time and handles it. But I do the taxes, which is when I start going through bank statements and credit card bills looking for deductions.
And lo and behold, charged to my card every month for the six months since I cancelled was a $7.99 item to Angie's List!
So, I called and complained and finally got off the damn list--which I don't get anyway...when I needed work done I asked friends and neighbors to recommend folks.
Apparently, I was far from the only one who cancelled on line and kept getting charged because a big old Law Firm filed a class action suit against mean old Angie....
How they found out I complained, I simply don't know. Does a business have to report complaints to some agency or something?
Anyway, the check came. It came in the form of a post card with a cover on it. I undid the sticky and there was my post card sized check. I took it to the bank immediately (actually I was on the way to Stop and Shop where I bank is anyway....)
The Teller had never seen a postcard check but it was obviously good. The grandchildren don't need to worry about college costs now that I got my $5 settlement!
Five measly dollars to thousands of people and thousands of dollars (who knows how much?) To my lawyers and Angie's lawyers.
Well, at least justice was done....
What matters is the suit existed and I got my cut today!
The lawsuit was 'Citizens of the US vs. Angie's List, Inc.
What happened was, I joined Angie's List so I could write a favorable review of the guys who did our roof last year. They were great and even paid for me to join Angie's List to see if the compelling nature of my prose could get them business. I hope it did.
That was the first and only time I ever went on Angie's List except for going on a month later and cancelling my membership--or that's what I thought I did. Bern pays the bills so I never look at credit card bills unless she asks me about that charge to "Too Foxy for You". She catches false charges from time to time and handles it. But I do the taxes, which is when I start going through bank statements and credit card bills looking for deductions.
And lo and behold, charged to my card every month for the six months since I cancelled was a $7.99 item to Angie's List!
So, I called and complained and finally got off the damn list--which I don't get anyway...when I needed work done I asked friends and neighbors to recommend folks.
Apparently, I was far from the only one who cancelled on line and kept getting charged because a big old Law Firm filed a class action suit against mean old Angie....
How they found out I complained, I simply don't know. Does a business have to report complaints to some agency or something?
Anyway, the check came. It came in the form of a post card with a cover on it. I undid the sticky and there was my post card sized check. I took it to the bank immediately (actually I was on the way to Stop and Shop where I bank is anyway....)
The Teller had never seen a postcard check but it was obviously good. The grandchildren don't need to worry about college costs now that I got my $5 settlement!
Five measly dollars to thousands of people and thousands of dollars (who knows how much?) To my lawyers and Angie's lawyers.
Well, at least justice was done....
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Why I love New England
When I tell people who don't live here why I learn New England I always start with the 'we have four seasons' line.
Truth is, I only love three of the seasons we have here. I often imagine I love winter and the snow and the chill and all--but I don't. I love that we have three seasons I love...winter, with just these few cold days...winter, I think I could do without.
Is there anywhere to live that has 3 seasons? I doubt it. Autumn has to have Winter waiting behind it right? Or why else would the leaves fall so the snow doesn't always break the trees?
So, I guess I have to endure the next few months. Lordy, Lordy, I really don't like the really cold weather. The snow is beautiful but it would be great if it would melt between storms so it doesn't pile up and get dirty and turn to ice.
I still love New England, it's just a little harder to remember why as Winter comes.....
Truth is, I only love three of the seasons we have here. I often imagine I love winter and the snow and the chill and all--but I don't. I love that we have three seasons I love...winter, with just these few cold days...winter, I think I could do without.
Is there anywhere to live that has 3 seasons? I doubt it. Autumn has to have Winter waiting behind it right? Or why else would the leaves fall so the snow doesn't always break the trees?
So, I guess I have to endure the next few months. Lordy, Lordy, I really don't like the really cold weather. The snow is beautiful but it would be great if it would melt between storms so it doesn't pile up and get dirty and turn to ice.
I still love New England, it's just a little harder to remember why as Winter comes.....
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
I'm not as dumb as I look...seem...appear to be....
So, in my last post, I took down an earlier post in which I thought I'd been unkind or unfair or cruel.
Then, one of the 3 people who read the offending post (only 3 did) emailed me this:
Then, one of the 3 people who read the offending post (only 3 did) emailed me this:
You wrote:
"This
morning, I removed a blog post that I did last night. Only 3 people saw
it before I took it down and I hope they keep quiet about it."
Yes, I read it, and thought it a bit out of character for you.
(having copied that, I can't get back to the original font--Lord, I hate computers!)
But I was correct about what I did. Thanks, Charles. Even if I can't find the correct font....
Something I've never done before...
This morning, I removed a blog post that I did last night. Only 3 people saw it before I took it down and I hope they keep quiet about it.
I took it down because I went beyond ironic to cruel in it. It was about the Congregational Church here in town and some of my interactions with the staff. I thought I was being humorous, but I was being unkind instead. So I took it down.
One of the problems about writing on a screen is that there aren't the same internal limits that we have we writing a letter by hand. The physical experience of holding a pen, it seems to me, opens up a sub-conscious area where we actually imagine the person we're writing to reading what we wrote a few days later.
Email, Face-book (which I don't do), Twitter (which I don't understand much less 'do') and all the other media things (isn't one called Instagram?) free us from the image of the person reading what we write on a screen--mostly because we have no idea, really, who all will read it.
I've gotten in trouble trying to be ironic or humorous in emails (mostly one's I've sent to bishops or members of the staff of the Diocese--see my other post from 11/17!) and it's not easy to straighten out. I actually believe we 'read' stuff on a screen differently than we would read a hand-written letter that we hold and touch.
The 'touch' is missing on a screen. And I lost 'touch' last night when I wrote something more cruel than ironic, more unkind than humorous.
I'm glad I removed it. That reminded me of the letters I've torn up and never sent (bet you have some of those if you remember when we used to 'write letters'...) It felt good to remove that post, just as tearing up a letter because you finally realized the person who would read it might be confused or hurt by your words in ink on paper.
I've torn up lots of letters. But this morning was the first time I took down a post. Though I've never done that before, it felt 'good' and 'right' to do it.
I took it down because I went beyond ironic to cruel in it. It was about the Congregational Church here in town and some of my interactions with the staff. I thought I was being humorous, but I was being unkind instead. So I took it down.
One of the problems about writing on a screen is that there aren't the same internal limits that we have we writing a letter by hand. The physical experience of holding a pen, it seems to me, opens up a sub-conscious area where we actually imagine the person we're writing to reading what we wrote a few days later.
Email, Face-book (which I don't do), Twitter (which I don't understand much less 'do') and all the other media things (isn't one called Instagram?) free us from the image of the person reading what we write on a screen--mostly because we have no idea, really, who all will read it.
I've gotten in trouble trying to be ironic or humorous in emails (mostly one's I've sent to bishops or members of the staff of the Diocese--see my other post from 11/17!) and it's not easy to straighten out. I actually believe we 'read' stuff on a screen differently than we would read a hand-written letter that we hold and touch.
The 'touch' is missing on a screen. And I lost 'touch' last night when I wrote something more cruel than ironic, more unkind than humorous.
I'm glad I removed it. That reminded me of the letters I've torn up and never sent (bet you have some of those if you remember when we used to 'write letters'...) It felt good to remove that post, just as tearing up a letter because you finally realized the person who would read it might be confused or hurt by your words in ink on paper.
I've torn up lots of letters. But this morning was the first time I took down a post. Though I've never done that before, it felt 'good' and 'right' to do it.
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