What he said

Stop for just a moment, or 3 …

3
by John Berryman

Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting.

Forsake me not when my wild hours come;
grant me sleep nightly, grace soften my dreams;
achieve in me patience till the thing be done,
a careful view of my achievement come.

Make me from time to time the gift of the shoulder.
When all hurt nerves whine shut away the whiskey.
Empty my heart toward Thee.
Let me pace without fear the common path of death.

Cross am I sometimes with my little daughter:
fill her eyes with tears. Forgive me, Lord.
Unite my various soul,
sole watchman of the wide & single stars.

From “Eleven Addresses to the Lord”, “3” by John Berryman, Collected Poems 1937-1971. © The Noonday Press, 1989.

Oh no you didn’t

Some time ago I did a list of three-word sentences you should and shouldn’t use with your wife. Simple and easy to follow, that post has made it’s way around the blogosphere. Even simpler, and with the added appeal of being set to a catchy tune, is this short but valuable “user’s guide”:

HT: Persistent Illusion. I may need to add this to the “Are You Marriageable” series.

It goes on

Wednesday’s Writer’s Almanac featured a poem by Bruce Taylor entitled “Middle-Aged Men, Leaning.” It begins:

They lean on rakes.
It’s late, it is evening
already inside their houses.

The children are gone.
Their wives are on the phone
talking softly to someone else.

This frost, this early Fall
upon their minds, a small
measure of patience and regard

as if the twilight world
in bright papery pieces
diminished so and thus.

It caught my attention because my fingers and palms are still sore from all the yard work we did last weekend; yard work that had me leaning on rakes and shovels as well as standing on ladders, wrangling in brush piles and wrestling with awnings. It was a lot of hard, dirty work but we were blessed with an extended stretch of early September at the end of October, giving us the time we desperately needed to get the yard ready to host the Mall Diva’s upcoming nuptials in the spring.

While Tiger Lilly, my wife and I worked on the gardens the Mall Diva and Ben cleared out the four flower beds in front of the house and planted tulip bulbs, happy in the thought of the rewards for their labor regardless of whatever hardships and depradations should be visited upon these by the winter, the squirrels or the administration.

A long, cold season may be ahead but there’s so much promise on the other side of it. I’ve lived through many a winter now and quite a few temporal seasons of hope and change — some of which even almost worked. I take any and all forecasts with as many grains of salt as I’ll eventually pour on my sidewalk in the months ahead, but one thing I know for certain is that the head of my government has decreed that seedtime and harvest shall not cease as long as the earth remains.

Live at The Black Sheep

As posted here earlier, last Thursday night was Open Mic Night at The Black Sheep coffee cafe and we went to watch and listen as the Mall Diva and her lifelong friend and musical partner, Casii, made their public debut. It was an interesting evening sponsored by the city of South St. Paul as an activity for the youth. The performances were all pretty good, but what I noticed most was the differences in attitude between the performers.

The first singer was a young man who is likely too young to remember Corey Hart, yet he was wearing sunglasses at night all the same. He was a beefy guy with a delicate voice reminiscent of Dan Haseltine of Jars of Clay. He did a couple of original compositions and some covers but all of the song selections were of disaffected angst that spoke of a misery too deep for anyone who hasn’t, say, been audited. Even his take on Green Day’s “I Hope You Had the Time of Your Life” had irony dripping off of it … and right into my chai latte.

Another performer was a young woman who read her poetry from a spiral-bound notebook (I couldn’t tell if it had hearts on it, but I suspect not). She stood in a way that announced she had “issues” even before reading her work that featured lines about brains splattered on windows and hamsters committing suicide. The girl prefaced some of her reading by saying her poems use a lot of symbolism and she hoped we “got it.” Not a problem, as it was about as subtle as a manhole cover in a salami sandwich.

The young folks were good, and I know that it sounds as if I’m mocking them. Well, I am mocking them I guess, but it’s more in recognition of my own artistic self-absorption when I was their age (I’d rather listen to Vogon poetry without sedation than go back and read my old, old stuff). Perhaps it’s because, while we may suffer a lot of pain when we’re young, we don’t have a lot of years of experience to put that pain in perspective.

Or maybe it’s just what is fashionable now.

When the Diva and Casii took their turn, however, it was a completely different attitude — and I say that completely acknowledging my proud-parent bias. They did two high-spirited and funny original songs (including, if you can believe it, a highly symbolic one about a hamster) plus their own take on the old hymn, “It Is Well With My Soul.” They were warm and upbeat, engaging with the audience even though they did without the microphone. With their voices, and in a relatively small room, they didn’t need a mic. In fact, they were nearly able to drown out the “whacka-whacka-whacka” of the espresso machine behind the counter. As with the other performers, they wanted the audience to feel what they felt; the difference is that they were having fun.


Photo from RaymondPhotographic.com.

I can think of a number of reasons why that might be, but I think the main one is “the perspicacity of hope”.

Too funny…and too true

British comics Bird and Fortune explain the financial crisis in this clip entitled “How the Markets Really Work”. It’s a lot funnier than my last 401k statement … but just as painfully close to the truth.

An excerpt from this “interview”, discussing the sub-prime fiasco:

Surely the reality is that the people who have lent all this money have been incredibly stupid.

Oh no, no…the reality is that what is stupid is that at some point somebody asked how much these houses are actually worth. I mean, if they hadn’t asked that question everything would have gone on perfectly as normal.

Now some will say that this will lead to a financial melt-down. Can it be avoided?

It can be avoided provided the governments and central banks give us — the speculators and financial advisors — the money back that we’ve lost.

But…isn’t that rewarding greed and stupidity?

No, it’s rewarding what Prime Minister Gordon Brown calls “the ingenuity of the markets.”

I see….

We don’t want this money to spend on ourselves. We want this money to go into the market so we can carry on borrowing and lending money as if nothing had happened without thinking too much about it.

Well, if worst came to worst and you didn’t get this money, what then?

Well then, the market would crash and I would say to you what people like me always say, “It’s not us who will suffer, it’s your pension fund.”

One year on

I was wearing my dark charcoal-colored suit at church Sunday and at one point as I reached my left arm across my chest I could feel a stiff piece of paper in the inside pocket of the jacket. I didn’t need to reach into the pocket to see what the strange weight over my heart was; I already knew it was the notes I had written to myself for delivering the eulogy at my father’s funeral. The notes have been there every time I’ve worn the suit in the past year and I just haven’t gotten around to taking them out.

My father died on October 29 last year so we didn’t have to wait too long to start marking the significant passages: first Thanksgiving without him, first Christmas without him, first wedding anniversary, first golf season, first Father’s Day, first birthday — all without him. The holidays early on weren’t too weird. Sure, they were strange, but his passing was still so new and close to mind that we were still in the bubble of grief and relief that surrounds you in the aftermath of a wasting disease. The December wedding anniversary would have been their 51st and as the day passed it was amazing to think how blissfully unaware we were of what was in store while we celebrated the 50th.

The other times during the year I didn’t dwell so much on the thoughts as they came, other than to take a deep breath. This past week, however, has seemed to crawl by and many times I have stopped to think, “last year at this time, I was answering my cell phone in the middle of an office party” or “at this time on this day last year I was in an airplane” or “I was at the hospital”.

And on Wednesday it will be one year and I will think of the hectic day I spent 365 days ago trying to tie up enough loose ends at work, knowing that I was likely going to be gone for a few days. I will not be able to remember what it was that I was working on that was so important, but I will remember laying back in my recliner at home, wondering if I was ready (and not for the office) and I will think about the phone call that came that evening, and of Faith coming home and me not being able to say anything to her, and not having to say anything to her because she could just tell.

And I will think about pieces of paper in the breast pocket of a suitcoat, and how sometimes even a casual movement will remind me of a certain stiffness over my heart that is likely to remain awhile longer.

Related posts:

In My Father’s House, Part 1

In My Father’s House, Part 2
In My Father’s House, Part 3
In My Father’s House, Conclusion
Turning Toward the Mourning
The Knowing (April, 2005)

The Dark Ages return — but there’s still culture

There was great wailing and gnashing of teeth over the weekend as first Tiger Lilly’s laptop and then the Mall Diva’s crashed and died for unknown reasons (they weren’t sharing any files or connected to each other in any way). The prognosis today is that MD needs a new hard-drive and Tiger Lilly’s can probably be fixed by re-installing the operating system, though she’s likely to lose all her data. Fortunately, almost all of her novels-in-progress and other writing are stored on Google-docs.

A techie friend of ours is working on the laptops, but the girls were still bereft of their electronic connections today. Of course, I offered to let them use the Man Cave and the PC down there, but you’d have thought I’d offered them a spider sandwich. So, apparently, the latest installment of Tiger Lilly’s as-yet-unnamed web comic is delayed, while the Mall Diva can’t share an important announcement with her fans.

Fortunately, I’m here to do the honors but first I want to tell you that someone at work offered me two free tickets to the Celine Dion concert this Thursday night at Target Center. I’m not a big Celine Dion fan, but she’s all right and the price is perfect. I called home to see if my wife was interested but she was out and I ended up talking to the Mall Diva. I said I could get free tickets to Celine Dion and MD was very impressed. “When is it?” she asked.

“Thursday night.”

“Dad, Thursday night is the night that Casii and I are performing at The Black Sheep!”

“Hmmm, who sings better — you or Celine Dion?”

“DAD!”

Okay, so if anyone wants to come and hear The Mall Diva and Princess Flicker-Feather (or Princess FLicker-Feather and the Mall Diva) make their public debut (outside of church), come over to The Black Sheep for Open Mike Night, Thursday, Oct. 30, starting at 6:30. It sounds as if the girls are going to get the opportunity to do several songs. And if you’d like to see Celine Dion, maybe I could hook you up!

The 401-Keg Plan

I work for a major, MAJOR financial services company. It’s been a wild couple of weeks lately, including some issues over the weekend that resulted in me being called out of church service twice on Sunday. That made the following, which appeared on the bulletin board of our break-room on Monday, sound like pretty good advice:

If you had purchased $1,000.00 of AIG stock one year ago you would have $44.34 left.

With Wachovia, you would have had $54.74 left of the original $1,000.00.

With Lehman, you would have had $0.00 left.

But, if you had purchased $1,000.00 worth of beer one year ago…drank all of the beer, then turned in the cans for the aluminum recycling REFUND, you would have $214.00 cash.

Based on the above, the best investment plan is to drink heavily & recycle. It is called “The 401-Keg” plan.

Sounds as if you ought to fire JRoosh as your financial advisor and hire Kevin Ecker.

Name your price

“Right is still right, even if nobody is doing it. Wrong is still wrong, even if everybody is doing it.”
–- St. Augustine

Tuesday’s post about the role and necessity of hope reminded me of something I wrote way back in the early days of this blog about having integrity. Having hope is an important part of being a person of character and integrity because it gives you a vision for the future and a picture of what you want to be like. One of the reasons that hopelessness, on the other hand, removes moral restraint is because a fatalistic outlook sees no benefit in the present for not taking the easiest path or pursuing the most gratifying action.

In my old post I used the story of a man I knew of whose hope — and integrity — didn’t fail him in a time of great stress. It’s a great illustration of how doing the right thing can not only bring peace but triumph and I hope it is an encouragement for all who read it. Here’s the main part of the original piece:

Have you ever struggled to do the right thing on your job or in your business while it seemed like everyone else was getting ahead doing the wrong thing?

Several years ago I talked at length with a man by the name of Ronnie Carroll who had an amazing story. In the late ’80s Ronnie owned a satellite TV dealership in Tallahassee, FL. This is a great business to be in in that part of Florida because it is almost impossible to get TV reception there unless you have a dish.

Ronnie was having a tough time, however, because he was the only dealer in the area who refused to sell illegal decoders that allowed folks to unscramble HBO and the like without having to pay a fee. His potential customers would hear his policy and go on down the road and buy their equipment from a dealer that would also sell them the pirate decoders.

For months Ronnie watched business go out the door. He eventually had to close his shop and try to operate his business from his home. Ronnie prayed throughout the winter, asking God to “judge his cause” and seeking direction on whether he should find another line of business.

That spring a couple of gentlemen from the FCC showed up at Ronnie’s door. They said that Washington had made it a priority to crack down on illegal decoders and they were starting in his area. Their investigation had already shown that Ronnie was the only dealer in the area who wasn’t selling the devices and they wanted him to be in charge of collecting the pirate decoders. All dish owners were being told they had a 30-day grace period to turn in their outlaw decoders and pay Ronnie a $300 “disposal fee” or face prosecution. Simultaneously many of his one-time competitors were facing prosecution themselves and were going to find it hard to stay in business.

It also turned out that the company that made the bootleg devices also made legal decoders. Since the dishes wouldn’t work without some kind of decoder the FCC required the manufacturer to provide Ronnie with a line of credit to buy legal decoders to sell to the people turning in their outlaw equipment.

“Overnight,” Ronnie said, “I suddenly had people crammed in my living room and lined up down my driveway to turn in their devices and buy new decoders and subscriptions. There were judges, lawyers and police officers in line. I bought a sign that said, ‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord,’ and put it by my front door.” Immediately Ronnie’s business went from barely surviving to grossing more than $80,000 a month. Several newspapers and television stations interviewed him and he shared his story with all he talked to. When I last talked to him years ago his business was still thriving.

One moral to this story is that God doesn’t move quickly: He moves suddenly. It may not look like anything is going on, but His blessing is already on the way and in one moment to the next everything can change. Heaven forbid that the moment right before that is when we give in. When the FCC rang Ronnie’s doorbell he no doubt thought it was a bill collector, and not the answer to his prayers. We need to expect God’s faithfulness, and don’t let our actions or attitudes succumb to what appears to be reality.

What is the price you put on your honesty and integrity? Will you sell it – like Esau – for some piddling and short-term gain? We live in a world full of hustlers, always trying to shade themselves a little edge here and there. The dismaying thing to me is not that this happens, but for what little amounts people are willing to trade their name and integrity. The thing about a path that is straight and narrow is that there are no corners we can cut and still stay on it.

Proverbs 22:1 says, “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.” Temptation is always around to provide opportunity and justification; when exposed to the light, however, these justifications are shown to be flimsy and selfish. Likewise, we may not see the true value of our reputation until we ourselves are exposed, and by then it’s too late. What we get never seems equal to what we give up. Indeed, it is “too late” the moment we cheat, not the moment we get caught.

Integrity is not something that can be taken away from us -– we can only give it away. We need to be careful that in our efforts to make a name for ourselves that we don’t end up giving that name away.

The Perspicacity of Hope

The following is the text of a message I delivered to our monthly “Inside Outfitters” men’s group; a group that typically includes 50-60 men of all ages from Minnesota Teen Challenge a faith-based residential drug and alcohol recovery program.

Somewhere or another I heard someone waxing eloquently about having the audacity to hope. Those seemed to me to be strange words to combine since the definition of audacity includes references such as “reckless” and “rash”. While hope may be criticized or extolled, mocked or encouraged, it is not reckless or foolish. Hope is also both dangerous and endangered and the times we’re living through seem almost engineered to crush hope.

This suggests to me that hope has never been more important, or more of a threat to the status quo. Rather than “audacity” we should endorse the perspicacity of hope. What do I mean by that (literally, what do I mean)?