It was late. It was dark. We pulled into the driveway and something caught my eye. In the shadows, in the driveway next door, a tiny red dot betrayed dark figure. I opened the garage door and stepped cautiously from the truck. My wife took things from the cab and headed inside. I dropped the tailgate in order to remove the unwieldy cargo. The burning cigarette attached to a man’s mouth approached quickly.
“May I help?” puffed the cig.
“Gladly!” say I.
In a sec the mini-freezer gently met pavement, but with a groan.
“Thanks”, says a me, looking curiously at the grown man.
“I just had surgery on my arm. Ah, she hurts.”, puffed he.
“Lordy!”, I concorded. In this stranger’s efforts to help me, he may have hurt himself.
It turns out, this man was waiting for others to arrive. Upon our last words, several vehicles raced for the curb and piled out into street and marched toward the house of Puffy’s. The neighborly homeowner among them informed me that a friend of theirs, a young adult I surmised, had died suddenly (tragically?). This explanation served as a purpose for the gathering.
The next morning, the next-door driveway and the curbs were clear. Nothing to see here…but… What looked like a tall, rounded vase with a base sat solitary and distinctive near the attached garage. Filled with something which seemed to give it external texture, it was. Internal gravitas? But what was it? Remnants, but of what? A tribute, but to who? Ashes for Algernon? Butts!
Monthly Archives: May 2018
When Doting Parents Care
As a child, I was well loved, but… One time, when I was a young boy, my old man (Dad), yelled at me, “You have the temperament of an old man.” Not knowing what temperament meant at that time, I didn’t have an immediate retort.
Dig if you will the picture, a local winery event with band and vendors and a Saturday family crowd. Two uninterested vino connoisseurs (NOT winos) seek out a spot far from the madding crowd. A place where they can share stories and observations which challenge veracity. There it is! A pergola covered courtyard opposite the banter and the band with the expansive winery buildings in between. With appropriate glass wear and beverage acquired, seats in a semi-sunny spot are selected and the games begin. But the skeptic in the pair somehow knew that serenity found would soon devolve into paradise lost.
Dream, if you can, a courtyard. First, there arrived a quiet lady with a glass who sat an appropriate distance. Next, they came, a romantic couple who chose a table as distant as possible. After them…the deluge. Prominent among them was the young fit couple with a baby carrier and a noisy gaggle of boys trailing off after those youths spotted a corner for creating mischief. This young couple, with expansive seating still available, sat European close to our perimeter table. So be it.
“Brunswick!”, thundered the parental scream. The startling break in the quiet almost bowled me out of my chair. It seems the fit couple dad had a fit because his boy baby (improbably named Brunswick) split out of sight with the soccer jocks. Slipping out of sight with this dad ran a foul of his rules. Ok, enough, nothing to see here. Settle back into to your conversation. But minutes, seemed like seconds, later…
“Brunswick!”, boomed the now familiar mezzo-frantico voice.
Maybe I’m just too demanding. My lofting impatience hitting the ceiling, I directed barely audible invectives at the near table – you know, the kind you hear in the background when you’re giving your monthly committee status report.
“What?”, yelled back the puzzled little Brunswick. I was puzzled, too. He was clearly visible this time through the glistening concertina wire, between the deep effluent filled roadside gutters and he looked to be escaping the several stray dogs playfully chasing the urchins.
Why do they scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doting parents care.
Yeah, Dad, I get it now.
Pub 5-15-2018: Youth, the Past, Going Mad; a Robin, an Eagle, a Wulf; Thesis for an Anti-Thesis
Memories of Youth: Talk about an achievement from your youth that seemed to have gone unnoticed then. That effort is still sitting proudly in your memory and holds as a reminder of who you were and what you can accomplish.
How does this past effort affect your present?
Today in Church History: Isidore the Farmer, was a Spanish farmworker known for his piety toward the poor and animals. He is the Catholic patron saint of the farmer. His feast day is celebrated on May 15. The story of St. Isidore is a reminder of the dignity of work, and that ordinary life can lead to holiness… St. Isidore’s life demonstrates that: If you have your spiritual self in order, your earthly commitments will fall into order also.
How is the work you do dignifying? In what ways is the life you live ordinary?
Is your spiritual self always an asset in your earthly commitments?
Don’t go away mad… Members in your family are mental. Friends in your friendship are fiendish. Characters in your corporation are corrupt. How do you survive inextricable relationships? Fix? Suffer? Abandon?
If I don’t allow you to choose any of the aforementioned three options, what is the best way to handle relationships conceived in hell and neglected by heaven?
Who Killed Cock Robin?… is a poem thought to originate in a Celtic myth. In that myth, the red sun of summer, a robin, is killed by an arrow shot by the god of winter, a sparrow. The image of birds is predominant because of the Celtic belief that souls became birds after death. For the sake of argument, assume the soul physical attributes.
How do you envision your soul as manifested in the following presentations:
Before conception? During life? After death?
Are you an ethics eagle or a foul falcon? Dashiell Hammett, author of The Maltese Falcon (1931), created the character Sam Spade. This fictional private investigator solved mysteries with hardboiled, sometimes illegal and often unethical methods, giving up lovers and friends. Hammett himself professioned also as a PI. He neither broke the law nor gave up sources (even spending time in prison) – The antithesis of Spade.
When have your personal ethics stunted your professional ambitions?
As a result, did you recalibrate your ethics or reevaluate your profession or simply temporarily ruminate on your ethical enigma?
Better Living Through Beowulf… St. Mary’s English Professor Robin Bates’ BLTB blog entry, Which Fictional Death Still Haunts You?, inquires as to your most enduring fictional fatality, be it book, movie, or play.
Do you have one?
If so, why do you think that fictional tragedy evoked such real pathos in you?
Did the writer draw you in? Did you have a relatable personal encounter?
Not a Joke: Police interview three people at a crime scene, a priest, a lawyer and the victim. The priest describes the crime in detail. The lawyer describes the crime in facts. The victim tells the truth. The ability to articulate requires one to concisely give the facts. The ability to express emotions allows one to tell the truth.
What is it about emotions which make them superior to facts when the truth is the pursuit?
This Day in History: May 15, 1941, Joe DiMaggio begins his “unbreakable” 56-game hitting streak. In 1967, Simon and Garfunkel’s song “Mrs. Robinson” featured the lyrics: Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Simon concluded that DiMaggio was the antithesis of both the authority-defying “hippie generation” and the hypocritical “older generation” of the 60’s.
Who would you consider the respectful and genuine role model of our age? Can you lyricize it?