dust from the archives

While digging through the dark and dusty back half of a storage cabinet, I came upon a saved notebook of poetry and other writings that I did way back in the dark ages of early adulthood, during and just after my college years. As I read the literary leavings of my earlier self, I was transported back to that time when they were written. Seeing them again brought back faint echoes of that time when all still seemed possible. Yet, the hint of cynicism and restraint in some of them lives with me still.
But reviewing those writings now gives me some insight into the man I was and still am in many ways and the person I have become. It's interesting (at least to me) that I have written no poetry since those early attempts. I don't know why, because some of those early poems weren't too bad, even from the vantage point of history. I will share selections from that archive on occasion, when I feel the need for some self flagellation. I offer the first here and now. It is still angst ridden even at this late date.

A LAMENT

I want to be a
somebody,
and as the saying goes,
set the world on fire.
Now I don't suppose
you'd know where I could find some matches?

the friday from hell

So we decided to take off for the cottage for a couple days of relaxation over the Thanksgiving weekend, reading books, watching movies, maybe going out to dinner one evening. Just your general R&R weekend. We got there about 1:00 after an uneventful drive, other than Mary nagging me about driving too fast (as usual), only to find the yard a total mess of downed tree branches and willow leaves carpeting the grounds. Big windstorm a couple days ago. Result--leaves and branches to clean up. (If God created willow trees, he is truly a cruel and sadistic entity). But when I opened the cottage door and went inside all was fine. The clocks were all flashing from an apparent power outage that occurred sometime recently (probably during that same windstorm that made the yard a mess), but that is not at all unusual for that area. Power outages occur frequently and generally last for only minutes so rarely cause any great harm.

Now it gets interesting. Mary's first reaction upon arriving at the cottage after the long drive is to head straight for the bathroom, so my first duty upon arrriving is to head to the pump house to turn on the water. I opened the pump house door and was greeted by a feeble whining hum coming from the pump itself. Normally when the pump runs it has a low throaty growl. This sound was more the keening sigh of a death rattle of a machine struggling to hang on. Great Holmsian detective that I am, I immediately knew something was amiss. My fears were confirmed when I tried to turn the valve that sends water coursing through the pipes. Stuck. Frozen? The heat lamp was on and functioning. The pump house was reasonably warm inside given the 18 degree temperature outside. Barehanding the copper pipe, I felt certain then that I was dealing a frozen pipe and pump. I got Mary's hair drier and proceeded to warm, and hopefully thaw, the pipe and restore water flow. I managed to produce only a feeble trickle despite the pump's continuing to run. Mary's usual confidence in my ability to solve any problem had her immediately on the phone calling Dan the plumber to come and save us. Luckily, Dan was available and agreed to come straightaway. When he arrived I told him what I thought was the problem, e.g. that the pipe was frozen due to a power outage and that we probably just needed to thaw the pipe and maybe the pump and that all would be well in our world. Dan appraised the situation in front of him and pointed out that the huge crack in the pump housing would make all the thawing efforts futile. I must say he was most diplomatic when he told me this. He didn't call me an unobservent idiot as well he could have. The diagnosis of a broken pump has only one cure--a new pump. So now we wait untill he can procure a new pump, install it, and send us the bill. That nasty wind storm had expensive consequences. The power outage must have lasted long enough to disipate the heat in the pump house freezing the pump and thus cracking it. So when we first arrived we thought our only problem would be raking some leaves. That idea became lost in the confusion of a pumpless cottage. So, of course our leisurely weekend of R&R was not to be.

Oh, and did I mention that during all this problem solving it had started to snow? Not just a few flurries, but a fulll fledged snowfall. We packed the van and drove out the driveway headed for home with the hope that the snowfall was a local phenomenon and that we would ride out of it before long. Wrong again. The snow not only continued, but increased in intensity as we drove. The road got more and more treacherous, the traffic moving more and more slowly. We began to see cars in the ditches along the road, casualties of the slippery conditions. We encountered a pickup truck driving the wrong way in the left lane next to us, the driver confused in the swirling snow. Luckily no harm came to anyone that time. The drive home, which usually takes just two hours, took nearly twice that long. Fortunately we arrived safely home, though my nerves were frazzeled and Mary was a nervous wreck. So the day consisted of a long drive in lousy conditions, finding a major and expensive repair that needs to be done. I really don't need another day like that for a long time, if ever.

Oh, and I really couldn't avoid hitting that kitten in the road.....

thanksgiving

Every year on Thanksgiving when we gather at the table for our special meal we begin by taking turns saying what we are thankful for. It's always difficult to come up with something that is not too serious or too frivolous. We have so much to be thankful for that we take it all for granted. So this year it occurred to me that being thankful for being able to take all those things for granted is what we should really be thankful for. Our lives are filled with the luxury of abundance and we don't usually stop to consider just how fortunate we are. So this year I am going to say at dinner time, "I'm thankful for all the things we can take for granted." I hope that will cause everyone to really stop for a moment and consider the truthfulness in that statement and realize how fortunate we really are.

sleepless

Wide awake all night. Tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. The sedative I take each night before bedtime failed to work last night. My mind was racing through all the things I have on my schedule to do. My leg was aching from the bursitis in my left hip and that stoked my restlessness. I should have just got out of bed, gone downstairs with a book and read until the usual drowsiness brought on by reading took over and sent me back to bed ready to sleep. But, no, I fought that good reasoning with the illogical notion that, since I was in bed, I should be sleeping and, damn it, I would sure as hell get to sleep.

So I actually got up at about 5:30, the same time Mary always gets up, and changed the sheets on the bed, got the vacuum out and did a little of that, emptied the dishwasher of last night's cycle, actually got to kiss Mary goodbye as she left for work, made myself some breakfast (Go-Lean Crunch mixed with Honeynut Chex swimming in soy milk, a banana, orange juice, cinnamon muffin, cup of coffee, and my usual multi-vitamin and dose of vitamin C), read half of the current Time magazine, let the dog out, cried over the sports page (the Packer's Monday night loss to the Vikings may have contributed to my lack of sleep), checked my email (somebody please email me), and am now sitting here whining and it's only 8:45am.

I still have a full day to wear myself out so I can sleep tonight. Or maybe I'll just double the sedative dose tonight.

cleaning the cat box

As a conscientious pet keeper (I say "keeper" rather than "owner" because, let's face it, those pets own us) I do my best to see to the physical needs of those animals. That includes the odious task of daily cleaning the cat's box. Granted, daily is pehaps a bit overzealous in the cleanliness department, but I've always felt that cleanliness being next to godliness, I can't go wrong leaning more toward godliness. Maybe an every-other-day routine or even a weekly routine would serve as well. The point is that it has to be done regardless of the time schedule. Allowing the cat's leavings to accumulate over a longer period only makes the cleanup job just that more difficult.

Applying that same cleanup principle to the cat box that is Washington would indicate that the cat box has gone too long without proper purging. Congressional elections occur every two years which seems about 18 months too long between cleanings. About six months into their tenure, many Congressmen take on the odor of an overloaded cat box. Senators are equally odiferous after a relatively short time and need to be sifted into the trash. Of course, elected officials are not the only ones to create clumps of litter around their droppings. Staff members of those elected are often the most offending turds in need of disposal. Lobbyists for all those special interest groups that buy their way into congressmens' lives probably need their own industrial size litter box to accomodate their prodigious excretions.

Who is charged with the task of cleaning such an overwhelming pile of shit? We are. You and me and the guy next door with the election sign on his front lawn. All of us who believe in our Constitution need to voice our disgust with the ugly, messy, overloaded litter box we read about every day. And then we need to get out our shovels and dig through the pile of execrable leavings, tossing the offending matter into the garbage where it belongs. We need to express our outrage at the malfeasence piling up by using loud and active protests and excersizing our voting rights. And avoid at all costs the perfumed promises of campaigning tomcats who will only add to the clumps of crap piling up in the cat box. No matter how nice they try to make it smell, they are still leaving you with shit.

So, come on fellow citizens, stop letting the pets in Washington own us. It's time we turned around and started acting like the pet owners. With that ownership comes responsibility. Cleaning up after those pets is just a beginning. Housebreaking and training them to do as they are told is every bit as necessary to a successful relationship. Constant reaffirmation of our control is required so that when they do make a mess, at least it will be in the litter box where we can control it and not in the corner of the closet or behind the couch where it well go unnoticed before it's too late to get the smell out. Let's lean toward godliness by cleaning as often and as thoroughly as possible.

definition

Webster says a friend is someone whom one knows, likes, and trusts. That's fairly straightforward and simple. Cuts right to the heart of the matter. But it just seems a bit too simplistic to me. There are so many intangible aspects, so much nuance, to friendship that such a simple definition seems inadequate.

Over the past few days we've had encounters with several persons we know as friends. Mary's friend called her last weekend looking for a shoulder to cry on. Mary responded by dropping her plans for the day and going to the aid of her friend. We spent Saturday with friends going to lunch and an outdoor market and then watching the UW football game before sharing an evening with dinner and continuous conversation. I had a regular lunch meeting with a friend yesterday where the conversation roamed from politics to sports to family with interesting side excursions into esoteric subjects. The point is that all those encounters enriched our lives immeasurably and in ways that are difficult to articulate. But the pleasure of interacting with good friends is a source of great satisfaction and joy.

Those recent meetings with our friends illustrates the need we all have for human contact that includes trust, respect, and even love. Sharing laughter, sharing problems, listening, sympathizing, advising, criticising and accepting criticism, caring, crying, supporting, helping, teasing, joking, disagreeing, wondering, planning, inquiring, and so much more goes into making a friendship. When we are able to do all those things and feel all those things without thinking about it, that's when we know we have a true friendship. When what our friend is saying and feeling is more important than what we ourselves want to say or feel, that is a true friendship. When the person we know and care about as a friend is more important than any disagreement we might have with each other, that is a true friendship. When we can respect an opinion even though it's contrary to our own and look past it to appreciate the person, that is a true friendship. The depth of feeling we have for others really defines who we call friend.

So it seems Webster may have got the simple definition right. But there really is so much more to account for when describing that relationship. And I can't help thinking that the greatest compliment a person can receive is to be called "friend".

addicted

I finished reading James Frey's book, A Million Little Pieces a couple days ago. Or perhaps I should say I experienced the book. Or maybe even endured the book. It is a most horrifying, compelling, frightening acoount of addiction and the fight to survive it. The writing style he uses is in itself addictive and amplifies the content adding to the reader's sense of participation in the rehab process. Never having been addicted to any substance myself, I never really had an appreciation for what the addict experiences. Now I do. And with the new understanding I have of addictiion and its consequences, I realize how intolerant I was before and how my attitude has changed because of this book.

I always felt that you don't get addicted to anything unless you want to. It's your decision to use drugs or alcohol. It should be your decision to stop. Simple, right? Of course nothing is ever that simple. Studies have shown that the pleasure center of the brain is greatly influenced and changed by drugs. So, even though as a drug user you may want to stop, your brain won't let you. Your brain has to be reprogrammed to get along without the addictive drug. Thus the need for rehab centers and intervention and detox centers and support groups. Fighting off an addiction takes a great effort on the addict's part and on those who would help him to overcome his addiction.

James Frey's ordeal, as he writes about it in his book, is an eye opening experience for those of us untouched by drug or alcohol abuse. The suffering he endured, and caused, during his addicted years is frightening to contemplate. The need to feed his addictions led him to acts of cruelty and criminality that he never would have considered without that need. His remarkable recovery and continued abstinence from drug use is an example of the strength of will that a person can muster when he is convinced that life can and will be better without drugs. Frey's story is a becon of hope for all those afflicted with addiction. He is saying that if I can do it, you can do it. Let's hope that more addicts hear his story and follow his example.

homebody

Outside the fallen Maple leaves cover the grass with a yellow blanket that shifts in the breeze. This is my yard. That is my grass. Those are my leaves. I love every one of them and have no desire to ever leave this place. Even for a little while. I am most content being here. Everything I need is right here.

While raking and blowing some of those leaves yesterday, I got to thinking about my children and where they are right now. Jon is in Jackson, Mississippi doing an audit or something for a client. He just hops on a plane and goes. Comes back for the weekend and then goes again. He's been all around the country working. No big deal. Carrie is in Etosha, Namibia, Africa, doing some kind of wild animal research that concerns anthrax. This is the third time she has been to Africa. No big deal. She just packs her bag and goes. I have to think long and hard about driving the 125 miles to the cottage. Big deal. But that is my mindset as opposed to theirs. I am anchored to this place. They are not yet anchored. So going places, traveling, is no big deal for them.

Carrie has derided my home bound existence frequently in the past, scorning my reluctance to travel and see the world. But I have no compulsion to travel. I don't feel deprived for not having seen Paris or London, for not having hiked in the western mountains, or heard the music in New Orleans, or chased Cape Buffalo in South Africa. I don't need to physically be present in any of those places to appreciate their existence. I don't need to smell the smells, hear the sounds, feel the heat or cold of the air in far off places to make me feel complete. My physical world exists right here on this little plot of land. My extended world exists in the books I read, the magazines that report, the tv shows that take me to exotic places, the vicarious experience I get through my children, and others, telling of their travels. That may make me seem shallow, unadventurous, but thats me. And I like me. The rest of the world can go on as always without my being present to validate its life. My validity is right here. Right now. I am content.

the atic in fan

I've mentioned my love of all things football previously. I should amend that to say my love/hate relationship with football. Especially Green Bay Packers football. Having grown up in the Packer glory years of the '60's and having suffered through the subsequent lean years, the Brett Favre era has been a joyous high for the past dozen years. But all those highs make the lows all the more difficult to take.

This season has been a true test of any Packer fan(atic)'s fandom. Bad playing, bad play calling, bad personnel decisions, bad coaching, bad injuries to key players, and just an overall feeling of mediocrity has made this a season to try any fan's loyalty. As much as we who root for the Packers want to believe otherwise, this team is as lousy on the field as it is on paper. Usually an underachieving team is one that has quality players at enough key positions who, for whatever reason, fail to translate the potential seen on paper into victories on the field. This Packer team, however, is underachieving in the eyes of the fans when, in fact, it may be overachieving given the sad state of the team roster.

Still it is very difficult to accept the notion that our team is bad enough to blow a 17 point lead to the purple-clad fops from Minnesota, to turn the ball over 5 times via interceptions to the once lowly, but now resurgent, Bengals. Yet the evidence is in the scores of those games. The hope of salvaging the season and even finishing with a winning record is becoming more difficult to sustain. At this point it is hard to envision the Packers winning any of their remaining games given the evidence of their previous efforts. Yet, a columnist for the Journal/Sentinel makes the argument that the Packers could indeed win the division with only 6 wins given the sorry state of the teams in the division. But winning the division title with a losing record would be a hollow triumph. Embarrassing even.

Despite the sad state of the Packers and the division they prop up from the bottom, football is football and watching the Packers, though excrutiatingly difficult at times, is ingrained in us fans to the point that our DNA has a strings of green and gold. I have sworn that I will not watch another display of football ineptitude this season, but come game time that tv is a powerful magnet that sucks me right back into my Lazyboy, remote at the ready. The players have to show up, so it's only fair that we fans show up to witness the debacle on the field. The players may not want to be there suffering through another painfully losing effort, but play they must. And suffer we must along with them. Such is the plight of the incurable fan(atic).