Aha, Moments in History, and Remainders...

Dear Maria,

No doubt your spirits lifted along with so many others when spring decided to give us an early visit—folks around here now nearly chirping with optimism. I am resisting the urge to rush out with shovel in hand and begin transplanting—some errors need correcting, some new ideas implementing.

Last week in several conversations with friends I somehow sidetracked into wondering out loud about how the first pharaoh was allowed to be pharaoh. King Aha surely as a boy had playmates, and just as surely some were faster, some were stronger, some were smarter. But, then, at some point those boys are bowing before him. Don’t you know a few of them had to be thinking along the lines of how did he get to be king—remember when I knocked him on his behind, remember when he couldn’t understand a lesson.

Then, the idea of being a deity took hold? Again, had to be some boyhood pals who thought to themselves otherwise when beholding His Royal Totalness. What did HRT do to assert that kind of authority, that kind of staying power through generations? On some level I guess I admire the chutzpah of one who could stand before those who know him before wielding the scepter and act as if he of course is a living god—even though knowing his own limitations. I guess at some point when large and in charge you move on from honest self-assessment.

Of course, I no doubt have a few former classmates, friends even, who might think it unlikely—maybe even preposterous—that I became a high school teacher. But, for some reason, at 24 I had my ah-ha moment and, well, the rest is history.

The other evening the vagaries of life, writ small, were demonstrated again when I noticed a short stack of Hemingway’s Boat offered for sale for seven bucks a copy at Barnes & Noble. (I have been coached quietly to include more product placements in my blogs and stories.) Had I only waited. However, within a minute I took some small satisfaction that Fifty Shades of Grey was on the buy 2, get 1 free table.

Shelley was onto something with the desert sands.

So, too, Housman with his cherry blossoms, and since I most likely have many fewer seasons of bloom to behold, I am headed outdoors to look again at the loropetalum flowering, the roses sending out their earliest shoots, and bluebirds driving off the squirrels, a personal favorite.

Be well, and keep the larger picture in mind as best you can.

Always, then, srk

Bluebirds, Buzzards, and Crows...

Dear Maria,

Just a quick note to see if all is well on your side of the world following our second ice episode. Of course, deep blue skies and temperatures in the 70s have sent—for most folks around here—the Mood-o-Meter tilting back to the positive side. But not for everyone. Some residents, especially well out beyond city limits, are facing perhaps another week without power. Hope the fair weather speeds the repairs.

I may need to drag out my books on symbolism as this morning’s quiet while I finished up a second mug of coffee was interrupted by three crows chasing a turkey buzzard as it glided along. They even managed to pluck a few tail feathers from their target. My inner shaman—now there is a reach—thinks the scene a good omen: Nothing here to clean up.

Went by last week to check on some friends in town to see if all were well, and in the course of conversation, I shared my mantra of late that most people in any given moment are doing the best they can, even if their behavior is awful. Nothing earth-shaking there, but then I have to accept that anyone I run into might be looking at me thinking, well he’s doing the best he can and it’s not good.

Might be a while before I can carry on a relaxed chat with someone without wondering who is getting the better of our bests. My listeners gave me the benefit of the doubt. I could see it in their eyes. Good friends.

Young bluebird couple endured the ice storm and now periodically are perching outside the condo’s entrance like they may be keeping an eye on a new brood. I had to take down the willow oak, which was doomed long-term mostly likely, which means a landing zone for the chicks is not so close on the wing. Guess they could drop down into the plum tree, but it needs another year or two before it becomes a significant perch for them.

Max retrieved a winter sock from the bedroom and took it down to his blanket in the living room, but then pulled an empty cracker sleeve from the garbage and brought it to the bedroom. All this while I was in the shower. I forget he is only turning two in April.

Nothing profound—obviously—but the days pace along, and with each week, spring surely is 

at hand.

As always, still, srk

If Not Now, When?

Dear Maria,

Too long, I know, but my lapse comes not by design but more from being unable see dots connecting much in any fashion of late. It seems a week at most, it feels a year at least. I’ve complained to other friends that I haven’t been able to focus on any kind of writing—some of the complaints lodged via longish emails, and there you go.

Perhaps I am waiting for the what-will-come-next answer as if there may be a singular notion to fill in the blank created by my retirement from teaching. No, no regrets there, but this second stage, as Richard Rohr would have it, certainly feels in some ways a betrayal to what has gone before, the schooling and working and sometimes both.

A betrayal, you ask? By contrast, I seem almost afloat—adrift? My father opts for the whatever to be meaningful. Now isn’t that thought freighted with expectation.

Of late, my mother and I are using as a guide the phrase “just living day to day”.  Not in the moment—not for me at least, seems too fleeting. And not in the resigned sense of Laforgue’s “What a day-to-day affair life is”.  More, a finding peace in each day, admittedly some more surprising than others.

While sharing coffee earlier this week with a friend with a few more years of experience and with many more demands upon her time and energy, we agreed that perhaps that pursuit-of -happiness notion was no gift, but a curse. Contentment was the word we found more suitable to our current view, to let what comes be so with as little sturm und drang as possible.  And then a laugh, good luck with that.

What to do when buffeted by sorrows and setbacks? We might cling to one another, or maybe find solace in work. Or perhaps be content, for today will give way to tomorrow without our saying so one way or the other.

I wish for you and your family, days rich in blessings. Sooner next time, I promise.

Yours, to be sure,

srk