Sittin’ Thinkin’

Lo! The winter is past;
The rains are over and gone.
The time of the singing of birds
Has come.

I can sit here and think for ages and never write anything. So, I’ll just recount the last few days. Friday Scott was away. P and I went to dinner at Carmela’s and then went for a long walk on the beach. Needless to say, she is what I am sitting here thinking about more than anything else. Saturday morning I did paper work and picked up Scott’s graduation photos. In the afternoon I went to Watertown and climbed up the old slate roof at the house on Dana Terrace to try to re-mortar the chimney at my Dad’s house. Afterwards, I walked down to the T’s to talk to Rick for a while. Little Gabriel is walking now, he has curly brown hair just like his Uncle Tony had when he was a kid, (that’s remembering way back). Sunday morning I had three kids in Sunday School, Evans, Matt and Suzannah. We sat around a round table in the fellowship hall prayed, talked about a lot of interesting stuff, and read 2Kings 3. P came to church, and afterwards we took a ride in her car and talked. When she left to get her kids, I went down to Pansy’s to bring her some red cyclamen and take her trash to the dump. She was too sick to come to the door.
In the evening Scotty called from Bridgeport and said to call the Hunan crowd because he wanted to go out to dinner. Nathan wasn’t around but Liz joined us later for dinner. Today I worked alone at the Williams starting to do the finish work inside.

P-town 2001

You do not know,
You do not know what life is,
She said,
Slowly twisting the lilac stalk
between her fingers

There was, on the sidewalk in front of the church, a mime dressed as a mechanical doll. She, it appeared to be a she, moved mechanically to a whirring sound coming from a basket in front of her. She looked just like a doll, her body was sexless, her face pretty like a young girl, her hair a mop of bright yellow curls, her eyes as blank as a machine but written across her face was the brightest, friendliest smile. I took a picture of her and of the church, then we walked on. We came next to a store that sold salt water taffy we went in to buy some, I remembering how I used to watch it made in the storefront at Hampton Beach when I was a child. When we stepped outside the same mime was walking by. She moved close to me, I was not conscious of her approach until, from the corner of my eye, I caught her broad smile. I instinctively looked up and said, "Hello", and looked into her eye as I have done many times when I was fortunate enough to receive a smile from a pretty woman. Catching a woman's eye and reading her approval is something I sometimes think I live for. But these eyes did not respond, no trace of bashfulness, or flirting or anger. There was nothing in those eyes. I instantly knew this was not a woman. She or he walked on swaying and smiling down the street. And I, puzzled, watched her go. Her gait was strong, light, agile and manlike in the sense of a male ballet dancer. The smile on the outside, the lifelessness inside; this was a tragic figure, definitely male, definitely making a personal statement to the crowd. I sensed an invulnerability that can only come when one embraces death.

The Entire Poem

The mountains of Bech-Parma are great enough,
But my love is greater.

The glaciers that marble their tops are white,
But your breasts are whiter.

The antelope stricken by my bullet
Weeps a red blood from its wound

Which dyes with large red flowers
The field of the blowing jasmine flowers of snow.

Your arms are whiter than the jasmine flowers of snow
And your kiss is redder than the blood of the antelope.

The mountains of Bech-Parma are great enough
But my love is greater.

II
The wind screaming in the forest when the wind of Russia blows
Is milder than the desire that draws me to thee.

Your body smells richer than the resin
That weeps in the sun from slender pines.

And your mouth has more of odours
Than mint flowers throw on the air.

When you are by my side, I feel in my body,
A warmth more suave than the softest sun-rays.

And when you go away from me, my sadness
Is blacker than the lowering night black with storm.

The wind screaming in the forest when the wind of Russia blows
Is milder than the desire that draws me to thee.

Daghestan

Strange Days

Your arms are whiter than the jasmine flowers of snow
And your kiss is redder than the blood of the antelope

S is in Valley Forge Pennsylvania this evening if all went well. He left last night with his friend Warren from CueTime. They planned to drive from midnight non-stop. He is participating in the 18-and-under billiards tournament at the Billiards Exposition held at the Radisson Hotel.

I talked to P yesterday at the library. She was studying algebra for a test that evening. She had on a lime green sweater and was wearing just a touch of a really nice perfume. She came by Friday night and we talked for a long time in the kitchen and then went for a walk down to the cove. That night she had on an orange sweater and just a touch of orange in her lipstick. I am really enjoying getting to know her.

Pansy is supposed to go in for her second chemotherapy, (oxymoron!), treatment tomorrow. I’m not sure who is taking her; I should have called. It seems wrong for someone who is so healthy to be made so sick by her doctors.

A Quiet Sunday

--Yo te agradezco, Abenamar,
Aquesta tu cortesia.

It has been a quiet Sunday, I rested all afternoon. This morning I taught Sunday school. We read a little from 2 Kings and made Italian ice.

S came with me this morning to church and P came too and sat with us. I talked briefly with HN and when the conversation turned to building houses, he intimated that he could get me money to do a spec house. We did not pursue the subject, I dislike talking business in church, but it gives me something to think about.

The sermon was excellent, about Jesus’ resurrection. I drank it up. I wondered what the reaction was in S’s mind, he appeared restless and disinterested. I also wondered what was in P’s mind as I am not sure where she is spiritually. I hope the Holy Spirit is working on their hearts.

This afternoon I finished the book TheDaVinci Code which was leant to me by the Ws. It is a clever book about a modern day pursuit of the holy grail. It reads like a movie script with a lot of fast action and little character development. The protagonists follow a long, almost tedious, series of riddles, there are many twists of the plot and much suspense. The premise of the book is that Christianity, a false religion, supplanted the ancient goddess worship that preceded it; the goddess worship is the true religion now subordinated by Christianity and preserved in secret by the Priory of Sion. Of course Mary Magdalene is the goddess and was married to Jesus, their children are the royal line whose existence threatens the church to this day. It is so clever only the devil could have thought this up.

Testing new picture

Testing new background color

P and I took a walk in the snow today and agreed we shouldn’t be seeing each other. B was very upset she came to church with me last Sunday. I told her she was incredibly beautiful and truer words were never spoken.

It snowed almost all day today. I did not have work. It is amazing how uneasy I feel when I am not working, as if I had been holding the world on my shoulders and now it is in danger of collapse.

Today is the last day before our divorce becomes final. I hope and pray that she and I will remain friends for life. And though it's sad to put an end to the hopes and dreams we had, I know that this life and everything in it with its cloud of sin is fading away fast. I'm putting my hope in His coming and, God willing, she will be there too.

S registered to vote today at the Duxbury town hall.

But Not in Despair

La gloire, la gloire, c’est de la merde

I was sure for so many years I was going to marry Susan, although most of the time she wouldn't even speak to me. I finally gave up on her, but later found out that if I had hung in a little longer and tried a few more times it might have happened. When Liz came along I wanted her and gave up on Susan. Susan gave up on me when I married Liz. Then I remained married to Liz. through hell on earth until finally I was enticed by Sandra and I set down the road to divorce, meanwhile Sandra disappeared off the face of the earth. Now I wonder if there will ever be anyone suited for me; Liz certainly wasn't, probably not Sandra, although she did not stick around long enough for me to find out, maybe Susan, but she's happily married now. It has been a lifetime of waiting for the right woman and always, always, always without one. I don’t know of anyone else who waits so long before giving up on someone and yet it seems I never wait long enough. God help me! Although I am sure he has a hand in all this.

Sheng Dan Kuai Le

Christ climbed down
From His bare Tree
This year
And softly stole away
Into some anonymous Mary’s womb again

Last night, Christmas Eve Scott and I went to the service at the church. There was a small group there mostly old and good friends celebrating Christ. It was for me the best part of Christmas. When we went home we finished decorating the tree and wrapping the presents for the next day.

Today, after opening the presents under the tree, Scott, John and I went to the Cannata’s for our traditional Christmas breakfast with Becky, Eddie, Emily and Nathan. Emily had a new dance machine that she danced on in coordination with the tv display. After breakfast, Scott and I headed up to Watertown to visit with my Dad. My sister Cynthia came over with her kids Caty and Jeff and my sister Judy came with her son Rick. We visited until about sundown and then headed home. The kids are all grown now they’re all as tall as the adults, Caty is a beautiful young woman. Dad gave me the gift he gives me every year, a bottle of Jack Daniels Tennessee whiskey that I have to remember is not wine. Then we went down the street to see Rick and Lane Tulipano and their young son Gabriel. Rick’s parents were there, his mother home from the nursing home. And Louis was there, the handicapped man that Rick has befriended for years and always brings to the family holidays. Finally Scott and I went to Liz’z for dinner and to open presents. Liz’s Mom and Stepdad were there and Joe and Rocky and Penny Liz’s dog. We are home now recovering from all the traveling.

I am working on a new house in Duxbury and working with an excavator approaching retirement age who has lived and worked in town all his life. His name is F. He has been telling me stories of Duxbury before it became Yuppyville. He used to plow the field where we are building the house back in the fifties before there were any houses here. His grandfather was George Loring who had an ice business where he used to deliver ice to all the surrounding towns by horse drawn cart until the invention of the refrigerator put him out of business. Loring also used to bring his oxen over the Powder Point bridge and out to Saquish and walk them across to Clark’s Island at low tide where they would spend the summer. F told me he built the house the Hogans have just moved out of at the bottom of Tremont street when he was in his twenties, and he told me a lot of other stories about builders and developers around town. The field where we are now working ended up belonging to Bud Goodrich as compensation for unpaid bills to his feed and grain store, (Goodrich Lumber), Bud gave it to his daughter Nina and Nina sold it to the present owners.

It seems to me that it is better to live working outside, and with your muscles and your brains in a smalltown society rather than to work in an anonymous commuter-computer, bedroom community. Think of the advantages: You work with your body, physically, everyday, you work in the elements and close to nature and you work where you live. I think we have lost so much that was a part of the New England experience for 3 centuries. Now commuters want to re-create a fantasy of rural life but without the essential elements. Frank is moving to Maine when he retires and I think he is moving closer to home than farther away. He has 7 children of his own and his wife has four from a previous marriage. He went through a bad divorce in the seventies and ended up losing all he owned and owing thousands but he has managed to put himself financially on a high road for retirement, mostly because of the land he has owned for thirty years, now worth over a million dollars

The Roots of War

I worked upon a farm in Illinois.
The squad appeared; I marched away.
Somewhere in France, amid the trenches gray
I met grim death with many other boys.
I gave my life for freedom—this I know.
For he who bade me fight had told me so.

Saddam Hussein was captured this morning. He was hiding in a hole, he must have known his days were numbered. He will now either be tried and executed or tried and imprisoned for life. I think, if it was me, I would rather have been killed, and I would rather not have been captured hiding in a hole. It is a political victory for Bush and for supporters of the war. Of whom, I am not one.
If Bush is able to bring peace and democracy to Iraq it will truly be a great accomplishment in spite of the lives lost and the dollars spent. Time will tell if it can be done and if the US government truly is willing to see that come to pass. The danger in success is that it will set a precedent and we will have to re-write our constitution to allow the president free reign to re-engineer the world in our image. As for me, I still believe we were lied to about the real reasons for the war and that the conduct of and the rhetoric of the war is based on hypocrisy, a willingness to use the same means of violence and subjugation we claim we are overthrowing. War fever siezed America and her government and propelled us into yet another war that really did not need to be fought. But now with Saddam as a public prize and a reminder of the evil we defeated, Bush may be able to claim victory and go home to the applause of history.
War is evil on evil. My biggest problem with the war is the almost unanimous backing it has among the evangelical community. To me, it is associating the name of Jesus with evil. I am puzzled and confused. I hope someday to resolve this issue. But now I do not see good coming of this other than the creation of another heroic-American myth. And a crudely created one at that.

Day of Infamy


What could be more beautiful than these heroic happy dead who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter

As I in horror watch this war in Iraq unfold, I wonder if all our wars were not birthed in like fashion. What I see in sequence is a nation, prosperous, and powerful and at relative peace called to war by its leaders for reasons that seem false and unsound. The nation, convinced, responds with fervor, the thrill of battle overtakes us. The people are enticed into war by the lust for glory, power and righteousness, for purpose, for solidarity, for entertainment. We love war, at least we love the idea of a glorious struggle against evil. We love the myths of our warrior heroes. And our leaders steer us, not way from war, but into it.

God Is Love
I wonder, reading about an illegal round used to kill an Iraqi insurgent,
Just what kind of ammo would Jesus use?

I wonder looking at the evangelical Christian Bush responsible for some sixteen thousand Iraqi deaths and some 400 Americans, if Christians are not less concerned about the consequences of death or is it just that Bush is not a Christian except culturally. The Puritans were men who risked their lives for their faith, who dared the unknown, who acted much as my own church does, yet their war against the Pequots was excessively brutal, (though outnumbered they wiped out a whole village). And so many of the Christians I know, whose faith I do not doubt and in many cases consider superior to my own, support this war. And they lend the name of Christ to a war that the world sees as motivated by greed for power and money.

Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented; and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways . It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was not a chance but a certainty . Let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things ”praying, working, teaching, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts”not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (any microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.
C.S. Lewis

Lost and Found

Una vez Noe
A la selva fue
Metio los animales
Y empezo a llover

Lord
Have
Mercy
On
Me
A
Sinner

Rain is falling and drops of rain are splattering their selves against the house.
I have spent the evening doing nothing, going nowhere.

Toikey Day

For everthing that God created is good , and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer.
1 Timothy 4:4-5

The seals have returned to the mouth of the North river. I could see them yesterday leaping out of the water chasing fish in the incoming tide.

Economy

Nothing that is complex is useful,
And everything that is useful is simple.
Kalashnikov


Simplicity is the first element of beauty: economy of force in war, economy of words in writing, economy of parts in machines, economy of ideas in theory. I firmly believe that experience in a craft teaches above all else, that the shortest and simplest route to a desired end is the best. As I became more adept at carpentry over the years, it became clear to me, and remains a rule when I am building something, that if the solution to a mechanical problem starts to become too complex and too difficult, you can be sure that you are on the wrong path. There is always a solution that is beautiful in its simplicity; the inexperienced workman is easily led down the wrong path, piling piece upon piece unable to discern the danger inherent in complexity, and not having in his possession the faith to wait for the certain appearance, with time and thought, of an elegantly simple answer both in its performance and in its result.

In the same vein, when faced with an intractable problem, the skilled man or woman knows instinctively not to fight with it or struggle in frustration, like the martial arts master he looks carefully to discern the weak point, the plane of cleavage where an easy blow will accomplish the desired task. This is a combination of patience and of confidence in his mastery of the material world.

Having learned that in carpentry and believed in it in writing I hope I might also apply the same principle to some of the other intractable problems of my life. I hope I don’t bore you, dear reader if, for my own sake, I list them that I think of: The problem I have with making enough money, or shall I say the fear that I have about it, the problem of being totally unable to find a girlfriend most of my adult life, and the problem I have finding,still, a course for my life now perhaps more than half over.