Wedding suit suits me fine

Talk about packing a lot into a day! I might have broken presumed immutable laws of physics regarding time. Up at five a.m. to prepare my breakfast and lunch. On the road at six with one of the managers from work to go to Manchester to attend the N.H. state traumatic brain injury conference. We set up a booth promoting our health care agency, the radio show and suicide prevention film. Heard Gov. Lynch speak to open the huge gathering of professionals and a fabulous keynote speaker, Tricia Allen, who has written several books about surviving a tbi, breast cancer, her husband's affair and subsequent divorce--which reminds me to give my daughters my "men are swine" speech again. She had the booth selling books next to ours and we really connected. She was warm and funny and had a real spiritual presence about her. In a poor choice of words I said, "You should be bitter" She laughed and I did too. Humans must have an inner gyroscope that brings us back to balance, but sadly we often we can't find it within--blinded by rage that causes us to focus on the windmills we insist on tilting at while wearing our warrior uniforms. I invited her on the radio show and bought one of her books. "Gifts From the Broken Jar". The title is based on an eastern fable that I was familiar with. I also connected to a producer from NH public television who was anxious to get his hands on a copy of our suicide prevention film--luckily I had a few with me. I met so many people, I lost count and almost consciousness(the dangers of mathematics). At the end of the long day I arrived with just enough time to have dinner, shower, and put on my wedding suit which is the only suit I own. Karen kept it all these decades proving she is an eternal optimist(not to be confused with an eternal optometrist). I gave my short speech looking like a thousand pennies(15 lbs. less and I would have been able to comfortably button my jacket) at the retirement festivities for Jim Sacco in front of a couple of hundred people. It was a great night filled with well deserved tributes. Home, exhausted and fell into bed. I know I could never have physically gotten through a day like that at 420 pounds and lived to tell about it. and I would not have been able to wear my wedding suit. I suppose I could have rolled it up in a ball and wore it has a hat, but the audience would not have been able to concentrate on my speech.

aftermath

A few days ago I showed our film on suicide prevention at our monthly staff meeting--a presentation made possible by the urging of the owner of our agency. It can be a raucous bunch these fellow workers and friends of mine and I didn't know what to expect. Certainly not glued to their seats in respectful attention listening to real people and their families talking about living on the edge of a bridge staring at the gravitational force of water down below. I was proud of my often unpredictable radio show co-host--a client who would not normally be present at a staff meeting. I asked him to say a few words at the end. He talked about the suicide of his mother a few years ago and how she was once young, beautiful and healthy before illness drove her over the edge. Not hard to believe after we saw her picture at the end of the film in the dedication section. There were lots of red faces and a man my age spoke privately to me about his father's suicide when he was twenty. We looked at each other and knew that his father's death and my brother's suicide really happened five minutes ago. The passage of time--just another of life's illusions

"Ma"

There came a time when my grandmother began showing signs of age. A great shock to me. I thought she was immortal. It was agreed that I would buy her three story house and move in so that I could keep an eye on her. It was a reversal of position that happens so often in families. Ma, as everyone called her including my brother and I, cared for us when were young and my mother was working at the old National Biscuit factory down by the Hudson River. This is before my mother moved us to Iowa and went to Palmer School of Chiropractic. We would sit in the dark and listen to radio shows like "The Lone Ranger"-ah, to possess the deep sonorous tones of this champion of justice. Ma would knit without comment while we imagined the destination of whistling arrows and galloping horses. The juxtaposition of Old World Poland and the Old West is something young boys were blind and deaf too. Ma was Ma. Ma had always been Ma--a certain vague age between sixty and eternity frozen in my memory forever. Our years together before I married Karen was not the challenge everyone thought. The only challenge was watching her breakfast on powdered donuts and half cooked bacon and eggs--now wonder I thought she was immortal. One time we were sitting in the living room having a typical philosophical conversation. I should say that she had little sense of humor. I now know that, like other luxuries, humor could not be afforded in the Great Depression of the 1930's. Ma was waxing nostalgic about being the last one standing. All her Polish lady friends that would gather at her place on Friday after work were all gone. I said in my best pseudo scientific voice, "Ma, most people die in their seventies and you are now in your eighties. If you were going to die, it would have happened years ago. You are going to live forever." Her look was one of sadness for her not quite right grandson but other then a slow shake of the head there were no disparaging remarks. After all I was family, her grandson to be loved wordlessly, even if I was not quite right in the head.

The babysitter by Peter Tomanio

There is a theory in business that one rises to the level of their incompetence. I believe it is called the "Peter Principle". I'm sure if you are an executive in a corporation and your name is Peter that can be disquieting. My mind is wandering to St. Peter, a father in name only and Pete Petterson who was Secretary of the Treasury a few administrations ago. A Secretary of the Treasury in name only considering the state of bankruptcy of the nation. Anyway, I digress (that could be my epitaph). Yesterday I watched Samaya, the Princess of all Toddlers, and was given clear guidance from my daughter to color with her at the table and read some book about a chicken. Daughter left with Violet and I sat down to color. I proceeded to color within the lines setting a good example-my old schooling came in handy (finally). I looked at Samaya and she had colored her tongue green. I was going to give her a lecture about what part of coloring between the lines don't you understand, but she just said "all done". I imagine Picasso said something like that when he drew breasts on a fire hydrant. Panic set in. I imagined Samaya going to the senior prom with green lips and tongue. I could hear myself advising "Just tell everyone it's an environmental statement." I was so relieved that it washed off and we went on to the book about the chicken which I did not understand. I told that story last night at my food meeting--not the part about Picasso and the fire hydrant--not with a room full of women. Makes me think about maturity and the lack of it in the world. I know I have contributed my share, but the Princess of all Toddlers is going to have a brighter life teaching at some great university and she wont be self conscious at all about her green tongue.

Belated

This feels like an anniversary poem. Although that is not how it began--much like relationships I suppose.

The Nature of Light

I wash my face with it

Cup it like water in my hands

Stars and worlds slip through my fingers

No way to hold them

But the stories linger

Of birth and death

Of heaven and hell

What do I remember?

Just you

Walking into a room long ago

And staying

It is the nature of light

A good day

I have been feeling a lot more energetic lately. Blame it on the bosanova, springtime or huge weight loss. I have been working a little more and yesterday was my attempt to squeeze extra hours into a 24 hour day. After work I went with Karen to a staff meeting barely time enough to make my supper which I took with me. All they serve is pizza and soda which what got me into this mess in the first place. I moderated a part of the meeting involving staff and higher ups asking everyone to talk about their successes and challenges in working with individuals with severe disabilities. It works out well and people get a chance to vent or give advice to each other. The owner of the company came in and talked about our film on suicide prevention and asked that it be used in training of his work force. I can't tell you how happy I was when he said that. He called it a powerful film. Next month everyone will see it at the staff meeting. At the the end of the meeting a fellow worker said how wonderful I looked now after losing so much weight. Then they all applauded and I smiled. I thanked my friends and said that I have been waiting 63 years for someone to say I looked good.

Jasmine

On a poem jag lately. It will pass like a head cold in summer. I hope it isn't contagious. Zhao Chang was a 12th century Chinese artist. It might change, but at least the word "jasmine"will let me alone now

Jasmine

The sound, color, the aroma

All step softly on Zhao Chang's white silk branch

As he guides you to a land only read about

Until now

Say the word

Let the color live in your eyes

Breathe deep the scent

Time, having no choice,

Lies down on spring fields

Waiting for you