For Karen

"I cannot walk an inch without trying to walk to God. I cannot move a finger without trying to touch God.
Perhaps it is this way:

He is in the graves of the horses.
He is in in the swarm, the frenzy of the bees.
He is in the tailor mending my pantsuit.
He is in Boston, raised up by skyscrapers.
He is in the bird, that shameless flyer.
He is in the potter who makes clay into a kiss."
Anne Sexton

For Karen who turns love into stone
Then stone into love
Then love into a kiss
Then a kiss into a memory
Then a memory into a life together.

This spring we will finally turn the old garage into a new pottery studio.

a face in the crowd

I was asked to visit the radio station yesterday. It was a non radio Tuesday and a bit unusual that we would be there. Six emotionally disturbed teenagers from a private school were touring the station with their teacher and the volunteer coordinator wanted the kids to know about "Don't Dis My Ability". After they talked with engineers and a DJ and saw the broadcast rooms, they met with us in the reception area. The teacher had them line up on a couch and I immediately sensed pain in the air-no I'm not physic. But it was palpable as experiencing rain in a thunderstorm. They were asked to introduce themselves. I sat almost knee to knee with a young girl who had a ragged scar on the left side of her face. She said in a calm, flat voice, "Hi, my name is -----. I was six years old and in a car with my father. He was driving drunk and we got into an accident. Half my face was ripped off. Her classmates reacted like they had heard her unusual introduction many times before. Pray for her. Pray that she becomes older then six years old.-love to all in this harsh world.

Film-"Just One More Day"

I woke up yesterday morning at 4:30 filled with undefinable emotions all mixed together that felt like the Gordian Knot inside my stomach. Our film on suicide prevention was done and we were showing it for the first time to the brave souls who revealed their darkest moments for all to see. It may not have Hollywood production values, but it is a powerful film done by a first time film maker. Once the film began I became absorbed once again. I say once again because I had seen the film through numerous revisions. I should also mention that the consultation that I was a part of was on the highest level between the film maker, professional grief counselor,our radio engineer and myself--never the slightest hint of ego or argument. I was taught the power of having pure motives. No one cared about anything but getting it right and saving lives. The stakes were high though. Six months of hard work could have gone down the drain if the film participants did not approve. The lights came on and the mother of one young man who suffered a brain injury and then tried to commit suicide had tears in her eyes and I knew from the reaction of the others that the film was a go. I could not help but notice when I was sitting in that dark room watching images from last May that the former 400 lb. Ronnie was struggling with breathing and life in general. I really wonder if there would have been a yesterday watching that film if I had not come to my senses and realized I had a problem and I needed the help of my family, friends and a God who never tires of giving His creation "Just One More Day".

See,! I'm not the only one.

Last month I was enjoying a quiet bucolic moment of which I have many in the Maine countryside. I was sitting in my recliner feeling wonderful. In the past I would go to bed feeling like a failure before going to bed when I would put on mu sleep apnea equipment so I could breath at night. The ritual was a nightly reminder of failure that whatever else I could and have accomplished in my life, I was unable to breath and walk like a normal human being. I would wake up atom by atom very slowly the next morning as if waiting for a cosmic decision as to whether I should continue. Now, My sleep apnea equipment is gathering dust on my nightstand and I have purchased a conversion kit that will enable the contraption to be turned into a lamp. Getting back to my wonderful Maine morning moment, I was experiencing a quiet euphoria induced by 8 oz. of Greek yogurt, 6 oz of blueberries and 1 oz of oat bran and a God who doesn't know the meaning of absolute failure when I heard strange animal sounds that seem to come from the walls-not sure I planned my day thinking it might be another one of those quite common yogurt hallucinations listed as possible side effect on the container-thank God for the USDA. About an hour later and throughout the day the strange animal sounds came back but each time they were different. My sharp mind deduced an infestation of of small creatures looking for a winter home inside our walls. I was anxious for Karen to come home from work so we could consult about getting a pest exterminator. Karen heard me out and then said the noises were coming from the Audubon clock she had purchased. Every hour on the hour strange bird sounds were emitted. I no longer feel like a failure, but my grasp on reality is as tenuous as ever. Last night, Samaya was sitting on Karen's lap and the clock began chirping startling Samaya who clearly preferred a vegetarian clock like her mother. See! I'm not the only one!

A sofa and a turtle

Every entry should start with an apology. As the full of it banker once said in a W.C. Fields movie, "Allow me to express my heartfelt contrition." The camera panned to his dead fish handshake--a handshake that I emulated every holiday much to the annoyance of my macho uncles who expected a firm manly handshake. My brother and I would laugh til it hurt as they walked away murmuring "What's wrong with those boys?"
Not what I wanted to write about so ignore all that nonsense and for that matter also ignore this nonsense coming your way. In fact, show some backbone and stop reading this stuff write now. O.K. I warned you. Reality shows. I get it. Cheap to produce--let the camera roll and enjoy the train wreck of the dysfunctionites taking place in your living room. And what's next when they outlaw tanning booths in New Jersey -or outlaw New Jersey--even better. They had their chance. Housewives have their own shows, but no husbands. Every major city has a house wives show. There are no ill mannered inappropriately dressed husbands? I'm one for sure. My pants have been hanging on for dear life for decades in public. Anyway, what's next? I have the answer. Even cheaper tv to fit the economic disaster of the times. A turtle and a living room with and a camera. A little water for the turtle--no water needed for the sofa. No actors or pseudo actors. No embarrassing charity events or off key singing. Turtles don't do anything for free--even singing. Watch the turtle slowly and I mean slowly walk across the living room heading for the sofa. Too fast? Velcro a brick to his shell and slow him down. Be lulled into a meditative trance and realize that your life is not so boring after all. I got to go for coffe with my friend. I feel better.

A Brief Visit

A Brief Visit

In the distance I saw an ancient face
I walked the polished stone floor in her direction
She did not care for the sunlight of the living
Preferring enigmatic smiles covered in lifeless dust
The beautiful helplessness of armless Greek Gods
All gathered on a starry starry night
I came to late
Perhaps by a minute
Or a thousand years
She had made her decision
No more asking a question
No more listening to the answer
Her eyes were closed forever
Her expression forever formed
She had traveled in
Leaving behind a marker on a pedestal
I leaned over the velvet rope
She whispered only for my ears
"Let the caller and the called disappear
be lost in the Call"*

*Rumi

Memories

Memories are like ancient cities that always seem to have yet another buried existence.
I ended up buying my grandmother's house when it was determined that someone should be around for safety's sake. Personally, I thought she would live forever preserved by hard work in the garden, eating raw horse radish and garlic, powdered donuts and half cooked bacon. The only food of hers that I could tolerate was home bread and pizza. I was always puzzled how someone who could make such tasty bread would sometimes make a sandwich without bread-believe me that is not a pretty sight. It's the conversations we had sitting in the living room while she would make rag rugs by hand without looking or seeming to concentrate on the task that I remember the most. She would complain about being in her eighties and having out lived all her friends and that soon it would be her time to die. I said, "Ma, if you were going to die you would have died years ago. After all, most people live to 75 or 80, but you've passed that age a long time ago so I don't really think you are going to die. Now Ma had no sense of humor, but she was devoted to her family- even grandchildren that she suspected had fallen down and hit their heads when they were little. That look and shake of the head, full of compassion for her not-right grandson was back once again. We also had odd theological discussions. We would talk about God and I said God was unknowable. Again the sad shake of the head for her Jewish grandson. I was Jewish because in Poland they only had Jews and Catholics and since I was not Catholic I had to be Jewish-plus I wore a hat if any more proof was needed. Anyway, she opened up her incredibly large Polish Bible filled with illustrations. Polish Bibles also have recipes for galumpkis(stuffed cabbage) and kruskies(a kind of a cookie). She turned to an illustrated portrait of God majestic in his white robes and flowing white hair. I must say He looked good for his age and bore a striking resemblance to country singer Kenny Rogers. Once again, faced with irrefutable evidence, I had to admit that God was not unknowable. Buying her a Xmas gift was close to impossible. What do you get someone who has nothing, and doesn't want or need anything? I bought for her a small statue of a lady that could have passed for Mary, the mother of Jesus. In the days after the holiday I could tell she was perturbed and puzzled by something. Finally she came into the living room one evening carrying my Xmas gift with a serous look on her face. "Ronnie, why you give me a statue of some guy named "Art" for Xmas?" I was really confused. She turned the statue upside down and sure enough written on the base was the word "Art". By the way, my grandmother didn't live forever. I am comforted by the fact that she is in heaven with Kenny Rogers and she is telling everyone what a great singer God is. God is a great singer. His songs are the lullabies of grandmothers softly singing their grandchildren to sleep.