Friday, July 31, 2009
July 2009
July 31, 2009. This has been a long month. It seems like it was just July 3rd and Cindy and Kate and I were driving up to Dunwoody to spend the Fourth of July with mom and dad. Later that day, I drove Mom and Dad to St. Joseph's Hospital on Peachtree Dunwoody and had Dad admitted to the hospital for respiratory distress. Today, we met with Dad's investment counselor and discussed the turn over of the account to Mom as Executrix of Dad's estate. I guess July 13th will remain an important day in my life. It will be hard to forget. It seems like the whole month of July has been a struggle.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I have got to go to bed sometime soon
This was a long day. Long because the matters I was working on didn't get completed, leaving me to sit and wait for others to finish the small matters which would have allowed me to complete my tasks.
Kate was working more than normal today. She brought me lunch. She processed a variety of letters and got them to the post office. She also found that a job she wants to apply for is still available. Now Cindy is helping her with her resume. I hope she gets this job. She needs some success in that regard.
Tonight I watched a show on PBS about the flight of the Enola Gay and the dropping of the first atomic bomb. Then, despite my desire to go to bed and sleep, I got up and watched the next show on PBS about a dogfight above Guadalcanal in 1942 in which both participants survived despite losing their planes. Both pilots were amazing and survived. The American survived the crash of his plane and then escaped the jungle and the Japanese soldiers to be rescued by two native boys. The Japanese shot down the American plane, tried to take on a group of dive bombers and was shot through the head and brain, but managed to bring his plane home and give a report before he collapsed on the runway of his homebase. He lost his right eye and still went on to be the most effective pilot in the Japanese war effort.
Both stories were amazing. It does remind me that Cindy and I were married on the day that Hiroshima was bombed and so many people died to ensure that others would live. All in all, I think it was the right decision. Give 'em hell, Harry!
Kate was working more than normal today. She brought me lunch. She processed a variety of letters and got them to the post office. She also found that a job she wants to apply for is still available. Now Cindy is helping her with her resume. I hope she gets this job. She needs some success in that regard.
Tonight I watched a show on PBS about the flight of the Enola Gay and the dropping of the first atomic bomb. Then, despite my desire to go to bed and sleep, I got up and watched the next show on PBS about a dogfight above Guadalcanal in 1942 in which both participants survived despite losing their planes. Both pilots were amazing and survived. The American survived the crash of his plane and then escaped the jungle and the Japanese soldiers to be rescued by two native boys. The Japanese shot down the American plane, tried to take on a group of dive bombers and was shot through the head and brain, but managed to bring his plane home and give a report before he collapsed on the runway of his homebase. He lost his right eye and still went on to be the most effective pilot in the Japanese war effort.
Both stories were amazing. It does remind me that Cindy and I were married on the day that Hiroshima was bombed and so many people died to ensure that others would live. All in all, I think it was the right decision. Give 'em hell, Harry!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Communion
I had to watch the movie, "Elizabethtown" again last night. When I saw it for the first time, I felt like it was foretelling something about my future. The plot: the father dies in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. The son is sent to bring his ashes back to Oregon for dispersal. The son meets his extended family and realizes a kinship he didn't know existed. The son and his mother and sister return to Kentucky and join with the rest of the family and the town and the friends to mourn/ celebrate the passing of the father.
The facts were very similar, but the reality was so different. No memorial service in Tennessee. No reunion with the family in the old home town. But on the other hand, there were a lot of things they held in common. Friends and family came to the church to join with us. Aunt Meg and Uncle David and all the cousins and Frank and Julie and Susan and Kevin and the nieces and the nephew, all joining together. For us and for dad. There was a real reunion. People from Griffin, from Florida, from Tifton, from Dunwoody. IBMer's. Friends. Family.
There were parts of it which were sublime. I appreciated the service. I appreciated the worshipful nature of the service. We needed to turn to God. We needed to hear the reality of the Word being preached. We needed to listen to the music and sing the hymns.
I have received condolence messages from so many people who really don't have much connection to me, but still do, and still showed they cared. The good part of this aspect of life is that you find out that there are people out there who care, people you didn't really even know were willing to give you comfort. You find that you are not such a lone ranger. Kind words. Small hugs. Kisses on the cheek. Flowers. Food.
The essence of Christianity is contained in the act of Communion. The gift of life. The gift of spirit. A reunion of brothers and sisters and God, eating a meal which reminds us of everything God gives us. A picture of the family at the dining table. Together. Eternal.
In my mind, that is how it ended. On Saturday, we gathered at the property in North Georgia. We laughed and prayed in the sunshine. Low humidity. Temperate temperature. Sunshine. No clouds. The sound of the Chestatee River rolling past. A prayer and a letting go, both physical and spiritual.
Followed by a meal together. We sat together in the barbecue restaurant in Dahlonega and ate lunch together. We laughed and talked and thought and remembered. We thanked each other for being there. Many gifts. Little girls and brothers and sisters and cousins and aunt and uncle. Many gifts. Even a time to fish on the river again. Enjoy God's creation. And remember that even in loss, we gain, we live, we go on together with the gift of each other and the gift of family.
Life goes on. Love goes on. Family remains.
The facts were very similar, but the reality was so different. No memorial service in Tennessee. No reunion with the family in the old home town. But on the other hand, there were a lot of things they held in common. Friends and family came to the church to join with us. Aunt Meg and Uncle David and all the cousins and Frank and Julie and Susan and Kevin and the nieces and the nephew, all joining together. For us and for dad. There was a real reunion. People from Griffin, from Florida, from Tifton, from Dunwoody. IBMer's. Friends. Family.
There were parts of it which were sublime. I appreciated the service. I appreciated the worshipful nature of the service. We needed to turn to God. We needed to hear the reality of the Word being preached. We needed to listen to the music and sing the hymns.
I have received condolence messages from so many people who really don't have much connection to me, but still do, and still showed they cared. The good part of this aspect of life is that you find out that there are people out there who care, people you didn't really even know were willing to give you comfort. You find that you are not such a lone ranger. Kind words. Small hugs. Kisses on the cheek. Flowers. Food.
The essence of Christianity is contained in the act of Communion. The gift of life. The gift of spirit. A reunion of brothers and sisters and God, eating a meal which reminds us of everything God gives us. A picture of the family at the dining table. Together. Eternal.
In my mind, that is how it ended. On Saturday, we gathered at the property in North Georgia. We laughed and prayed in the sunshine. Low humidity. Temperate temperature. Sunshine. No clouds. The sound of the Chestatee River rolling past. A prayer and a letting go, both physical and spiritual.
Followed by a meal together. We sat together in the barbecue restaurant in Dahlonega and ate lunch together. We laughed and talked and thought and remembered. We thanked each other for being there. Many gifts. Little girls and brothers and sisters and cousins and aunt and uncle. Many gifts. Even a time to fish on the river again. Enjoy God's creation. And remember that even in loss, we gain, we live, we go on together with the gift of each other and the gift of family.
Life goes on. Love goes on. Family remains.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Physics lessons learned in my in-laws' house and a Miami bellstand
Boy, these Sicards do take a while before they actually take on the task of leaving. About fifteen minutes ago, Ray and Joan and the Mikes announced that they were leaving. They got as far as the living room. Now, it is 9:45 and I can still hear the voices in the living room behind me and there is no indication of their leaving. The conversations are still continuing. Amid the sound of glasses and plates being cleaned and the dishwasher going, there is more than enough conversational thread to go around. I am trying to figure out when they will actually leave. Not that I care that they leave anytime soon, but it is a puzzle which lasts for minutes and hours and seems to replicate itself every time I encounter them. Two years ago, I wrote a piece about the classic Sicard goodbye. Nothing has changed, save the location. The same people are "trying" to extricate themselves from the clutches of this house. Who knows when it will stop?
Is there some kind of weird gravitational pull? I see it's effect. Everyone is sitting, enjoying the moment and each other, then someone in the group makes a statement to the effect that they are going to leave the group. Sometimes, this is just words, since the person making the statement may not move at all. Other times, the person stands up, the others stand up. There is an odd dance created in which most participate.
Perhaps they move into a new room. The conversation continues. Not necessarily words of parting. No, on the other hand, it might just be a new thread in the conversation. But the bodies continue to orbit. They revolve. The orbits move, but the revolutions continue. New thoughts. New questions. New responses.
Meanwhile, I watch. I seem to be outside the gravitational pull. I move toward the door or watch them as they continue. Someone might think of something they forgot; they go and find the thing they forgot. Meanwhile, the orbits continue.
It can happen outside the Sicard sphere. Mark and Sharon were to leave at 2:00. Two o'clock came and went. Are they now in the Sicard sphere? Are their bodies susceptible to the pull?
Our problem, on the other hand, is caused by the failure to gather all of our things. Tomatoes. Cameras. Bags of this and that. We realize our forgotten things later, when we are on the road, about to head out on the road for home. When we return to the scene, nothing much as changed. Still conversational orbits continue, spinning. Few have left. Perhaps the orbits have exchanged bodies. Still, no one leaves. There seems to be a gravitational pull caused by the people's desire to continue communication which is affected by their attraction to each other. Despite their stated desires to leave the orbit, they continue to be attracted to each other by their desire to continue communication.
My father told me a story about one time when he found himself in Miami with a rental car, trying to leave the rental car and hop on a shuttle to Atlanta, via the airport. He was in a line of cars waiting for the bellman to remove the cars so they could leave for the airport. My father parked his rental car at the front of the line and approached the bellman's stand. He tried to explain to the bellman that his car needed to be processed and his luggage transferred to the shuttle for the ultimate trip to the airport. No one seemed to speak English. No one was moving. Everyone was caught in the orbit of the Spanish-speaking bellmen. No one could move away, escape the orbit.
I guess his problem was the opposite of the physics of the Sicard goodbye. In his case, the people could not communicate, so they were stuck in the growing orbit of the Miami bellstand. Everyone was moving toward the bellstand because that was the place where all of the rental cars were supposed to be received. At the same time, that was also the place where people escaped the orbit of the bellstand in order to go elsewhere. They were stuck by the combination of the pull of the bellstand and the inability of the people to process the needs of the persons through failure to communicate.
It is all entropy. People caught in the pull of the gravitational pull of the motion. One is at rest. The other is at rest. But the quality of the physical pull is different. In one, there is an attraction which is affected by the ability to communicate. The energy of the communication attracts the bodies in a small orbit from which they cannot escape. In the other one, the attraction of the bellstand, which is caused by its centrality of purpose, as a place to which the bodies come in order to pick up cars and leave them and board shuttles to escape their orbits is allowed to continue because of the failure to communicate between the bodies.
There are bodies at rest. One caused by the desire of the bodies to continue their communication. The other caused by the inability of the bodies to begin communication. If communication is energy then the two equations should be shown in this way:
Sicard Goodbye
E (entropy) = M (mass of bodies) [A (Attraction) + C (Communication)]
Miami Bellstand
E (entropy) = M (mass of bodies) [A (Attraction) - F (Failure to communicate)]
M(A+C)=M(A-C)
This is really weird. Really.
The oddity involved here concerns the fact that the result (entropy) is the same. However, the component of communication is the opposite value, since communication and failure to communicate are two opposing factors. It is strange.
Is there some kind of weird gravitational pull? I see it's effect. Everyone is sitting, enjoying the moment and each other, then someone in the group makes a statement to the effect that they are going to leave the group. Sometimes, this is just words, since the person making the statement may not move at all. Other times, the person stands up, the others stand up. There is an odd dance created in which most participate.
Perhaps they move into a new room. The conversation continues. Not necessarily words of parting. No, on the other hand, it might just be a new thread in the conversation. But the bodies continue to orbit. They revolve. The orbits move, but the revolutions continue. New thoughts. New questions. New responses.
Meanwhile, I watch. I seem to be outside the gravitational pull. I move toward the door or watch them as they continue. Someone might think of something they forgot; they go and find the thing they forgot. Meanwhile, the orbits continue.
It can happen outside the Sicard sphere. Mark and Sharon were to leave at 2:00. Two o'clock came and went. Are they now in the Sicard sphere? Are their bodies susceptible to the pull?
Our problem, on the other hand, is caused by the failure to gather all of our things. Tomatoes. Cameras. Bags of this and that. We realize our forgotten things later, when we are on the road, about to head out on the road for home. When we return to the scene, nothing much as changed. Still conversational orbits continue, spinning. Few have left. Perhaps the orbits have exchanged bodies. Still, no one leaves. There seems to be a gravitational pull caused by the people's desire to continue communication which is affected by their attraction to each other. Despite their stated desires to leave the orbit, they continue to be attracted to each other by their desire to continue communication.
My father told me a story about one time when he found himself in Miami with a rental car, trying to leave the rental car and hop on a shuttle to Atlanta, via the airport. He was in a line of cars waiting for the bellman to remove the cars so they could leave for the airport. My father parked his rental car at the front of the line and approached the bellman's stand. He tried to explain to the bellman that his car needed to be processed and his luggage transferred to the shuttle for the ultimate trip to the airport. No one seemed to speak English. No one was moving. Everyone was caught in the orbit of the Spanish-speaking bellmen. No one could move away, escape the orbit.
I guess his problem was the opposite of the physics of the Sicard goodbye. In his case, the people could not communicate, so they were stuck in the growing orbit of the Miami bellstand. Everyone was moving toward the bellstand because that was the place where all of the rental cars were supposed to be received. At the same time, that was also the place where people escaped the orbit of the bellstand in order to go elsewhere. They were stuck by the combination of the pull of the bellstand and the inability of the people to process the needs of the persons through failure to communicate.
It is all entropy. People caught in the pull of the gravitational pull of the motion. One is at rest. The other is at rest. But the quality of the physical pull is different. In one, there is an attraction which is affected by the ability to communicate. The energy of the communication attracts the bodies in a small orbit from which they cannot escape. In the other one, the attraction of the bellstand, which is caused by its centrality of purpose, as a place to which the bodies come in order to pick up cars and leave them and board shuttles to escape their orbits is allowed to continue because of the failure to communicate between the bodies.
There are bodies at rest. One caused by the desire of the bodies to continue their communication. The other caused by the inability of the bodies to begin communication. If communication is energy then the two equations should be shown in this way:
Sicard Goodbye
E (entropy) = M (mass of bodies) [A (Attraction) + C (Communication)]
Miami Bellstand
E (entropy) = M (mass of bodies) [A (Attraction) - F (Failure to communicate)]
M(A+C)=M(A-C)
This is really weird. Really.
The oddity involved here concerns the fact that the result (entropy) is the same. However, the component of communication is the opposite value, since communication and failure to communicate are two opposing factors. It is strange.
Yearning
The night has come
With a whisper from the East
The stars are silent
Amid the crash of the surf
The moon rises large
And I hear the tinkling of guitars
In the village below the dark mountain
In cafes this night the townspeople laugh
And drink in the emotion of the evening
And I am alone here in the trees
Looking down on a world alive with love
I alone a sentinel in the midnight blue
The crisp pine scent burning my nostrils
As I wish for someone to share my solitude
Yearning for a place in the community of the lights.
Coogan's Bluff
I am sitting here killing time, while watching "Coogan's Bluff", an old Clint Eastwood movie from the 70's. They play a lot off of the difference between New York and the American West. Clint plays a deputy sheriff from Arizona, travelling to New York to pick up a prisoner and take him back to Arizona for prosecution. Everybody in New York seems to think Clint is not worth their time. Clint is just trying to do his job.
I need to do so myself. Well, Cindy is ready to travel and we should get back to the party. More later.
I need to do so myself. Well, Cindy is ready to travel and we should get back to the party. More later.
Friday morning in Knox-town
Here I am in Knox-town, sitting around Missy's apartment waiting for all of the others to awaken. I woke and took Tex out to do his early morning business. I turned on the television. I drank orange juice and ate yogurt. I tried to arise beyond the dark waters swimming around my waste. But my mind is swimming in a different part of the river. I can't keep the vessel floating despite my best efforts. The driftwood will arise, soon. Things will happen as they should. But for now, I am caught up in the avoiding.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sports and a father's push
When we were Seniors, Don Crossley and I were discussing why we continued to play football. At the time, Don's finger on one of his hands was mangled from an injury. My knees were constantly sore from sprains I suffered over the years. When I was a senior, I had to sit in a whirlpool every day to reduce the swelling in my knees. As a matter of fact, both of us sat in whirlpools in the evenings in order to reduce the pain and swelling we suffered as a result of our participation in intercollegiate football. Neither of us could figure out why we wanted to continue playing, particularly since we weren't winning many games.
At some point in the conversation, Don and I agreed that we were probably playing for our fathers. I am not quite sure why we had this moment of intellectual and emotional clarity. However, after discussing the various bumps and bruises and whatnot we suffered, we ultimately decided that we would not have played intercollegiate sports if not for the desire to please our fathers.
Fathers are amazing motivators. At the end of my first year in Pop Warner football, it came time to sign up for the second year. My father asked me if I wanted to participate in the coming year. I flatly told him no. However, dad asked me if it wouldn't be better to try it one more year. I reluctantly agreed. After winning a second league age-group championship and a bowl game at the end of the second year, I was hooked and remained playing football until my body's eligibility expired. After all, I could only play in the pros and no one was showing much interest in a 180 pound outside linebacker with bad knees.
I am glad that I played football all those years. I loved basketball too, but knew my limitations.
At some point in the conversation, Don and I agreed that we were probably playing for our fathers. I am not quite sure why we had this moment of intellectual and emotional clarity. However, after discussing the various bumps and bruises and whatnot we suffered, we ultimately decided that we would not have played intercollegiate sports if not for the desire to please our fathers.
Fathers are amazing motivators. At the end of my first year in Pop Warner football, it came time to sign up for the second year. My father asked me if I wanted to participate in the coming year. I flatly told him no. However, dad asked me if it wouldn't be better to try it one more year. I reluctantly agreed. After winning a second league age-group championship and a bowl game at the end of the second year, I was hooked and remained playing football until my body's eligibility expired. After all, I could only play in the pros and no one was showing much interest in a 180 pound outside linebacker with bad knees.
I am glad that I played football all those years. I loved basketball too, but knew my limitations.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
"Hard Times Come Again No More"
This is a picture that my sister took of her daughter, Katie Scot and cousin, C.J., playing together, hand in hand, at the property along the Chestatee in Lumpkin County. This picture was taken while most of the family was appreciating the beauty of the North Georgia mountains and the company we have created with our family and their progeny. Susan's girls are the sweetness in the iced tea which is our family. Both Katie Scot and Becca (even with her arm in a pink cast and blue sling) are the life of our little group and this picture is just a small representation of the life and love our extended family has when we are together. I am so glad that Susan found Kevin and that they could produce such a sweet little family. I am so proud to be their uncle and I am also proud to be her brother. I know if Dad's spirit was present with us, and it was, it is in no small part because of the wonderful family we gathered under the trees growing over the Chestatee, near Dahlonega.Hard times will come. Hard times will pass from us. But family and friends allow us to bear the load as it falls on our shoulders.
"The Property"
The picture here was taken by my brother, Frank.
It had been a long time since I had last been on the Chestatee River outside of Dahlonega. We couldn't have picked a better day than this past Saturday. The sky was bright blue, as you can see. The temperature was very moderate and the humidity was low. The fish were running and after eating lunch in Dahlonega, Luke and Lily and Kate and I tried our hand at catching some fish. We knew from the very beginning that the fish were there, as our salmon eggs kept disappearing. I caught a few fingerlings trying to grow bigger off of my bait. Lily was the first to hook one. Unfortunately, she couldn't hold on; she got a bit too excited when the fish came to the surface. A little later, I hooked a rainbow trout and brought him to shore. Unfortunately, he was small and he swallowed too much of the hook and he expired before I could disengage the hook and release him. A little later, Luke hooked a much larger trout and brought him to shore. We placed both fish in the freezer and brought them home to Dunwoody. Now they are frozen in Mom's freezer awaiting our attempt to clean them for cooking. All in all, it was a nice day in the mountains of North Georgia.
Sleep and Rest
I awoke this morning for no apparent reason at 3:30 this morning. I watched the last of the late edition of the local news. I caught the last few minutes of a very bad James Bond movie. Now I am writing this while a Law and Order: Criminal Intent runs on the television. It is dark outside. Four ten in the morning. Everyone who is smart is asleep right now. Why am I awake?
I have got so much to do and disappearing time. Running down a rabbit hole. The television continues to run. There are so many channels. Entertainment. Sports. News. Advertisements. A wide variety of topics, categories, preferences. Why? Why are we all awake?
The world runs on its track. My heart continues to beat. My breathing continues. Yesterday afternoon, I went to the track and walked two miles while I listened to Ricky Skaggs on my ipod. It was pleasant. There were a lot of people on the track. We were all enjoying the afternoon. Are they asleep?
My body feels better this morning. Relaxed. My heart is beating regularly. No quickness to the pace. Even my mind is still on the surface. But below the surface, it races. Keeps me awake. I will lie down again and try to catch another hour or two. Even when we sleep, the thoughts that give us pause lie right below the surface. Our ability to control our minds is limited.
I have got so much to do and disappearing time. Running down a rabbit hole. The television continues to run. There are so many channels. Entertainment. Sports. News. Advertisements. A wide variety of topics, categories, preferences. Why? Why are we all awake?
The world runs on its track. My heart continues to beat. My breathing continues. Yesterday afternoon, I went to the track and walked two miles while I listened to Ricky Skaggs on my ipod. It was pleasant. There were a lot of people on the track. We were all enjoying the afternoon. Are they asleep?
My body feels better this morning. Relaxed. My heart is beating regularly. No quickness to the pace. Even my mind is still on the surface. But below the surface, it races. Keeps me awake. I will lie down again and try to catch another hour or two. Even when we sleep, the thoughts that give us pause lie right below the surface. Our ability to control our minds is limited.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Magic in Georgia
I would like to sit in Kevin Barry's on River Street in Savannah. I would like to sip a Guinness and walk out in the cool evening air. I would like to drive out to Tybee and watch the tide crash on the sands of the beach. Taste the sea in a platter of oysters with cocktail sauce and tabasco with a cold beer. I want to get in my car and drive back to central Georgia and see the sun go down over the forests south of Macon, watch the sun glint on the Ocmulgee as it passes past the Indian mounds south of town. I want to drive west and watch the fishes in the Chattahoochee as she flows between Columbus and Phenix City. I would really like to watch the sun go down over the blue mountains that lie to the west and below Brasstown Bald, like we did a week ago with our friends. I would like to see another black bear, scampering to the cover of the woods. This time I want to get to Ravencliff Falls and Duke's Creek Falls, rather than just close by. I might even want to hang over the pond at the bottom of the falls on the swing. It wouldn't be bad to go to Barbara Jeans and eat some scallops with bacon and green onions and white wine. Then stroll down the walk from the pier to the lighthouse on St. Simons. And watch the sun go down over the marshes west of Jekyll Island. With a glass of red wine in hand, my love's hand in the other.
To step lightly along the southern side of the Chestatee and watch the sunlight playing on the rocks and the flow of the water, as I feel my father's presence in the touch of a cool breeze passing downriver from the bridge where the DNR drops trout fingerlings for some fisherman to catch. How lucky.
To step lightly along the southern side of the Chestatee and watch the sunlight playing on the rocks and the flow of the water, as I feel my father's presence in the touch of a cool breeze passing downriver from the bridge where the DNR drops trout fingerlings for some fisherman to catch. How lucky.
Entropy
I can not move:
I am trapped in the moment
Of entropy, waiting for a signal
To alert me to the movement
Of the world spinning around me
Which provides me with my calling
Communicates the motion
The sparking jab of current,
One step, two step, three
And off toward the next goal
A target, the line ahead
To which my body swims
A fluidity of movement
Within the colors and lights
Flashing the images around my head
Pumping, breathing in, out, in, out
Feeling the burning in my arms and legs
Towards the next, surrounded by others
To whom the calling is given
A school of fish, passing through the current
Channeled through the shoals
Toward deeper waters
Darker pools of rest
A moment's rest
Sleep.
A slow flutter of soft, sleepy movement.
I am trapped in the moment
Of entropy, waiting for a signal
To alert me to the movement
Of the world spinning around me
Which provides me with my calling
Communicates the motion
The sparking jab of current,
One step, two step, three
And off toward the next goal
A target, the line ahead
To which my body swims
A fluidity of movement
Within the colors and lights
Flashing the images around my head
Pumping, breathing in, out, in, out
Feeling the burning in my arms and legs
Towards the next, surrounded by others
To whom the calling is given
A school of fish, passing through the current
Channeled through the shoals
Toward deeper waters
Darker pools of rest
A moment's rest
Sleep.
A slow flutter of soft, sleepy movement.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The unartful dance
Children play street hockey on the cul de sac,
Pushing off their skates in imitation
Of those who play for a living.
Teenagers gather for a party,
Their cars littering the driveways and street,
And I do not hear their laughter;
I just see the smiles on their faces
As I drive on past.
An airplane soars silently overhead,
The passengers sitting in controlled comfort
Above my head, flying to who nows where
And who knows what
Or who awaits?
I sit on this stoop and I sip my bitter beer
And I consider the passing of the world
Around my bare head
And the thought of my father's recent passing
Is not far from the surface of my unavailing thoughts.
The world moves past
And I must cast off my lethargy ultimately
And take on the task of the moment
And the moments to come,
For the world will not wait for my joining.
The unartful dance continues.
Pushing off their skates in imitation
Of those who play for a living.
Teenagers gather for a party,
Their cars littering the driveways and street,
And I do not hear their laughter;
I just see the smiles on their faces
As I drive on past.
An airplane soars silently overhead,
The passengers sitting in controlled comfort
Above my head, flying to who nows where
And who knows what
Or who awaits?
I sit on this stoop and I sip my bitter beer
And I consider the passing of the world
Around my bare head
And the thought of my father's recent passing
Is not far from the surface of my unavailing thoughts.
The world moves past
And I must cast off my lethargy ultimately
And take on the task of the moment
And the moments to come,
For the world will not wait for my joining.
The unartful dance continues.
Survivors of the tragedy
Today the sky was perfectly blue, devoid of humidity and clouds. The temperature in Dahlonega was cooler than normal and even more so down by the river. After gathering at the property along the Chestatee, we went back into town and ate supper at Shane's Rib Shack. It seemed like everyone enjoyed the time together. Afterward, I gathered Kate, and Luke and Lily in dad's Honda Pilot and headed back to the river and fished for about an hour. I caught a small trout and Luke caught a nice sized version. After awhile, the Labrador retriever owned by the son of the people who own the house next to the property came over and ran through us and into the water and interrupted the fishing, so we drove out and dropped Luke and Lily off with Frank and picked up Maggie at Susan's house before returning home.
Now Ed and Cicely and Carney and Beth and Nikki and CJ are gone back to St. Pete and Frank and his family will return to Florida tomorrow. We will need to go home tomorrow afternoon, leaving Kate with Momma to give her company and take care of her. Now comes a long trail in which everyone in our family will participate to some degree. Doing without father. Still, he will be with us in many ways.
We lose sight of so many details of the handprints of others so easily. From time to time I think about my grandmothers and my grandfather. It might be time to pull out some dusty pictures and remember their time in my life. Perhaps it might be time to sit still and remember.
I must find some place to get my thoughts together. Life will not stop for me to come to conclusions. Conclusions will occur with or without me. The pace of life continues despite our best efforts to slow the whirl. One need only read one's emails to realize that nothing ends when it seems that it should. They still come. The sacred and the profane.
Yesterday, amidst the cacaphony and silliness of the extended family, I took a beer out the front door at Susan and Kevin's house and walked across the yard. It was relatively quiet. Relatively peaceful. Beyond the walls of my funk, events continued. And I thought that I should sit on the front porch and enjoy the illusion of peace. As my father might. Sip on my beer. Avoid the rush of family and friends and the world spinning.
We need that. I need that. It will come. I will take that time. I will find a kind of peace. There are always losses in this world, from day to day. The news is forthcoming with losses we can mark or discard. Some which catch our attention and make us think. Some which fail to break through the hard shell we wear on most days. But they continue to come.
Death is always a shadow at the corners of our vision. We cannot avoid them. We can only avert our eyes so far. Perhaps the best solution is to continue on in a manner in which might show that we value the life we are given. The bitterness of Lamentations and Ecclesiastes will come. But the end of Revelations promises peace. Peace.
At least a moment's respite, color and light in a world which can seem dark. And we float in a very large boat, filled with the survivors of the tragedy.
Now Ed and Cicely and Carney and Beth and Nikki and CJ are gone back to St. Pete and Frank and his family will return to Florida tomorrow. We will need to go home tomorrow afternoon, leaving Kate with Momma to give her company and take care of her. Now comes a long trail in which everyone in our family will participate to some degree. Doing without father. Still, he will be with us in many ways.
We lose sight of so many details of the handprints of others so easily. From time to time I think about my grandmothers and my grandfather. It might be time to pull out some dusty pictures and remember their time in my life. Perhaps it might be time to sit still and remember.
I must find some place to get my thoughts together. Life will not stop for me to come to conclusions. Conclusions will occur with or without me. The pace of life continues despite our best efforts to slow the whirl. One need only read one's emails to realize that nothing ends when it seems that it should. They still come. The sacred and the profane.
Yesterday, amidst the cacaphony and silliness of the extended family, I took a beer out the front door at Susan and Kevin's house and walked across the yard. It was relatively quiet. Relatively peaceful. Beyond the walls of my funk, events continued. And I thought that I should sit on the front porch and enjoy the illusion of peace. As my father might. Sip on my beer. Avoid the rush of family and friends and the world spinning.
We need that. I need that. It will come. I will take that time. I will find a kind of peace. There are always losses in this world, from day to day. The news is forthcoming with losses we can mark or discard. Some which catch our attention and make us think. Some which fail to break through the hard shell we wear on most days. But they continue to come.
Death is always a shadow at the corners of our vision. We cannot avoid them. We can only avert our eyes so far. Perhaps the best solution is to continue on in a manner in which might show that we value the life we are given. The bitterness of Lamentations and Ecclesiastes will come. But the end of Revelations promises peace. Peace.
At least a moment's respite, color and light in a world which can seem dark. And we float in a very large boat, filled with the survivors of the tragedy.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Dad's memorial service
Today was a warm day in Sandy Springs when we drove over from Dunwoody to celebrate my dad's life. I enjoyed the service. I think the pastor did a good job. I was nervous about my part in it; I had volunteered to speak for the family. I knew the pastor would be speaking about his fishing. I spoke about the part of our lives in which my father had such an important part. I talked about the times when my dad came to games and watched our practices and such. I think it went over pretty well. It got a little tough to complete at the end. I wanted to say something important about my father. I am still very addled in my thinking. I will try later to write something worth reading. I will get over this. I just have to complete the processing of the experience.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Reality
I was hearing the sound of bootsteps
On the frontporch of a white frame farm house
In Montgomery County, Tennessee.
I could still hear the hard, hollow tone
Resounding from the planks
To my ears in this very moment,
Despite the fact that the house
Was torn down almost ten years ago now
And I am sitting in this chair,
In my office, three hundred miles away.
And I wonder what is more real:
The feel of this chair on my backside
As I type out these lines
Or the sound of those footfalls
On the wooden porch
Swept free from leaves
By my grandmother's liver-spotted hands
With an old hickory broom,
The planks painted grey against the weather's beating
Which still blows
A strong, scented breeze at my back
From the fields now fallow.
On the frontporch of a white frame farm house
In Montgomery County, Tennessee.
I could still hear the hard, hollow tone
Resounding from the planks
To my ears in this very moment,
Despite the fact that the house
Was torn down almost ten years ago now
And I am sitting in this chair,
In my office, three hundred miles away.
And I wonder what is more real:
The feel of this chair on my backside
As I type out these lines
Or the sound of those footfalls
On the wooden porch
Swept free from leaves
By my grandmother's liver-spotted hands
With an old hickory broom,
The planks painted grey against the weather's beating
Which still blows
A strong, scented breeze at my back
From the fields now fallow.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Dark tones
I do not feel as secure as I did the week before. On Sunday, Cindy and I drove back to Dunwoody from the North Georgia mountains and met Momma and Kate in Dad's hospital room at St. Joseph's. The swelling in dad's face had subsided and I was able to talk with him and have him respond in a normal fashion. I didn't have to guess what he was saying. I told him I had caught a rainbow trout with the fishing rod and reel he had bought me for Christmas. We talked about Ravenscliffs Falls and Dukes Creek Falls and he commented that the twin falls at Dukes Creek were very pretty. At one point in the visit, a pulmonary doctor came in and told him he would probably be going home the next day. Everything was optimistic.
Tonight everything took a darker tone. Around 10:15, Susan called and informed me that dad had fallen on the stairs at home and the emt's were coming to take him back to the hospital. I told her I would be coming up. When I got off the phone, I suggested to Cindy and Kate that all three, four with Tex, should go up to Dunwoody. Kate took a shower and Cindy and I packed our bags.
The phone rang and Lily was calling from the next door neighbor's house. I spoke with them, then called Susan again, who informed me that Dad had passed. I called Frank and let him know the news. I promised I would tell him more later.
Then I had to tell Kate. Now we are in Dunwoody with Mom and Lily and Susan, Kevin and the girls. It is time to go to bed and try to sleep. I am not sure how easy that will be. I have to be in court in the morning in Lawrenceville. Nothing can be done that early. I will attend the hearing then return and cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.
Everything seems frozen now. People are saying things, making promises, wishes, prayers. There will be more later. But everything seems unreachable. The world is a little sadder this early, early morning. The Founder of the Feast is sleeping.
"A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing."
Tonight everything took a darker tone. Around 10:15, Susan called and informed me that dad had fallen on the stairs at home and the emt's were coming to take him back to the hospital. I told her I would be coming up. When I got off the phone, I suggested to Cindy and Kate that all three, four with Tex, should go up to Dunwoody. Kate took a shower and Cindy and I packed our bags.
The phone rang and Lily was calling from the next door neighbor's house. I spoke with them, then called Susan again, who informed me that Dad had passed. I called Frank and let him know the news. I promised I would tell him more later.
Then I had to tell Kate. Now we are in Dunwoody with Mom and Lily and Susan, Kevin and the girls. It is time to go to bed and try to sleep. I am not sure how easy that will be. I have to be in court in the morning in Lawrenceville. Nothing can be done that early. I will attend the hearing then return and cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.
Everything seems frozen now. People are saying things, making promises, wishes, prayers. There will be more later. But everything seems unreachable. The world is a little sadder this early, early morning. The Founder of the Feast is sleeping.
"A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing."
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Late Thursday afternoon
I am thinking about my life in general and wondering about where I am in the great scheme of things. Sometimes I feel like I am way behind and need to run to catch up. At other times, I feel like I may have a handle on this thing and others might learn from my example. Fortunately, I don't have those moments of self-satisfaction that often, lest I fall prey to my own pridefulness. It is nice to have a wife and an adult daughter who can right me when I roll over on the back of my shell and I find myself wallowing in my own selfishness.
The weather outside my window is quite pleasant. The sun is shining and I bet I could walk out into the humidity of July and feel quite happy with my life. I might drive the car home and open a bottle of St. Louis malt and hops and settle down into the comfort availing of a certain brown leather chair and really feel quite content.
On the other hand, there is much to be done. Perhaps, I should drive home, take stock of the matters at hand and get ready for tomorrow's evil and the coming of the weekend. I think I will leave this place of presumptous economy, drive home and take a long look at the new coiffure of my wife and see what she has in mind for supper.
The weather outside my window is quite pleasant. The sun is shining and I bet I could walk out into the humidity of July and feel quite happy with my life. I might drive the car home and open a bottle of St. Louis malt and hops and settle down into the comfort availing of a certain brown leather chair and really feel quite content.
On the other hand, there is much to be done. Perhaps, I should drive home, take stock of the matters at hand and get ready for tomorrow's evil and the coming of the weekend. I think I will leave this place of presumptous economy, drive home and take a long look at the new coiffure of my wife and see what she has in mind for supper.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Independence and dependence
On Friday afternoon, in the middle of the Fourth of July revelry, my father began suffering symptoms apparently caused by his pulmonary problems. These symptoms included chills, spikes in his blood pressure, and a difficulty with breathing. Niece Lily first noticed the symptoms, and after taking his blood pressure several times, Momma, Dad and I drove over to St. Joseph's hospital on Peachtree Dunwoody Road in Atlanta.
At this point, the attending nursing staff began triage on my father and decided he needed to be admitted in order to normalize his symptoms. From there, we entered the emergency headquarters, where my father was strapped up to any number of machines designed to monitor his vital signs and to pump oxygen into his lungs. After six to eight hours of sitting in an er room, I came to a passable knowledge concerning the flashing numbers on the monitor and could read what was a problem and what was not.
After several hours of treatment, oxygen and antibiotics, my father's condition stabilized; however, a doctor determined that he needed to be in the Intensive Care Unit until his levels were made stable.
At this point, they wheeled him through various empty hallways in which were stacked numerous beds and gurneys, until finally we reached the waiting room for the icu. The lights were predominately off and there were various chairs and sofas present. In one particularly dark corner I discovered someone sleeping on a couch. I felt a little like I was a supporting actor in a Fellini movie. However, a large nurse came into the darkened waiting room and informed us that we could come in and see my father in his new quarters for a few moments before we would need to leave my father to the prodders, pokers, and other tsk tskers in the ICU unit.
We came back home and found everyone awake. Kate was baking pies. Cindy was playing cards with Lily. Even Tex was watching expectantly. By two thirty in the morning, we were all back in bed, although perhaps not asleep.
The next morning, I awoke, and Kate and Lily and I drove over to Mount Vernon Highway and a place to watch the Dunwoody Fourth of July Parade for 2009. Susan, Kevin and the girls soon joined us and Cheryl, Gareth and Kevin's mom were soon to follow. The parade was long and a good way to get our minds of the unspoken subject. After the parade, we walked down to the nearby shopping center and ordered Boy Scout barbecue, beans, cole slaw, brownies and watermelon from the scout leaders. Everybody in Dunwoody seemed to be there. There were hot dogs and hamburgers, cokes and beers, rides for the kids and music for the more patriotic in attendance.
For a few hours, our minds were off the part of the show occuring a few miles to the southwest of us. Later that afternoon, Kate and I drove over to the hospital and saw my father. He seemed better and his vital signs were more normal and steady. Dad turned on the Braves and we watched a few innings with him while the machinery took note of his bodily functions and pumped fluids into his arms.
After our thirty minutes in the ICU, Kate and I left and things started to go down hill. The first sign was found when the Braves lost their lead over the other team. This was followed, unbeknownst to us, by a prick on Dad's lung, which resulted in his loosing pressure in his lung, which caused the lung to deflate. At this point, the ICU personnel re-inflated his lung, only to inflate a good bit of his body. His face looked like a full moon and his arms looked like Popeye. He could hardly talk and his breathing was labored.
On Tuesday, after Lily, Kate, Patti and I drove around the northern part of the state of Georgia on foreclosure cryouts, Lily and I entered the hospital and entered the room with Mom, Susan, Cindy and Dad. We stayed for awhile, then Mom, Cindy and Lily and I went out to eat in a Mexican restaurant in Dunwoody. Later, Cindy and I drove home and found Kate taking the whole festival of healthcare a little too much to take. Last night, Cindy and Kate slept in the master bed and I slept on the couch in the living room. Even Tex was in the master suite.
Perhaps I will get better sleep tonight.
As I said earlier, It is very difficult when the parents that you previously depended on for support and comfort, now look to you for the same type of assistance. I suppose we all go through this at some point or another. It doesn't make it any easier.
Thank God for friends and neighbors who show their empathy and compassion in these times. Where might we be without them?
At this point, the attending nursing staff began triage on my father and decided he needed to be admitted in order to normalize his symptoms. From there, we entered the emergency headquarters, where my father was strapped up to any number of machines designed to monitor his vital signs and to pump oxygen into his lungs. After six to eight hours of sitting in an er room, I came to a passable knowledge concerning the flashing numbers on the monitor and could read what was a problem and what was not.
After several hours of treatment, oxygen and antibiotics, my father's condition stabilized; however, a doctor determined that he needed to be in the Intensive Care Unit until his levels were made stable.
At this point, they wheeled him through various empty hallways in which were stacked numerous beds and gurneys, until finally we reached the waiting room for the icu. The lights were predominately off and there were various chairs and sofas present. In one particularly dark corner I discovered someone sleeping on a couch. I felt a little like I was a supporting actor in a Fellini movie. However, a large nurse came into the darkened waiting room and informed us that we could come in and see my father in his new quarters for a few moments before we would need to leave my father to the prodders, pokers, and other tsk tskers in the ICU unit.
We came back home and found everyone awake. Kate was baking pies. Cindy was playing cards with Lily. Even Tex was watching expectantly. By two thirty in the morning, we were all back in bed, although perhaps not asleep.
The next morning, I awoke, and Kate and Lily and I drove over to Mount Vernon Highway and a place to watch the Dunwoody Fourth of July Parade for 2009. Susan, Kevin and the girls soon joined us and Cheryl, Gareth and Kevin's mom were soon to follow. The parade was long and a good way to get our minds of the unspoken subject. After the parade, we walked down to the nearby shopping center and ordered Boy Scout barbecue, beans, cole slaw, brownies and watermelon from the scout leaders. Everybody in Dunwoody seemed to be there. There were hot dogs and hamburgers, cokes and beers, rides for the kids and music for the more patriotic in attendance.
For a few hours, our minds were off the part of the show occuring a few miles to the southwest of us. Later that afternoon, Kate and I drove over to the hospital and saw my father. He seemed better and his vital signs were more normal and steady. Dad turned on the Braves and we watched a few innings with him while the machinery took note of his bodily functions and pumped fluids into his arms.
After our thirty minutes in the ICU, Kate and I left and things started to go down hill. The first sign was found when the Braves lost their lead over the other team. This was followed, unbeknownst to us, by a prick on Dad's lung, which resulted in his loosing pressure in his lung, which caused the lung to deflate. At this point, the ICU personnel re-inflated his lung, only to inflate a good bit of his body. His face looked like a full moon and his arms looked like Popeye. He could hardly talk and his breathing was labored.
On Tuesday, after Lily, Kate, Patti and I drove around the northern part of the state of Georgia on foreclosure cryouts, Lily and I entered the hospital and entered the room with Mom, Susan, Cindy and Dad. We stayed for awhile, then Mom, Cindy and Lily and I went out to eat in a Mexican restaurant in Dunwoody. Later, Cindy and I drove home and found Kate taking the whole festival of healthcare a little too much to take. Last night, Cindy and Kate slept in the master bed and I slept on the couch in the living room. Even Tex was in the master suite.
Perhaps I will get better sleep tonight.
As I said earlier, It is very difficult when the parents that you previously depended on for support and comfort, now look to you for the same type of assistance. I suppose we all go through this at some point or another. It doesn't make it any easier.
Thank God for friends and neighbors who show their empathy and compassion in these times. Where might we be without them?
Friday, July 3, 2009
Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!
Last night, Kate and I drove up to Atlanta and got in line at Turner Field to see if we could get two seats in the stadium to watch the Braves play the Phillies. After maneuvering the lines at the Ticket Office, and the lines to get inspected before we entered, we bought a couple of hot glorified hot dogs, a bag of peanuts, and a couple of Bud tall boys and found our seats in the left field stands. The Braves had arranged for a very patriotic experience with 13 year old girls signing the national anthem, an American flag map of the US in the outfield, a ceremony honoring a local Georgian who serves in the 101st Airborne at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, an opera singer singing "God Bless America", a baseball games between two teams which began in Philadelphia and Boston, and fireworks after the game.
All of that was great. But the best thing was the game. First of all, the Braves swept the Phillies, 3-0. But the game itself was one of the best baseball games I have seen in a very long time. The Braves won 5-2, with two homers by Casey Kotchman and Garrett Anderson, a double by Matt Diaz, and a handful of the best defensive plays I have seen performed by the Braves, period. The game ended with the first baseman tripping backwards over the rolled up tarp on the first base side of the field and catching the third out despite the acrobatics.
After the game, I called Cindy at home and asked her to record Sports Center for us. I suspected that the plays made in the game would find their way to the top ten plays of the night. Sure enough, we put the recorded Sports Center on the television and I got to see a tremendous infield catch by Yunel Escobar behind second base, a throwdown by Brian McCann to the relief pitcher at home after a wild pitch to the backstop, and the aforementioned catch by the reserve first baseman for the final out. Three of the best plays of the night.
Despite the heat and the humidity and the self-imposed dryness caused by ingesting half a bag of salted, roasted peanuts, the two Budweisers notwithstanding, that was a great night in the ATL. Its a shame more people couldn't have been with us. And you know who you are.
All of that was great. But the best thing was the game. First of all, the Braves swept the Phillies, 3-0. But the game itself was one of the best baseball games I have seen in a very long time. The Braves won 5-2, with two homers by Casey Kotchman and Garrett Anderson, a double by Matt Diaz, and a handful of the best defensive plays I have seen performed by the Braves, period. The game ended with the first baseman tripping backwards over the rolled up tarp on the first base side of the field and catching the third out despite the acrobatics.
After the game, I called Cindy at home and asked her to record Sports Center for us. I suspected that the plays made in the game would find their way to the top ten plays of the night. Sure enough, we put the recorded Sports Center on the television and I got to see a tremendous infield catch by Yunel Escobar behind second base, a throwdown by Brian McCann to the relief pitcher at home after a wild pitch to the backstop, and the aforementioned catch by the reserve first baseman for the final out. Three of the best plays of the night.
Despite the heat and the humidity and the self-imposed dryness caused by ingesting half a bag of salted, roasted peanuts, the two Budweisers notwithstanding, that was a great night in the ATL. Its a shame more people couldn't have been with us. And you know who you are.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Weekend of the Fourth
Well, today is July 2nd and business is winding down as we head into the July 4th weekend. Very few people have been calling or coming by and there has been little mail to speak of. Kate is coming back home from Dunwoody, bringing a check from a client, and we are going to go to Turner Field tonight for a baseball game between the Braves and the Phillies. The Phillies are in first, but the Braves have cut the distance between themselves and first place by beating the Phillies twice in a row. Huzzah!
Once Kate arrives from Atlanta, I will deal with a few assorted matters and then head home to change clothes and get ready to drive back to Atlanta. Over the next few days, Kate will probably feel a little like a yoyo.
Yesterday, around lunch, I went home and suddenly started to suffer from the opening salvoes from a migrane headache. It was fun. And got worse. At that point, Cindy was going to Cissie's house to swim and enjoy the afternoon, so I joined her and got to take an hour's nap and swim for a bit until we went home and I could head up to Truitt's for supper. When Cindy and I are at home together, we don't tend to eat much.
I didn't get much sleep last night and I have a short closing tomorrow before the holiday starts in earnest. I will enjoy the possibility of a relaxing weekend in Dunwoody and a bit more sleep than I have had over the past few days.
Time to enjoy the watermelon and the peaches and the home made ice cream and the fireworks and the hot dogs and hamburgers. Happy Birthday America!
Once Kate arrives from Atlanta, I will deal with a few assorted matters and then head home to change clothes and get ready to drive back to Atlanta. Over the next few days, Kate will probably feel a little like a yoyo.
Yesterday, around lunch, I went home and suddenly started to suffer from the opening salvoes from a migrane headache. It was fun. And got worse. At that point, Cindy was going to Cissie's house to swim and enjoy the afternoon, so I joined her and got to take an hour's nap and swim for a bit until we went home and I could head up to Truitt's for supper. When Cindy and I are at home together, we don't tend to eat much.
I didn't get much sleep last night and I have a short closing tomorrow before the holiday starts in earnest. I will enjoy the possibility of a relaxing weekend in Dunwoody and a bit more sleep than I have had over the past few days.
Time to enjoy the watermelon and the peaches and the home made ice cream and the fireworks and the hot dogs and hamburgers. Happy Birthday America!
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