Closing Out The Journal

A new year has begun, and so I must here report the last bits from last year's journal.
Not a whole lot of poetry, actually, just short observances.

12/28/16

Travel on,
Fair Princess
You have the guts
And the humor
And the intelligence
To win over the very stars
In the heavens.

Your lady mother follows -
She died of a broken heart
We who remain will not
Forget your gift of laughter
Or her gift of song.
Thank you both for the memories
And the upbeat melodies
To help us along the way.
Hope to see you again
One day.

12/31/2016

I am being haunted
By Leonard Cohen
I don't know why
But So Long, Marianne
Will NOT stop playing
In my head.

To appease the gentle spirit,
I have ordered a book
Of his poetry
And his song lyrics
To be the basis
For my writing study
In the year ahead.

Why are you haunting me,
Leonard Cohen?
What does my suburban, mundane
Library lady life have to do with you?
Is it because I've been known
To dabble in poetry, too?

But why So Long, Marianne?
Why that one?
Why not Anthem?
Or I'm Your Man?
Or Hallelujah, even?
Why So Long Marianne?

Is it because we're saying so long
To this annus horribilis
When we had to say so long
To you,
And so MANY, MANY others?
Is it because we lost
Our princess, and her mother,
Who died of a broken heart?

We've had to say a lot of
So longs this year.
My Mom, you, David Bowie,
Our national dignity,
So much loss.
Please sing a song for our
Princess and her lady mother,
And remember those of us
Left with this world of struggle
If you really want to hang around,
I don't mind
I could use a little help
Now and then
With my Muse.

Our lives these days
Are full of anxieties
Not just the time honored worries
Like am I too fat?
Or will I have enough to retire on?
Or such as that,
But
Will anyone see my witty post?
Will anyone respond?
Am I important
To anyone
In that vast digital pond?
Sometimes
Feedback is good-
But just being able
To say hello to the whole world
Is pretty cool-
Even if they don't hear you.

Another year
Just about gone
Day after day
Time moves along
Dragging us nearer
To the end
With a laugh, a song,
A tear
And fences to mend
More hugs given
To old friends and new
Have I remembered
To tell them
How much I cherish then?
Cheering each other's successes,
Helping bear the losses-
Friends are necessary
As life's waves toss us
Here's hoping
The New Year
Brings more joy than pain
More love than hate
More compassion
Less fear
We are all on this rock
Together
No matter what we believe
Or how we look,
When you get down to brass tacks
All any of us has
In this immense universe
Is just all the rest of humanity.
Good or bad,
Light or dark,
We belong to each other
And we succeed,
Or we fail
Together.
We had best remember that
Especially
When the rich and cynical
Seek to divide us.
We cannot escape
Each other
And we need each other
To survive.

I kissed this sad year goodbye
With one last drink
A nice, refreshing cocktail
One I learned to mix this year.
I lift my glass to those who have left us
And pray they are at peace.
I lift my glass to all of you still here with me,
And I pray we are granted peace
And joy
And light
And love
Always love
The can't take that away.
Love is stronger than death.
Love lives forever.

Be well and filled with light in this new year, my dear readers.
I appreciate you taking the time to read this blog.
May you know every good blessing in the year ahead.

In Memory Of My Mother

Mom holding me.

Last Friday my Mom finally left us.  She's been on her way away from us for the last several years, really, and we knew, once our Aunt Margaret passed, that it was only a matter of time before Mom followed her.  They were closer than any sisters I have ever known.  Even when they lived thousands of miles apart, they wrote and called regularly.  Once Mom  retired, she moved back to Alabama to live next door to Aunt Margaret, and for quite a few years, they had a good time going and doing things together with the church group, or on car trips with my older sister when she'd go to visit.  I was in Germany when Mom moved back to Alabama, and though I used to call her every day when we were still in California, at that time, long distance from Germany was VERY expensive, so I only called once in a while.

Friends seem concerned about me, well, I am grateful for their concern, and I am sure I will have my weepy moments over the next weeks, but I've been having those for a few years  now.  The Mom we knew has been gone awhile.  The lady who could giggle at herself and at situations, the one who told me I was the smartest girl in the world, and the prettiest, the one who asked me for good mystery author recommendations, who asked about the library and my writing, that woman's been gone a long time.  She was still my Mom, and still funny, but she'd tell the same stories five or six times every time you talked to her.  The same stories every time you called.  She forgot a lot of things, but she never forgot that she loved me.  She always told me so.  She also never forgot my Pop, and how much she loved him.  The stories she told over and over were usually about Pop. How he called her "Sweet."  Never called her "Beautiful", like Matt calls me, but "Sweet". ( I told her it's because she was so sweet, and I'm not always. She giggled.)

I am glad to say that I got the chance to make sure she knew I loved her, too.  I told her so every time I talked to her.  More than anyone else, Mom made an impact on  my life, on my personality and my outlook on things.  I have a lot of my own opinions, and certainly my own style, but Mom influenced me more than she did the other kids.  They never had as much of her undivided attention as I did.  I was very glad that my sister started calling her every day, and going to see her twice a year, being involved with Mom as an adult.  I had a few years of that, even though I was still living at home for part of it.   It was basically me and Mom and Pop from the time I was 9 until I was married at 24.  They realized I was a grown up, finally, when I married Matt and STAYED all by myself in that house in DOWNTOWN San Bernardino the first time he went TDY.  Hey, it was my house, too.  I cleaned it, worked in the yard, re-arranged the furniture.  I lived there, too.  My folks knew what a big chicken I can be, and they were sure I'd never stay there alone.  They were wrong.  Like I said.  My house.  I wasn't going to let anything happen to it.  

What can I tell you about my Mom?  Well, she had a great sense of humor, and she loved to read until very recently, that is.  She's the one who used to walk with me to the little branch library on Compton Blvd. near our house, and insist I not check out more books than I could carry home myself, because she was going to check out some books for herself, and couldn't carry mine, too.  She discovered I could read when I started sounding out the Campbell's soup labels at the grocery store when I was about 3.  She knew I was reading for two reasons.  One:  Campbell's soup cans in those days had no pictures on the labels, and Two:  I asked her what mine-strone soup was.  I was trying to sound out minestrone, and using my Phonics like a good girl, I got the pronunciation wrong.  She told me the right way to say it, and explained that it was a sort of Italian vegetable soup.  (You see, my older sister used to play flashcard games with me.  She liked to show me off to her friends.  "See how smart my little sister is?"  Or so Mom told me, I don't remember anything except playing with the flashcards. Sometimes feels to me like I could always read.)

Me reading, about age 4 or 5 (In a dress Mom made, by the way.)

Mom and I had a lot of years together, basically just the two of us all day.  Until I started school, that is.  The other kids were in junior high and high school, and Mom and I got to do fun stuff together.  She let me lick the bowl when she made cookies, or fudge, or frosting.  When I was old enough, she taught me how to read a recipe, and how to measure, then she bought me my own Boys and Girls Cookbook, and turned me loose.  I learned to make a lot of things, and to this day I make chili based on the way she taught me.  She made a lot of my clothes, and I usually got to pick out patterns and fabric.  I never did get the knack of sewing like she did, though.  I have no patience for it.  Though she did like the way I cut patterns out, and through my college years would have me lay out and cut out her patterns for her when she made clothes.

Pop and me and Mom on my wedding day.

Mom and Pop both told me that I was the one who started calling her Mommy-Mo.  I don't remember, but I know Pop called her that sometimes, especially when he and I were ready to leave for somewhere, and she was lagging behind.  "Mommy-Mo!  Are you ready to go?!"  he'd holler, and she'd always answer "I'm right here, just a minute!"

 Mother and daughter selfie, about a year and a half ago.

As I said, I'll have my weepy days, and I am glad my friends, family, and coworkers will understand.  She was a huge part of my life, and though she's been drifting away for a while, I'll still miss her.  She taught me so much, and I've always wanted to be as well loved as Mommy-Mo was.  Lots of little kids got to have her for a preschool teacher,  and they all loved her, she had an in-home daycare for several years, and those kids all loved her, and of course, all four of us loved her, too.
Oh, she and I had our differences, all mothers and daughters do, but we got along most of the time.  I was always afraid that I had hurt her feelings when I was little and would ask her not to sing. (She was ALWAYS under pitch, and while I don't have perfect pitch, I have pretty good relative pitch, and it used to annoy me.) She thought it was funny.  She said all four of us kids asked her please not to sing.  Well, I am proud of her that she sang anyway.  She took a music class when she got her preschool certification, and she passed that with flying colors, and the kids in her classes never complained.  I helped her with some of the songs she was learning, and if she LISTENED, she could stay more or less on pitch.  It is really all a matter of learning to listen, and in my case as I age, to PAY ATTENTION to what your voice is doing.

I'll end this with a poem I wrote for Mom in 1988.  I am glad that I gave it to her when I wrote it, so she knew how much she meant, how much she gave me, and that I knew the depth of that gift.

For Mommy-Mo
By C.K. Armistead
1988

My mornings were always filled with the music
Of you making our home what it was.
If I heard water running
Or the vacuum you were using,
Then I knew all was well with the world.

Your humming and laughter as you worked,
The hum of your Singer as it made dreams real,
The smell and sound of coffee as it perked,
These things still mean home to me.

The sun on my face, and the smell of a rose,
The many flowers you taught me the names of,
The feel of damp grass squeezed between my toes,
These are all things you taught me to love.

To keep my dress neat, and sit like a lady,
To keep my hands away from my face,
You taught me to be a proper young lady
Something I'll have with me always.

Through scoldings and battles when I was a teen,
Loving me wasn't easy, oh, Mommy, I know
But you kept right on loving,
Even though I was so mean,
Since you knew it was something I'd outgrow.

I am so happy that after all those years,
After all the battles did end
And because of the joys,
Yes, and the tears,
Now I can say Mommy-Mo is my friend.

Good night, Mommy-Mo.   Your baby girl loves you.  I always will.  Tell Pop I love him,too.

For All The Saints

This Sunday is the day our church celebrates all the faithful who have gone before us into that unknowable land beyond this world.  We remember them, the ways they touched lives while they were here on earth, and how their examples and deeds continue to touch lives. 
Not just the "official" saints, but the everyday saints, the ones you probably have in your own life. 
We remember Sunday school teachers we have known, family members, neighbors, friends, people whose love and caring influenced our lives.  We remember them.  They live on, both in that land beyond, and in our hearts.

After the service at church this morning, I found a text from my sister telling me that our aunt had passed on into the nearer presence of God.  We were afraid this was coming.  She had been very ill, and had lost interest in things that she used to be very involved in.  Not a shock, but still a sadness.  Won't get to hear her heavily southern accented voice again, she won't hug my neck again in this life.  But she is still with me.  She lives on, just as my Pop, my Uncles and cousins who have gone on.  The impressions they made on the lives of others live on.  They are remembered, and remembered with love.

There is a movie out right now that I highly recommend, especially to those who have recently lost a loved one.  The Book of Life is a lovely tale, well told, of love and loss,  and the triumph of love.  In this movie, the afterlife is explained as containing two kingdoms.  Not Heaven and Hell, as we sometimes think of them, but the Land of the Remembered, and the Land of the Forgotten.  The Land of the Remembered is colorful and beautiful, and there are fiestas every day.  The Land of the Forgotten is bleak and colorless, and everyone  there is very quiet and sad.

My aunt will forever dwell in the Land of the Remembered.  She touched SO many lives.  In the town she (and for the last 20 plus years, my Mom) lived in, she is surprisingly well known.  People knew we were relatives, and on our last visit, my sister and I were asked repeatedly how our aunt was doing, and heard many stories of how very much she is loved.  Nearly everyone I met in that town who knew her, adored her.  She was so loving and giving, and until very recently made birthday cakes for LOTS of the people in town.  She taught Sunday School at one of the largest churches in town, and there are legions of former students who will never forget her caring and her teaching. 
All of us in the family will remember her with love for the many wonderful vacations we spent being overfed and spoiled by her.  I have a few recipes that she gave Mom over the years, and all of the congregation of the 11am service at St. Paul's Cathedral in Oklahoma City should call her blessed, because she gave me the recipe for Sausage Balls.  Nearly every time Matt and I did refreshments for the "After the 11" fellowship, I took Sausage Balls.  If I didn't, there were disappointed people who always looked forward to them.  So, all my fellow St. Paul's 11 o'clockers, please say a prayer of thanks for the life of Margaret Smyly, who helped teach me how to always bake with love.

On this day set aside in the church to remember those gone on before us, please think about those folks that you remember from the past, not just family, but friends, coworkers, teachers, anyone who made a difference, however small, in your life.  Remember them, say a prayer of thanks for their lives on this earth, and thereby know that they always dwell in the Land of the Remembered.

I leave you with the words to this hymn we sang today at a baptism.  It is a bit saccharine, but the last verse is so very true.  There are hundreds of thousands still today who do the right thing, the good thing, the difficult thing, the thing Jesus asked his followers to do.  They love their neighbor and show it in their actions.  Like my Aunt Margaret.  May we all do the things that will keep us in the Land of those Remembered with love.


I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
who toiled and fought and lived and died
for the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
and one was a shepherdess on the green:
They were all of them saints of God - and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.

They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
and his love made them strong;
and they followed the right for Jesus' sake,
the whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
and one was slain by a fierce wild beast:
And there's not any reason, no not the least,
why I shouldn't be one too.

They lived not only in ages past,
there are hundreds of thousands still,
the world is bright with the joyous saints
who love to do Jesus' will,
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,
for the saints of God are just folk like me,
and I mean to be one too.

Words by Lesbia Scott
From the Episcopal Hymnal 1982, # 293 

Reflections On Depression

First off, let me say that I have been very fortunate never to have really faced profound depression the way so many have.  I have been depressed, I have felt hopeless and overwhelmed, I have been close to that state of feeling that it will never, ever get better.  Something has always helped me hang on.  I have no answers for those who are consumed by that darkness, only that they should know there are lots of us out here who love them, who need them in our lives, and will help them, if we can only figure out how. 
I have lost friends and family members to depression.  It is an illness, just like cancer.  There are some treatments, but they don't work for everybody.  Just like with cancer, sometimes the disease wins.  Doesn't mean they gave up, doesn't mean that on many levels they didn't want to live.  It just means that the pain became too much, the darkness too dark, the battle too hard to fight anymore.  Their resources were all used up.

I have felt helpless when seeing others in dark despair.  I don't even know how I have gotten out of the dark places I have wandered in.  Not really.  I know that on some level, it never got so dark that I couldn't see and feel the light of Love reaching for me.  It got close to that dark a few times, but somehow, I always found the light to see the path out.  There are still times when I feel like I am not worth the space I take up in this world, that all I am is a pest and and a drain on others.  I feel overwhelmed by the things that I *SHOULD* be doing and feel I have no emotional strength to do.  It seems sometimes like it isn't WORTH trying to keep going.  The feeling that the big dark ugliness is right behind you, and just waiting for you to stop running is truly scary. 

The only explanation I can give for the fact that I have not fallen too deep into that darkness is that there is light in me.  (There is light in ALL of us, but sometimes, it gets really hard to see.)  There is a purpose worth living for.  There are people who love me, who need me in their lives.  And for me, there is my faith.  There is a God who loves me, who understands how hard it is sometimes to go on, but whose love reaches me in that dark place, dries my tears, takes my hand, and leads me back to the light.  I have no other explanation.  I hear the words to old hymns playing in my head, I see the faces of those who I KNOW love me, and hear their voices, and realize it would be horrible to be apart from them.  Even worse than the pain of trying to deal with my personal darkness.  I believe that is God's Spirit at work.  Reminding me that I have value even when I feel worthless, that there IS light in me, even when I cannot find it in myself. 

There is an old and rather sappy hymn that I hear at times like this. 
O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go
(words by George Matheson, 1842-1906)
O love that wilt not let me go
I rest my weary eyes on Thee
I give Thee back the life I owe
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

Those ocean depths bear me up, carry me safely to the shore, and help me stand again. 

Another verse is also one that I have heard when I seemed to need it:

O Joy, that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to Thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

I am pestered with this hymn, and others, and with scripture, and with the evidence of past experience, until I have the strength to try to keep going.  I am better at it some days than others, and it has been a LONG time since I have been in the dark enough to feel that I should not go on. 
My husband's love has a lot to do with that.  So do my friends. 
Depression, like any illness, can run in families.  My mother has suffered from bouts of it, and she always told me I was like my aunt, who died before I was born, who also had dark moods.  She always said I was moody and broody like Aunt Lorene, and I wrote poetry like my aunt.  As far as I know, my Aunt died as a result of a heart defect she was born with, and did not end her own life.  I think the poetry helps.  More than likely, the illness isn't as strongly present in me.  I know it took my cousin.  He tried to drug it away, drink it away, but he finally drank himself to death.  There have been others, and I don't know what demons inhabited their darkness, but I find myself wishing there had been a way I could have shared my light with them more effectively.  Could have pushed that door open and let the light in, just a little.

For those who suffer with this illness, I pray you are always able to find the light again.  I pray that you will be granted strength and light for the fight, that you will hear and see the love that truly is all around you.  And that you let the light in, let it banish the darkness, reach for it, and KEEP REACHING.  You ARE loved, you ARE needed.  You MATTER.  You are not in this fight alone, no matter what  you think.  Don't listen to the darkness of depression, it lies.  It tells you there is no hope, no light, no love, but there IS.  There IS light inside you.  Please, please ask for help when you need it. 
Those that have lost the fight are not lost forever.  I believe this.  The light that was in them, that they managed to share but not see in themselves, lives on.  Love lives on.  Always.  Love can never die. 
And I firmly believe that God, who IS Love, will not desert those souls so lost and in pain.  He will find them and grant them peace and comfort.  I know this.  I do. 
Doesn't make it any easier for those of us left behind, who can only remember the light our lost ones brought us, and try to keep reflecting it in our hearts forever in their honor. 
We must never forget them, or their struggles.  We must also try to find a way to share the light we have with others, a way to really hear and listen to what others say.  We're in this boat on this stormy sea together, folks.  In the end, all we have is each other.  

Staff Day Adventures

Our library system has a staff development day every year.  The last two years I have missed because I've been at my Mom's in Alabama, helping my sister do Mom's heavy yard work for the Fall. 
This year, our trip falls AFTER staff day, so I was in attendance today. 
Staff day is usually at least a little bit fun, because we get to see colleagues that work at other branches who maybe we worked with at our branch or on a committee before.  It's a good time to reconnect with your fellow strugglers against ignorance, your fellow crusaders in the cause of information availability.  It lets us know it isn't just us, we're ALL a little bit insane! :)
This year, I am glad I could go.  I was afraid though, that I would never make it in time to pick up my two coworkers who were car pooling with me.
Let me tell you a story.  Our little city of Moore, OK is bisected by the BNSF rail road tracks.  Only TWO streets, one on the South side of the city, and one on the North side, go under the tracks.  All three of the central main drags are blocked by the train.  Guess what happened before I could cross the stupid tracks this morning, when I was in a hurry?  Oh, yeah.  LOOONG, SLOOOW train.  I tried to beat it to 4th Street, no luck.  So I had to go all the way to SE 19th, and then across to Telephone and back up to SW 2nd to pick up my first friend, and then I had to drive all the way to Norman to pick up my second friend, and THEN drive to the other SIDE of Norman to get to the conference location.  (Which happened to be the USPS National Center for Employee Development, where Matt works.)  (They have a separate conference center which is REALLY nice.)  We managed to arrive in plenty of time, despite the best efforts of Big Nasty Stinking Freighttrain.  (Which is what we here locally call the Burlington Northern Santa Fe.)
Once we got there, things went pretty well.  I was tired, and some of the presenters made it hard to keep my focus, but most of it was pretty good. Lunch was really nice, because we had lunch tickets that gave us free reign in the food court.  Matt came and joined us for lunch, which was nice.  (He had to buy his, though.)  I behaved myself.  I had a salad. 
I hate these things because I have to spend so much of the day sitting.  I HATE to sit still for hours at a time.  I am WAY behind on my step count, so I now have to go and do my elliptical trainer time that I didn't have time for this morning. 
So, another staff day survived, no awards won in our department, but hey, we've all won them before.  (I got one at my second staff day.   I have been with the system for 14 years now.)
The only part of the day I could really have lived without was the whole system staff picture.  It was a totally disorganized zoo.  The individual branch pictures were more efficiently done.  I also hate being squished in the middle of a crowd like that.  Claustrophobia is my nemesis.  I don't like enclosed spaces, or being that close to so many people. Even people I like, and I really like my coworkers.  Our branch in particular is a crazy fun place to work.  The jokes are fast and furious in he circ work area some days. 
Won't be much fun for awhile because we are missing our Melodie.  Her laugh and her smile were precious to all of us.  Long ago, she introduced me to Sandra Boynton's kids music.  The songs are funny and catchy and won't drive adults nuts.  I used to cheer Melodie up some days when she was a little down by starting out the "Dinosaur Blues".  I'd sing "I got those dinosaur blues..." and she'd chime in with "From my hat to my shoes" , and smile at me. 
So, on this day when we all gathered to renew friendships and to learn, we paused a moment to remember Melodie and her kindness, her patience, and her loving nature.  We will always try to be more like her.

What A Year! And It's Only 3/4 Over!

I have been thinking a lot about all the things that have happened over the course of this year so far.
It's been a doozy for me already. 
The bad things:  Our cat died, my husband had to spend a week in the heart hospital, two tornadoes came through our little city, my nephew died, and just yesterday, a friend and coworker who had been battling cancer passed away. That's a lot to deal with in about nine months' time.
The good things: Matt and I have both changed our diet and our habits, and are both losing weight and getting healthier,  I have made some awesome new friends online, my niece welcomed a daughter, so now I have a tiny little grand-niece, our church has a new roof and consequently, better acoustics, my voice lessons are going really well, and I feel better about life than I have for awhile.

Lots of things are coming up, a trip for a weekend away with my hubby, a chance to meet someone I admire, a trip to my Mom's to help my sister do yard work, the library system's Staff Day, Red Ribbon Day here in Moore, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, all that fun stuff.
I just hope the rest of the year has more of the fun stuff and less of the sad stuff. 
I miss my cat, my friends lost their house in that tornado, I miss my nephew, and I will always miss Melodie.  A sweeter, more Christian person you would never meet.  Everybody loved her, and quite literally, the whole town will miss her.  Patrons ask about her, how she's been, since she became ill.  They will be heartbroken to know she is gone.  She fought for so long, and she fought so hard to hold on to life.  She made all of us appreciate life so much more.  She did everything with love, and I am very, very lucky to have known her, and to have her as one of the people who trained me at my job.
I only hope her calm, loving presence finds my nephew in that life beyond this, and that she lets him know how much we all love him and miss him.
I hope my crazy cat finds my nephew and gets in his lap and refuses to let him up, like she used to do us.  I hope my sweet dog Bear finds Melodie and loves on her for us.  Bear met Melodie a few times, and he was always up to love and be loved on by her.
I hope as life goes on at the library that we all live a little more by Melodie's example:  her calm, her patience, her smile.  She was a truly selfless person, always more concerned about others and their needs than her own.  
This world is a poorer place without her. 
There are so many potentially really good things on the horizon, I hope they turn out as well as they promise to.  This town (and I) could use some happy endings right about now.

This was Melodie on our Pirate Day at the library about four years ago.  We will always miss that smile!

Poems Again

Every now and then, I need to commit poetry.  You don't have to read it, but I have to write it.

Strength
C.K. Armistead 6/14/13
As the days wear on
And things are still broken
The wear and tear on
Some hearts still unspoken

Some try to be strong
They hold the grief at bay
But after so long
It needs the light of day.

What can I be, then
For them to rely on?
I find this one a pen
Give the other a shoulder
to cry on.

It's my privilege to be
In a place where I can provide
Small things for them to see
It's going to be all right.

Some days it has been hard
Not to cry with them
Over baby pictures found in the yard
Or the loss of a friend.

 So very difficult not to cry
With a little girl and her mother
She lost her library books at school
But she got out alive .

Or the older man who
Lost 45 years worth of memories
In one afternoon
But worried about his library books.

All I can do is help where I can
Make fines go away
Maybe hold their hand
And always, I find that I say
"But we are SO glad that YOU'RE still here."

As long as we're alive
There's hope.
It will take time.
But we are strong, we can cope.
We will rebuild our town,
And our hearts
Together.



The Broken Pieces

C.K. Armistead 6/14/13

Most of town
Looks just fine.
Where there was just debris,
It has been picked up
Windows are being washed
Damaged cars replaced.
There are still
Whole neighborhoods of grief.
Tumbled masses of what was left
Of several families' memories.
Those are beginning to be cleared as well
Trucks are moving constantly
All through town.
Taking the broken pieces
Away so we can be healed.
Still there is at least one room
I know of
Full of battered memories.
Boxes of them.
Faces I don't know
Look out from muddied
Photographs
Hoping to see
Their loved ones again.
Kind hands are coming
To clean the muddied faces
And put them online
So those loved ones
Can claim them.
There are also scars
Less visible to the eye.
Broken pieces of our hearts
That cause us to cry
For no visible reason.
Even if our own homes are whole,
Many of us lost
Places dear to us.
Homes of friends,
The pub,
Even the hospital we relied on.
Gone.
We hurt for our friends
And neighbors
Some moved away
At least until houses are rebuilt.
And I had the sad task
Of deleting the library record
Of a sweet man
Who died on May 20th.
One more broken piece
Jabbing at my heart.

Why Be Interested In Celebrities?

It is an interesting question.  We seem to have a cult of fame in this country.  Or is it really infamy?  So many of the celebrities who get the most media coverage seem to be the ones who reveal themselves to be all too human, and sometimes, downright awful.
(Self-destructive at the very least.)
Why give a rat's you know what about any of these people?
Well, I don't, really, about the ones who seem to be in the media constantly, except to pray and wish better things for the ones who seem so bent on destroying themselves.  The celebrities I follow are people whose work and talent I admire.  People whose work has touched me, made me want to do better with my own abilities.  Sometimes it was a role they played that was inspirational, sometimes just their perseverance in continuing a career successfully after a very defining role.  Sometimes it is their musical gifts, their writing skills, that I admire.
There are some who feel almost like family, I've admired them for so long.  (Mr. Shatner, you and Mr. Nimoy, and Mr. Takei are among that group.  Star Trek has been part of my life for most of my life, and the characters you gave voice and form to are very dear to my heart.  It hurt when we lost Mr. Doohan, and Mr. Kelley.  The universe is a MUCH sadder place without Majel Barrett.  She was a truly lovely person, and I had the great privilege of meeting her once. )

There are those whose accomplishments you admire, and who let you down.  Lance Armstrong is one such.  He didn't need to WIN the Tour de France to be impressive and inspirational.  Just FINISHING that race after beating the kind of cancer he fought back from is astounding.  It saddens me that he felt he HAD to win, and that he further endangered his health by resorting to doping.  And denying the cheating for so long didn't help.  One hopes that the experience will truly humble him,and make him examine his motives and perhaps alter his behavior.  One hopes.  But knowing human nature, one remains a bit skeptical.

Some performers and authors and musicians become so ingrained in our culture that we truly feel they are part of us, and losing them is truly a great national sadness. Andy Grifith, Ernest Borgnine, they were regularly seen faces and familiar voices throughout the childhoods of many people my age.  It felt like losing a favorite relative, albeit a distant one.  We also lost Sherman Helmsley, an actor whose comic timing and expressive face gave us the gift of laughter.

 Nora Ephron was a great loss.  She wrote and directed many movies that touched us.  Perhaps losing a writer/director should grieve us more than the loss of an actor.  After all, the vision and words of such as they give us the characters for the actors to bring to life.  They are the foundation upon which other artists work and sometimes build beautiful and very enduring things.

We have lost musicians that gave us the soundtrack for our youth this past year.  Robin Gibb, Donna Summer, Davey Jones, and of course, Dick Clark, (whom I suspect may indeed have been a distant relative of mine, given that the men in my immediate family do not show their age, either).  Dick Clark was one of those who helped the talented find the attention they needed to build their careers.  He was not just a familiar face and voice to us, he was one responsible for helping along many of those we listened to through our younger years. 

How difficult it must be to deal with fame.  People who don't know the first thing about you feel like they know you.  It would be frightening.  I admire those who keep their equilibrium and keep their private lives to themselves.  The ones that can do that and still be appreciative and gracious to their fans are especially successful in my book.  To do so with a sense of humor is an added bonus. 
William Shatner does this very well.  His Twitter presence is legendary.  Nobody works that particular social medium as well as he does.  I do believe he writes most of those tweets himself.  He does appreciate his fans. And his sense of humor is wicked. ( And yes, we will still follow you anywhere, Captain, with pleasure, Sir.)

I also greatly admire the acting ability of Ron Perlman.  He first came to my notice as the actor who portrayed Vincent in the 1980's version of Beauty and the Beast.  He made Vincent a person, not simply a character.  To make such a fantastical being seem so very real took great talent, especially since he didn't have most of his face to work with given the extent of the makeup.  Many other roles he has done have presented the same challenge.  It is a mark of his ability as an actor that those roles were successful for him.  Following him on Twitter, I find that he also has quite a wicked sense of humor, but does not interact as much with the fans as Mr. Shatner does.  (He probably doesn't have the time.  I suspect Mr. Shatner doesn't sleep much.) 

All this is by way of saying that those who achieve fame, to whatever degree, in this society are just human beings like the rest of us.  They are in most cases more talented than the rest of us, and so they share those gifts, but some are just outrageous people who seem bent on destroying themselves in public.  What does it say about us that so many of the self-destructive get so much more attention than the truly talented and constructive?  Many celebrities I follow on Twitter tweet things in support of charities that are dear to them.  They use their fame to a constructive purpose, to help others.  How many of the infamous can say they have done anything like that, except  serving as an example of what NOT to do...
Just my musings on the subject.  My 2 cents, if you will, and probably not worth that much.