November 3: Wandered About Moodily, Poem, "All Souls' Day"

On the surface of Magrathea, Arthur wandered about moodily.

Sorry that yesterday's post was sort of like me wandering about moodily on the surface of a distant planet.  The loss of my high school friend sort of shook me a little bit.  I knew that he was seriously ill, but, like most people, I let life get in the way of something very important, namely visiting him.  Now, I have to live with that regret for the rest of my life.

Today, I wrote a poem for my friend.  I often find that, when I'm struggling with some difficult emotions, writing about it helps.  As I was working on the poem below, I found myself feeling much closer to him, remembering moments that had long been out of my head.  It helped me, and I hope it honored him.

Now, I have to prepare for meeting with my book club group to discuss Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House.  I've made some crescent weenies, or, as a friend calls them, swines in a swaddle.  The book club guide is printed and ready to go.  Soon, I will be surrounded by people whom I truly love.  

I am suck a lucky man.  I know this.

Saint Marty just needs to be reminded every once in a while.

All Souls’ Day

by:  Martin Achatz

for Tim, November 2, 2019

My old friend, gone today,
on the morning of All Souls’,
when we light candles,
toll bells, call out names,
like parents shout for kids
at dusk, remind them
about the boiled beef that waits.
Those kids drag themselves back,
sit at tables, before their plates,
prod with forks, strip away
residue of carrot, potato, cabbage,
until all that remains is meat,
sleeved in gravy, muscular,
shining, and brown, looking
as if it is just resting
for a few moments before
it rises, returns to green fields
of grass, alfalfa, troughs
overflowing with water
so cold it steams in evening
light. I will say your name
one last time, old friend, on this day
of saying names, Don’t look back
when you hear me call. I know
time is short, and the leaves
flame beneath your kicking feet.
Run. Be free. The neighborhood is full
of other kids, singing Kyrie eleison,
down the road that I must travel
in the last moments before dinner,
when the back doors will open,
and you will all be called home.

November 2: Getting You Down, My High School Friend, "All Souls' Day"

"I'm not getting you down at all, am I?" he[Marvin] said pathetically.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really. . . ."

"I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down."

"No don't worry about that," the lilt continued, "you just act as comes naturally and everything will be just fine."

"You're sure you don't mind?" probed Marvin.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . . just part of life."

Marvin flashed her an electronic look.

"Life," said Marvin, "don't talk to me about life."

He turned hopelessly on his heel and lugged himself out of the cabin.  With a satisfied hum and click the door closed behind him.

"I don't think I can stand that robot much longer, Zaphod," growled Trillian.

This is the passage my finger landed on today.  Marvin, the chronically depressed robot, is one of my favorite characters in Hitchhiker's.  Probably because he sort of reminds me of myself, raised to the power of 1,000.  People who don't know me that well have a hard time believing that I have a Marvin side.  I do.  I just keep it under wraps most of the time.

Some days, it's hard to fight off Marvin.  Last night was one of those nights.  I won't go into the reasons, but I went to bed feeling pretty lousy about myself and my life.  Thank goodness I woke up in a better mood.  The sun was shining, and I could hear a neighbor leaf blowing outside.  And I had a lot to accomplish, including grocery shopping, playing the pipe organ for Mass in the afternoon, and cleaning my house tonight.  Plus, my book club meets tomorrow evening, so I have to prepare for that, as well.  If I survive doing all of that, I will go to sleep feeling better about the universe than I did last night.

I am trying to prepare myself for the upcoming holidays.  Arranging some surprises for my kids.  But I am struggling a little bit with my Christmas spirit at the moment.  (Those of you who really know me personally are probably picking yourselves up off the floor about now.  I am a Christmas nut.  I listen to Christmas music all year long.  Every 25th of every month, I do something to prepare for the holiday, so I'm not overwhelmed come December.  My Christmas cards have been filled out since February.  I watch Christmas movies all year long.  My favorite podcasts are Christmas-themed.)  Usually, I put my Christmas decorations up the weekend after Halloween.  Not this time.

For those of you who read last night's post about my high school friend, I received news that he passed away this morning.  All Souls' Day.  Never got a chance to visit him.  I pushed off the plans to see him until tomorrow afternoon.  I've been struggling with that fact for most of today.  It's had me reevaluating my priorities a little.  Thinking about what is really important.

My high school friend wanted to see me.  He asked for me.  I didn't go see him, and now it's too late.  Life doesn't offer too many second chances, and there isn't any second chance this time for me.  Or him.  I blew it.  Now, all I have left is a bellyful of regret and some distant memories of a friend who was born on the same day as I was.  A friend who really struggled in his life with a lot of things.  Again, it's not my place to talk about the details of his life.

So, tonight, I lift up my friend, Tim, to all of you.  Veteran.  Loving father.  Devoted friend.  As they say in my church, eternal rest grant unto him, Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon him.  May he rest in peace.  May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.  Amen.

Saint Marty lit a candle for his friend after Mass tonight.  It was the very, very least Saint Marty could do.

All Souls' Day

by:  Frances Bellerby

Let's go our old way
by the stream, and kick the leaves
as we always did, to make
the rhythm of breaking waves.

This day draws no breath--
shows no colour anywhere
except for the leaves--in their death
brilliant as never before.

Yellow of Brimstone Butterfly,
brown of Oak Eggar Moth--
you'd say.  And I'd be wondering why
a summer never seems lost

if two have been together
witnessing the variousness of light,
and the same two in lustreless November
enter the year's night . . .

The slow-worm stream--how still!
Above that spider's unguarded door,
look--dull pearls . . . Time's full,
brimming, can hold no more.

Next moment (we well know,
my darling, you and I)
what the small day cannot hold
must spill into eternity.

So perhaps we should move cat-soft
meanwhile, and leave everything unsaid,
until no shadow of risk can be left
of disturbing the scatheless dead.

Ah, but you were always leaf-light.
And you so seldom talk
as we go.  but there at my side
through the bright leaves you walk.

And yet--touch my hand
that I may be quite without fear,
for it seems as if a mist descends,
and the leaves where you walk do not stir.

October 29: Eternal Afterlife, Cremation Stone, Edgar Allan Poe, "The Sleeper," Off the Top of My Head

Lost in a kind of delirium and frightened by the prospect of an eternal afterlife in such a world, Ives would begin to doze, and finally sleep, or nearly so, soon let out a shout, waking everyone in the apartment.

After his mystical vision, Ives spends a great deal of time thinking about life after death.  Even though he is a devout Catholic, brought up to believe in Heaven and angels and salvation, Ives is uneasy about the afterlife.  His vision of colored winds and spinning suns simply confuses him even further, since it doesn't fit into the Christian paradigm of eternity.  Ives simply doesn't know what to think.

It has been a little over two months since my sister died.  My family has been waiting this whole time for her interment.  We haven't done it yet because we ordered a cremation stone.  My sister never wanted to be buried, so, instead, her cremains are going to be placed in a sculpted boulder.  It's a beautiful object, but it takes a long time to be delivered and placed.

The goal was to have the interment by about mid-October, before the snow started flying.  It is now two days away from Halloween.  No snow yet.  No stone yet.  I feel as though during these last couple of months we've all been in a kind of limbo, waiting for the final step in letting go of my sister's physical being.  When it does happen, which will be soon (I hope), it will be like tearing the scab off of a wound that's sort of healing.

This afternoon, on my way home from work, I drove by the cemetery where my sister will be laid to rest.  I stared down the road, at the place where her cremation stone will be placed.  For just a moment, I thought I saw my sister standing there.  It was a vision that came and went so fast that I'm not sure I actually saw anything at all.  However, it just reminded me of what remains unfinished.

Forgive my lachrymose mood.  I think it's the time of year.  The cold setting in.  All Souls' Day approaching.  Winter on the doorstep.

Saint Marty needs some kind of closure.  He's having a hard time moving forward.

The Sleeper

by:  Edgar Allan Poe

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

Off the Top of My Head

October 22: All Souls' Day, the Hindenburg, Mary Oliver, "Three Things to Remember"

"Well," her son said cheerfully, "I'm going up to the Cloisters in a little bit to check out the choir.  They've got something going on with All Souls' Day, would you like to come with me?"

All Souls' Day is the day after All Saints' Day, which follows All Hallow's Eve. So, in translation, All Souls' Day is November 2; All Saints' Day, November 1; and All Hallow's Eve, October 31.  All Souls' Day celebrates family members who have died in the last year.  Robert, himself, will soon join the ranks of the lost souls.

This evening, I gave a poetry reading at my local library.  I billed it as a celebration of Halloween.  There was poetry and music (provided by a good friend).  I told ghost stories and read Emily Dickinson. We sang a little Paul Simon and Jim Morrison.  I think it was a good event.

I had spent many hours picking out poems.  Attended two music practices.  Spent a couple hours doing research.  Hung up posters.  Sent a mass e-mail to every member of the university's English Department.  I did everything I could to insure success.

If success is measured in attendance, then I just gave the Hindenburg of poetry readings.  However, if success is measured in audience engagement, then I am Robert Frost reincarnated.  The people who showed up were truly enthusiastic and wonderful.  That's what I'm going to remember about the reading.

Plus, I may have booked another reading for the Christmas season--a release party for the Christmas CDs I recorded last year with my band.  I suggested doing it as a fundraiser for a local charity and donating a percentage of the proceeds to the charity.  The librarian who organizes the reading series seemed very interested in the idea.

So, I'm building bridges, doing a little poetic song and dance.  Hopefully, making a little extra cash, as well.

Saint Marty is playing the game, making up the rules as he goes.

Three Things to Remember

by:  Mary Oliver

As long as you're dancing, you can
     break the rules.
Sometimes breaking the rules is just
    extending the rules.

Sometimes there are no rules.

Oh, the humanity!  Oh, the poetry!

November 2: A Run, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

I went for a run this afternoon, testing to see what kind of shape I'm going to be in for Thanksgiving morning's Turkey Trot.  I went two miles, and it nearly killed me.  Losing those three months of summer training really messed things up.  The injury has pretty much mended.  However, my body doesn't really like running at the moment.  Now, the question is whether I register for the two mile Turkey Trot or the 10K.

There's still snow on the ground, but the temperature has climbed into the 40-degree range.  There's slush and puddles.  A few patches of ice.  Some piles of white stuff.  By Wednesday, I'm sure we'll be back to typical November weather.  Cold.  Crisp.  Gray with occasional bursts of sunlight.  And, every once in a while, rain mixed with thicker, whiter rain. 

Today is All Souls' Day.  The Day of the Dead in Mexico.  A time to celebrate loved ones who are no longer with us.  I've been thinking a lot about my brother who passed away in May.  This time of year was his favorite.  He loved the Thanksgiving holidays.  Turkey.  Pumpkin pie with Cool Whip.  I'm not particularly sad.  It's more complicated than that.  It feels like he's on a long trip and soon he'll phone me with one of his terrible jokes.

The episode of Classic Saint Marty is from an All Souls' Day three years ago.  Not surprisingly, it's about loss and life, as well.



November 2, 2011:  Day of the Dead, All Souls' Day

Today is the Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) in Mexico and other Latin American countries.  On the Christian calendar, it's All Souls' Day.  In Mexico, people dress up as skeletons, eat skulls made out of sugar, hold skeleton parades, and visit cemeteries to leave goodies (candy, tequila, whatever) at the graves of the dearly departed.  All Souls' Day isn't quite as much fun.  No costumes.  No All Souls' Day chocolate souls.  No parades.  Just a church service where the people who died during the year are named, remembered, and prayed for.

Granted, the Day of the Dead sounds a little more colorful because of its pagan roots.  However, both versions of this day honor the memories of people who have gone to their eternal reward (or otherwise, if you get my meaning).  I find a day dedicated to honoring the dead very sacred, even if you are dancing around in a Jack Skellington costume.

Get me to a cemetery!

This past year, I've lost a few people from my life.  Most closely, I recently lost an aunt and an uncle.  However, throughout the year, many members of my church family have also passed.  And, at the university, I had two of my students die unexpectedly during the course of two semesters.  As I sit here, typing this post, I'm thinking about these individuals, calling up their faces in my mind, recalling the last time I saw or spoke with them, and saying a prayer for each.  I pray that they have found happiness and peace.  I pray that they left this world with no regrets.  I pray that God gave them a room with a view of the swimming pool.

Perhaps I'll have a drink to honor them tonight, as well.  I'm not a big fan of tequila, but a little spiked hot chocolate will do in a pinch.  Then I'll dig into my kids' Halloween candy and try to find something that approximates a sugar skull.  A Gummi eyeball?  A white jawbreaker?  I could carve a giant Tootsie Roll into the shape of a bone, I think.

All kidding aside, however or whatever you celebrate, the Day of the Dead or All Souls' Day, today you should remember what a gift life is.  Every morning you are able to get out of bed, brush your teeth, hug your significant other, and embarrass your children is a huge gift.  That's the great lesson of this holiday.  In the burial rite in the Book of Common Prayer, there is a line that reads, "In the midst of life, we are in death."

On this day that celebrates the dead, Saint Marty reaches out and gives thanks for the living.

I prefer my skulls to be almond-flavored

Confessions of Saint Marty