November 29: "On Winter's Margin," Abundance and Starvation, Sunset

Mary Oliver is the prince of crumbs . . .

On Winter's Margin

by:  Mary Oliver

On winter's margin, see the small birds now

With half-forged memories come flocking home

To gardens famous for their charity.

The green globe's broken; vines like tangled veins

Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;

By time snow's down, the birds amassed will sing

Like children for their sire to walk abroad!

But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk

Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;

And what I dream of are the patient deer

Who stand on legs like reeds and drink the wind;--

They are what saves the world:  who choose to grow

Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.

Winter's margin--that is where I find myself right now.  Oliver, too.  For her, the admission price to walk through the entrance to the silent wood is a half loaf of bread to share with the birds amassed in the snow.  The birds sing for their feast while the solitary hawk circles above and deer lap up the currents of cold air.  Winter's margin is both abundance and starvation.

At this time of the rolling year, as Dickens would say, it's easy to focus on the darkness that is slowly chewing down the day.  The winter solstice is fast approaching, and soon light will be as precious and scarce as honeycomb.  For many, this squalor of winter brings on times of struggle.  Long days of exhaustion and hunger.

The holidays used to bring me only joy and light.  I would drive around, gawking at the neighborhoods festooned with glowing decorations.  On All Saints' Day, I would unpack my Christmas tree, put a little Bing Crosby or Perry Como on the turntable, and go to town.  By the time Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas! aired, I was in full Whoville mode.  

Nowadays, I'm a little more like Charlie Brownish, in need of a nickel therapy session.  I still love the trappings of the season, but, more and more, exhaustion is my dominant state of being in December.  During the height of the pandemic, with churches closed, retailors severely regulated, and holiday gatherings all but illegal, I actually felt the peace on Earth the angels sing about in the Biblical nativity narrative.  That December 25, at home with my kids and wife, was one of the best of my whole adult life.

As with most periods of peace, though, it didn't last long.  The next year, from Black Friday onward, the Christmas crush was in full swing.  Concerts.  Plays.  Church services.  Movies.  Sales.  Cookie exchanges.  It all came roaring back, as if we hadn't learned anything from the previous holiday season.  We went from simple as hay to harried as squirrels.

And the darkness and exhaustion returned for me.

On my way home this evening, I was feeling particularly spent.  This whole week has been a series of close encounters with individuals and groups frenzied with Christmas needs and wants.  Even though it was only Wednesday, and not even December yet, I was ready for a long winter's nap.  

And then the sky exploded with light.  Gold and orange fire burned the clouds.  I stood outside.  In wonder.  In awe.  It reminded me that the universe is always filled with beauty and peace.  That yuletide gifts are everywhere, and darkness never gets the final word.  Ever.

Saint Marty feasted on the abundance of winter's margin tonight.

October 18: Noise and Light, Hells Angels, Geode

The next thing that happened was a mind-boggling explosion of noise and light.

The Heart of Gold spaceship and its crew are under attack from the planet surface of Magrathea.  They are being pursued by missiles, and impact is imminent.  Everything and everyone are about to be blown into non-existence in a mind-boggling explosion of noise and light.  Arthur and company were not expecting to be annihilated by the citizens of the fabled planet.  Nothing in the ancient stories of Magrathea indicated that its inhabitants were aggressive in any way.  The Heart of Gold passengers, or at least Zaphod, trusted that the myth of the Magratheans--a race of aliens dedicated only to building custom-made planets for the ultra-wealthy--was completely true.

They should have known better.

This evening, I went to a presentation about fighting addictions at a local church.  The speaker, a pastor sporting a Mohawk, sleeves of tattoos on his arms, and a motorcycle vest covered in Christian versions of Hells Angels patches, paced and told stories about his meth addiction participation in satanic rituals and drug dealing.  And he talked about how God never gave up on him.  How God pursued him for over 30 years the way a shepherd pursues a lost sheep.  At the end of his talk, the pastor held up a rock and said, "We are all fearfully"--he turned the rock around to reveal its geode interior--"and wonderfully made."

It was an inspiring presentation, stirred my spirit in a way that it hasn't been stirred in a long time.  I left feeling good about my life, ready to rededicate myself to prayer and hope.  I had dinner with my wife and daughter, and it was good, too.  No cell phones at the table.  No prolonged, texting silences.  It was a normal, family dinner.

The end of the night has not been so great.  I discovered that something I trusted was happening wasn't happening.  Now, I'm just angry, feeling betrayed.  I thought that I could pay a bunch of bills this week, and I can't because of this broken trust.  Somehow, I'm going to have to get past these raw emotions and try to figure out how to pay these bills coming due, including several past-due notices.

I do believe that passage from Psalm 139.  I believe we are all fearfully and wonderfully made.  Every person can be a geode, full of inner, sparkling light.  Tonight, however, all I can see is the rocky skin.  The fearfully part.  It's not pretty.  It's hard.  Unforgiving.  Angry.  Selfish.  It's something that can be used as a weapon. 

I'm praying that I can find a beautiful geode to focus on this evening, or it's going to be a pretty sleepless night for me.  I am searching for that incandescent glow in myself and the people I love, and I'm not being all that successful.  As Charlie Brown says when he goes trick-or-treating, "I got a rock."

Saint Marty is getting a little tired of having his world rocked all the time.  He wants to be geode-ed every once in a while.

November 30: The Anchor Was Up, Friday, Brief Pauses

At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided.  It was a short, cold Christmas, and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armour . . . 

Friday.  Finally.  I am setting sail, like the Pequod, into the wintry ocean of the weekend.,

For some reason, this week has seemed long.  Really long.  It started with finishing my water essay.  It's ending tonight with a basketball game, dinner, and, maybe, some of my Christmas essay.  That's what I have tonight.  Not much.  I'm too tired.

I've been working out the ideas for my new essay all day long as I sat answering phones at the medical office.  It's the way that I've written for years.  Moments stolen during the day.  Perhaps that's why I write poems as opposed to novels or short stories.  I think it's easier to think poetically in these brief pauses in my days.  Images recorded on sticky notes and paper scraps.  Yes, I keep my journal close by, but I don't always have enough time in between phone calls to drag out it out and scribble.

At the basketball game this evening, I will be reading a biography of Charles Schulz.  That's part of my research for my Christmas essay.  I think.  I know I want to write about Charlie Brown.  Somehow.  Don't know what shape all this is going to take.  Yet.

Saint Marty is thankful this evening for time to write and read.

December 8: A Kind Heart, Charlie Brown, Catharine Savage Brosman, "The Skater," Off the Top of My Head

"He had a kind heart," she [Annie] said to one class in East Harlem.  "He believed that only a heartless society would leave its unfortunate poor to its sad fortune."

Annie is a substitute teacher.  At Christmas time, she regales her students with stories about Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol.  She talks about Dickens' dedication to the poor, how he wrote the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge to make British citizens aware of the desperation and poverty that existed in their midst.  Dickens believed that society had an obligation to take care of the sick, poor, destitute, and abandoned.  Everyone deserved to be taken care of.

This time of year, everybody is more aware of poverty and hunger.  I'm sure it has a lot to do with Christmas and its attendant goodwill.  Generosity is abundant around the holidays.  Food pantries are stocked full.  Salvation Army buckets sing with coins.  Even the biggest Scrooges begrudgingly open their wallets to help out the Tiny Tims of the world.

I am in a much better place, mentally, than I was last night.  Last night, my world seemed a little suffocating.  Too many bills.  Too many obligations.  Too many papers to grade.  And too little money or time to make any difference.  Tonight, I have gained a little perspective, and I have been blessed with the love and help of some of my loved ones.  I feel humbled and hopeful right now.

I think of Charlie Brown and Snoopy and Linus, skating on that pond while a children's choir sings "Christmas Time is Here."  I have been reminded that Christmas time is here, and it is a time of miracles.

Saint Marty wants to thank the miracle workers in his life this evening.

The Skater

by:  Catharine Savage Brosman

The lake is frozen white;
the trees stand cold and stark.
He skates alone tonight,
a shiver in the dark,

and traces on the ice
the figures of his thought,
composing his device,
infinity and naught--

the zero and the eight
both eloquent and mute,
their immaterial weight
from some celestial chute;

then, gazing at the place
where gods and heroes shine,
correlatives of space,
he cuts a cryptic sign,

the heaven may regard
his momentary flame,
the shadows shaped and starred
for crystalline acclaim.

Off the Top of My Head

May 11: Pictures, Charlie Brown, "Ives" Dip

My wife's church is putting together a new church directory.  That means that all the families in the congregation have to sign up to get their pictures taken.  As incentive, each family receives a free 8X10 of the picture that will appear in the new directory.

This evening, I had the dubious pleasure of sitting down with my wife and kids for our portrait session.  My kids looked great.  My wife looked beautiful.  I looked like Charlie Brown on prednisone.  My head was round and huge, and, because of my blue shirt, I looked like a cross between the blueberry Violet Beauregarde and a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon.

I have struggled with my weight for most of my life.  I've gone up and down in sizes more times than Oprah.  I'm not happy with myself right now, and I have to do something about it.  Tomorrow, I'm going to go to the gym right after I'm done with work.  I'm also going to try to curb my chocolate consumption.  Drink more water.  Eat more fruit.  Exercise daily.

At least, that's my plan tonight.  I may have to print out a picture of Charlie Brown and put it on the refrigerator, with the caption, "You're a fat man, Charlie Brown."

Which brings me to my Ives dip question:

Is the new Peanuts movie going to be any good?  (Bet you thought I was going to ask a question about losing weight.)

And the answer from the universe of Ives is:

...Then he would end up in the kitchen where his plate would be heaped with food, even if he had already eaten.

Hmmmm.  I have no idea what the sentence has to do with Charlie Brown and Snoopy.

Saint Marty is going to go to the kitchen and get a big bowl of Cheetos ice cream cone piece of pizza cup of water.

A selfie...

October 2: End of a Long Day, Ear Problem, Weekend

"Perhaps," she said wearily.  "But I feel like the end of a long day."  Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.

Yes, Charlotte is tired at the end of the book.  She has spent most of her life trying to save Wilbur's life, and now she is feeling her age.  Slowing down.  Getting tired.  Her sunset is just around the corner, and it still breaks my heart to read this passage.


I pretty much feel like the end of a long day right now, too.  My ear is sore.  In fact, the whole right side of my face is throbbing.  I'm thinking I have some kind of sinus infection, but my nose isn't running or stuffed up.  I made a doctor's appointment for tomorrow afternoon.  By tomorrow night, I will probably be on some serious antibiotics.  At least, that's what I hope.  I want to feel like the beginning of a long day, not the end.

Saint Marty's Day is just around the corner.  I want to be better by Sunday.  I've never missed a Saint Marty's Day celebration.  The traditional tapioca pudding.  Presents.  Festive bratwurst.  The Saint Marty's Day carols.  And, most of all, the Macy's Saint Marty's Day Parade.

Right now, however, Saint Marty's head feels like a parade balloon.  Charlie Brown or Dolly Parton.

Last year's parade

September 30: Charlie Brown, Stats, Counting Valentines

Well, on this last day of September, I just checked the viewing stats for Saint Marty, and I'm happy to report that my blog has a steadily increasing number of hits.  I don't know if this increase has anything to do with the content of my posts or if I'm just picking random labels which get me a lot of hits from Google.  It doesn't matter to me.  What counts is that I feel as though I'm popular with a lot of strangers.  Now I know how George Clooney feels.

Or Charlie Brown.  See, every morning I check my viewing stats from the previous day.  Then I check them again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I'm sort of like Charlie Brown going to his mailbox all the time to check for Christmas cards or valentines.  It's pathetic, I know.  However, seeing a day where my blog gets over 100 page views gives me a sense of accomplishment.  I'm Charlie Brown getting a valentine from the little red-haired girl.

Now if I could just get more people to sign up as followers, or send me actual comments, I'd be the happiest saint in the world.  I may even, eventually, be named a Blog of Note.  That would be like Charlie Brown being selected as homecoming king.  It's up to all my disciples out there.

Come on, make Saint Charlie Brown's dreams come true.

Dreams can come true!

August 7: Most Exciting Sunday Ever, "America's Got Talent," New Cartoon

Okay, today wasn't the most exciting Sunday ever, but I had to get your attention.  As Sundays go, today was pretty much par for the course.  Worship in the morning.  Lunch.  My son's nap.  Dinner at my parents' house.  However, if I had titled this post "Normal Sunday," I may not have passed the glance test.  (That's the test where my post pops up on your screen, and you look at it and think, "What's this lame crap?")

The most exciting thing I will be doing tonight is watching a rerun of America's Got Talent.  It's the episode I missed on Tuesday night.  I saw the results show, so I know which acts get kicked off, but I still want to see the performances.  I may even buy a bag of Combos to celebrate being on vacation this week.

I do have a new cartoon for today.  It was inspired by one of my favorite Christmas specials ever--A Charlie Brown Christmas.  I hope you enjoy it.

Saint Marty says, "Good grief!"

Confessions of Saint Marty