March 10, 11, 12: God Save the King, Anger, Coronavirus

Merton gets in an argument . . .

In the hotel at Lucerne, John Paul and I nearly came to blows (Bonnemaman being on John Paul's side) over the question as to whether the English had stolen the tune of God Save the King from My Country 'Tis of Thee or whether the Americans had cribbed My Country 'Tis of Thee from God Sae the King.  By this time, since I was on Father's British passport, I considered myself English.

This little passage from The Seven Storey Mountain simply proves two things to me: 1)  people get angry and argue over the stupidest things, and 2) anger only makes people do and say things that they later regret.  I am at a point in my life where I have no energy for either argument or anger.  I simply won't accept them any more.  (Or I will TRY not to accept them.)

Since my last post, much has happened in the world, including a declaration of a worldwide pandemic of the coronavirus by the World Health Organization and the shutting down of practically all the universities in the state of Michigan (and around the country).  Yes, that's right folks.  I am now, and at least for the next three weeks, an online, distance-learning professor.  There's no arguing about that.  It's just simply happening.

Another thing there's no arguing about:  the coronavirus is causing a kind of mass hysteria in the United States.  Companies are price-gouging hand sanitizer and toilet paper (of all things!).  There's not a roll of TP to be found at our local Walmart right now.  Ditto, bottles of Purell and the like.  Go on Amazon, and most TP brands are currently out-of-stock.  Ditto, Purell. 

First, the coronavirus has nothing to do with gastrointestinal issues.  It's a respiratory infection.  Kleenex should be the paper product that is out-of-stock.  Second, the fact that large corporations are taking advantage of people at a time of heightened fears is disgraceful, but not surprising.  Big business will always take advantage of customers, given the opportunity.  Cant's argue with that.

Now, don't get me wrong.  Coronavirus is not something to be taken lightly.  It's serious business.  It was right to cancel all the major sporting events--basketball (NBA and NCAA), baseball (MLB), hockey (NHL), and the like.  Right now, the powers-the-be are attempting to control the spread of the virus, and thus reduce the threat of an uncontrolled outbreak.  That's smart.  Can't argue with that. 

However, in the cardiology office where I work, I spoke to patients today who were cancelling life-saving procedures because of the threat of coronavirus.  That makes no sense.  Heart problems can sort of kill people a lot faster than the coronavirus.  It feels as though people think we're going to go through another Spanish flu epidemic of 1918, which infected 500 million people worldwide and killed an estimated 20 to 50 million people.  Let me point out something that people seem to be missing:  IT WAS IN 1918!!  Medicine has sort of made a few advancements since then.

So, there's a lot of hysterical people out there, frightened out of their minds.  Fact.  There's nothing that anybody can do to calm people's anxieties.  That will come with time.  Fact.  It's not the end of the world.  It's a badly handled health crisis that will, eventually, be controlled.

Here's Saint Marty's wisdom for now: 

1. Calm the fuck down.
2. Wash your hands.  A lot.
3. If you are sick, stay home.
4. If you are really sick, go to the doctor.
5. Don't get angry.
6. Don't accept anger from anyone.
7. Don't argue with stupid people (it only raises your blood pressure).
8. Don't be a stupid person.

February 24: Memories, Billy Collins, "Carry"

You know, memories have a way of creeping up on you.

The days after my sister died three years ago, I saw and heard her everywhere.  Walking across the parking lot at work.  In the evening, sitting on the couch, I would hear her voice.  On the anniversary of her death, I came across the holy card with her picture on it.

The same thing has been happening to me with my father.  I see my dad disappearing around the corner at Walmart.  I hear his gravelly whisper at night.  Just yesterday, I swear I saw him at Menards when I shopping for a bathroom vanity and sink.

I carry these people around with me everywhere.  Can't get away from them.

Saint Marty is thankful today for these moments when my dead are alive again.

Carry

by:  Billy Collins

I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a row boat on the far said of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.

Septmeber 1: Walmart, McNuggets, Maggie Nelson, "Why is the Sky Blue?"

"Why is the sky blue?"  --A fair enough question, and one I have learned the answer to several times.  Yet every time I try to explain it to someone or remember it to myself, it eludes me.  Now I like to remember the question alone, as it reminds me that my mind is essentially a sieve, that I am mortal.
                         ---from Bluets by Maggie Nelson

I stopped my Walmart tonight after work.  There was a beautiful, cloudless sky.  A kind of light blue that reminded me of the malted milk eggs I used to get in my Easter basket.  As I pulled into the parking, I noticed a man standing by the road, holding a sign that said something like, "Working my way west.  Need money."

I went into Walmart and bought my groceries.  Then, I stopped by the McDonald's in the store and bought some fries, chicken McNuggets, and a pop.  I carried my purchases out to my car, and then I took the food and walked over to the man.

He came over to me, slowly.  I held out the bag and pop to him.  "I don't have any money, but here," I said.

He took the bags.  "Thanks, man," he said.  He was younger than me, with long hair and beard.  Looked as if he hadn't slept for a long time.

"God bless," I said, and I turned and went back to my car.

As I was leaving the parking lot, I saw the man hunched down, eating the fries and drinking the pop.

I kept looking up at the sky on my home, thinking about how lucky I am.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for his life.

May 4: Out of the Woods, Spring Rituals, Owning Up

Coming out of the woods, I heard loud shots; they reverberated ominously in the damp air.  But when I walked up the road, I saw what it was, and the dread quality of the whole afternoon vanished at once.  It was a couple of garbage trucks, huge trash compacters humped like armadillos, and they were making their engines backfire to impress my neighbors' pretty daughters, high school girls who had just been let off the school bus.  The long-haired girls strayed into giggling clumps at the corner of the road; the garbage trucks sped away gloriously, as if they had been the Tarleton twins on thoroughbreds cantering away from the gates of Tara.  In the distance a white vapor was rising from the waters of Carvin's Cove and catching in trailing tufts in the mountain's sides.  I stood on my own porch, exhilarated, unwilling to go indoors.

It is springtime at Tinker Creek.  Dillard comes upon this little spectacle as she emerges from the forest after a hike.  Everything is greening up, becoming lush and fecund.  The sap is flowing.  The garbage guys are showing off for these teenage girls.  Sort of like a peacock spreading its feathers or a silverback gorilla pounding its chest.  It's a way to draw attention, display masculinity.  It's a spring thing, I think, built into male DNA.  And Dillard finds this spring ritual exhilarating.

I participated in a couple spring rituals this evening.  First, I went to my office at the university and cleaned up my desk from an entire academic year's worth of clutter.  Piles of papers and books.  Empty Diet Coke cans.  I indexed and filed my classroom materials into 3-ring binders.  And I threw out a lot of stuff.

Second, I went Mother's Day shopping with my daughter.  We had exactly one hour to make our purchases.  We went to Walmart.  We crossed the highway to Target.  Success.  Not only did we find cards and presents, but also found a really cool Star Wars shirt for my daughter.  And we got some popcorn, too.

Third, I made some amends this evening.  I sent an e-mail to a colleague/friend.  For most of the school year, I neglected to fulfill some promises I had made.  It has been weighing on my mind a lot.  So, tonight, I apologized to my friend.  I hope that my e-mail is received with the spirit in which it was sent:  sincerity and goodwill.  It is always good to own up to the mistakes you make, I think.  It's good for the soul.  Keeps you grounded and honest.

Spring rituals.  Some of them are cleansing; some, a little painful.  It's all about rebirth and growth.  Letting go and owning up.

Saint Marty did a little of all of that tonight.

By the way--Happy Star Wars Day!

December 17: Goodness and Piety, Course Evaluations, Annie Dillard, The Goodness of Laughter

God's most common form?  The goodness and piety of others.

These two sentences sort of sum up the entire message of Mr. Ives' Christmas.  In all of his soul-searching, Ives keeps coming back to this one fact:  everyone in the universe (priests, murderers, pastors, prostitutes, nuns, and Republicans) can be a reflection of God's goodness and piety.  There's a little Jesus (or Yahweh or Allah or Buddha) in all of us.

That's the upshot of my message tonight.  We are always surrounded by goodness.  I just read through my course evaluations for this past semester.  They were incredibly generous and positive, even though I don't think I was on my "A" game this semester as a teacher.  I was blessed by really kind and supportive students.

So, my suggestion for everyone tomorrow is to look for the goodness in people (I almost typed "Godness," but it's really the same thing).  You'll be surprised.  When you look for goodness, you will find it at home, work, Walmart, the post office, or DMV.  Everywhere you turn.

I know I've been a little down in my last few posts.  This evening, on my way home, I stopped by the cemetery to visit my sister's grave.  I stood by her stone for a few minutes and talked to her, told her how much I missed her and how much my kids missed her.  As I walked back to my car, a soft snow began to fall.  It was cold and beautiful.  Full of peace.  I felt blessed.

Saint Marty has a lot to be thankful for this Christmas.  He just needs to remind himself that he's surrounded by goodness and angels every moment of his life.

from Teaching a Stone to Talk

by:  Annie Dillard

There are angels in those fields, and, I presume, in all fields, and everywhere else.  I would go to the lions for this conviction, to witness this fact.  What all this means about perception, or language, or angels, or my own sanity, I have no idea.

The Goodness of Laughter...

December 17: Christmas Dough, Christmas Concert, Christmas Prayer

"Just my Christmas dough.  For presents and all.  I haven't done any shopping at all yet."

That's Holden's sister, Phoebe, talking.  Holden has run out of spending money, and Phoebe is trying to give him her Christmas money.  She hasn't done any of her holiday shopping.  She only has eight dollars and eighty-five cents.

Funny thing, Phoebe has about as much money as I do this year to spend on Christmas.  I started my shopping this evening on Amazon.  I'm not a big fan of huge retailers, and I think Amazon is killing the independent booksellers.  However, when you're strapped for cash, you can't really beat Amazon and Walmart.  There's reasons why everything they sell is so cheap.  First, they don't pay their employees living wages.  Second, all their merchandise is made by seven-year-olds in sweatshops in China and Guam.  And, third, they're run by soulless millionaire and billionaire Republicans.

I started my Christmas shopping finally this evening.  I couldn't avoid it any longer.  My sister lives in Utah, so I have to plan a little ahead for her kids.  She has four boys and two girls.  Many years ago, I instituted the rule of buying only books for my nieces and nephews.  I got a little tired of the endless lists of gadgets and games and phones and computers and laptops.  Everyone knows now that Uncle Marty gives the written word for Christmas.

I went to my daughter's Christmas band concert tonight.  But it's not called a Christmas concert.  It's called a "Winter" concert, which is a load of crap.  Any concert in which I hear three different versions of  "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" is a Christmas concert.  And the music filled me with the Christmas spirit enough to make me click onto Amazon when I got home.

Dear God,

I know that money and expensive presents aren't the reason for Christmas.  I know about sacrifice and humility and charity.  I know about giving unto the least of my brothers and sisters.  I learned all that stuff in religion class when I was a kid.

But there's so much that I can't do this year.  So much that I simply don't have the energy and spirit for.   I'm not dreaming of a white Christmas.  I'm not decking any halls.  I'm not singing with any choirs of angels.

And that's what I'm praying for tonight.  It's a Christmas prayer.  I want to experience a little joy this holiday season.  I'm not asking for a full-blown George Bailey moment.  I'll be satisfied with something simple, small.

A phone call from a friend.  A beautiful song on the radio.  A new job.  A multimillion-dollar lottery jackpot.

I'm not asking for much.

Your faithful servant,

Saint Marty

I don't really miss this...