July 9: Night Risings, Race, Fireworks

Night risings and fallings filled my mind, free excursions carried out invisibly while the air swung up and back and the starlight rained.  By day I had watched water striders dimple and jerk over the deep bankside water slowed by the dam.  But I knew that sometimes a breath or call stirs the colony, and new forms emerge with wings.  They cluster at night on the surface of their home waters and then take to the air in a rush.  Migrating, they sail over meadows, under trees, cruising, veering towards a steady gleam in a flurry of glistening wings:  "phantom ships in the air."

Dillard watches with night risings and falling with her characteristic curiosity.  In Tinker Creek, she watches bugs walking on the water, witnesses hatches of colonies of winged insects.  They swarm and boil on the pond's surface, and then they launch like fireworks over meadows and trees.

Tonight, I will be attending a fireworks display one town down from me.  The community gathers by the lake, and there's music and food and pony rides.  Some bad garage bands, sometimes.  Of course, there are vendors hawking pizza and bratwurst and ice cream.  And, at dusk, the rockets start rising.

It's the end of a week-long celebration called Pioneer Days.  This morning, I ran the annual two-mile race organized by the local chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters.  I was slow, slow, slow, but I still managed to take first place in my age group.  Then, there was the parade.  A huge assembly of trucks and floats and ambulances and firetrucks.  Lots of Tootsie Rolls being tossed at kids.

It's been a good day, and it will be a relaxing night, sitting on blankets by the beach with family a friends, waiting for the sun to set.  And then glistening wings of light in the sky, to steal an image from Dillard.

Saint Marty's feet are sore, but his heart is full.

January 30: "Life After Life," Book Club, To the Fair

A great book

I just finished up with my book club meeting tonight.  My guests have left.  The leftovers are in the fridge.  The dishes are done.  The house is back in order.  And now, I have two blog posts to type.  I'm pretty tired, so don't expect anything too deep or funny.

The novel we read this month was Kate Atkinson's Life After Life.  I didn't suggest the book.  However, it turned out to be one of my favorite reads of the last twelve months.  It's an enthralling story of birth, life, death, and then birth again.  Over and over, Ursula Todd lives her life, and, over and over, her life changes in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.  It's an amazing work of imagination and heart.

Most of the usual suspects showed up for tonight's book club, despite today's really crappy weather.  We ate, laughed, talked about the book, and ate some more.  We had a lively discussion about the choices we make, and how seemingly insignificant decisions can lead to life-altering events.  The main conceit of the book is summed up with this quote:

"What if we had a chance to do it again and again, until we finally get it right?  Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

I'm not sure I'd want to relive my life.  There are a few years that really sucked.  Of course, nobody's taking me out to the smokehouse to turn me into Christmas ham and bacon.  Wilbur only has one shot at surviving past Thanksgiving:

"Everybody in!" called Mr. Arable.  He started the motor.  The ladies climbed in beside him.  Mr. Zuckerman and Lurvy and Fern and Avery rode in the back, hanging onto the sideboards.  The truck began to move ahead.  The geese cheered.  The children answered their cheer, and away went everybody to the Fair.

If Wilbur had a choice, maybe he wouldn't go to the Fair.  He'd stay at home with his beloved manure pile,  eat his slops, and watch the seasons change.  I understand the little pig.  Change is not something Wilbur values.  He prefers all his days to be the same, sunrise to sunset.  So do I.

However, I know I have to step outside my comfort zone, accept new challenges.  This morning I submitted some poems to a contest.  That's really outside my comfort zone.  In fact, I almost talked myself out of it a few times.  But, I finally gave in.

I'm 99% sure I don't stand a chance of winning the poetry contest.  Maybe in one of the threads of my life out there, I do win first prize.  That would be $100 and the right to brag a little bit.  I think I could handle that.

And that's a piece of Saint Marty's mind, at least in this alternate universe.

July 14: Along the Road, Every Gate, Race, New Cartoon

They walked along the road; Scrooge recognizing every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river.

This description is about Scrooge walking into his past, a little road that leads to the schoolhouse of his youth.  Of course, Scrooge is very familiar with these surroundings, even though he hasn't thought about them for decades probably.

This morning, I ran in a Big Brothers Big Sisters Fun Run, an event in which I participate every year.  This year, the two-mile race followed the same route it has followed for the past five years.  Like Scrooge, I know every gate, and post, and tree.  That's not a bad thing.  I like knowing when I'm reaching the next turn or hill, when the railroad tracks are coming up, signalling the end of the race.  It was a good run today.

My eleven-year-old daughter ran the race.  She took first place in her age group.  I pushed my three-year-old son in a running stroller.  He took first place in his age group.  I, pushing that stroller and pacing my daughter, took second place in my age group.  Don't be too impressed.  There was only one other person in my age group.  But I got a medal.

Tonight, there's a fireworks show in the neighboring town.  It's usually the best fireworks of the summer.  Plus, I'll be able to get some kettle corn.  I love small town life.

Saint Marty may be slow, but he's still a winner.

Confessions of Saint Marty