June 23: Falling from Airplanes, Absence Yesterday, Blessings

I think that the dying pray at the last not "please," but "thank you," as a guest thanks his host at the door.  Falling from airplanes the people are crying thank you, thank you, all down the air; and the cold carriages draw up for them on the rocks.  Divinity is not playful.  The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest.  By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet . . .

A sort of comforting paragraph.  There is praise and gratitude.  However, there is also people hurtling through the air toward rocky ends.  God doesn't mess around, Dillard seems to be saying.  There's nothing casual about the universe.  It is mysterious, sacred, and nimble. 

Hi, I'm back.  Sorry for my absence yesterday.  I have been working on putting together the online class I'm teaching this summer, and last night I had some technical issues.  Actually, after five, frustrating hours, I was ready to take a sledgehammer to my laptop.  I was in no mood to try to be reflective.  I barely wanted to be around my family.

Today, I'm better, and I have a lot to be thankful for.  Good things.  First, yesterday morning I heard from my editor.  He loved my poems and is going to use them in the anthology that he's putting together.  That was blessing number one.

Second, I have found a new car to buy.  It is a Subaru Impreza.  Much smaller than my Ford Freestyle, but it has low mileage and will probably last for about ten years.  I drove it all last night and today, and I'm convinced that it will be a good choice.  And the price is right.  Blessing number two.

Finally, when I got home today, there was a letter waiting for me.  It was from the Dean of the College, congratulating me.  It seems that I have been awarded the promotion for which I applied.  Now, instead of Contingent Assistant Professor Saint Marty, I shall be called Contingent Professor Saint Marty.  It made me really happy, and it also means that I will be able to make more money in the fall when classes start.  Blessing number three.

However, as Dillard points out, as you are soaring through the air, saying "thank you," the rocks are quickly approaching.  My daughter just had a major meltdown in front of me, telling me how miserable she is.  She doesn't have anything to do, and I am one of the main causes of her misery.  Rocks, ahoy.

Blessings or not, Saint Marty always has his daughter to bring him back to reality.

July 1: Ferris Wheel, Quick Post, Prayer Update

"The most fun there is," retorted Fern, "is when the Ferris wheel stops and Henry and I are in the top car and Henry makes the car swing and we can see everything for miles and miles and miles."

Fern is a normal little girl, growing up, becoming a young lady.  Henry is now more interesting than Wilbur, and the biggest thrill of her life is the Ferris wheel.


This post is going to be quick.  My daughter is waiting to get her hands on my laptop.  My daughter is a normal little girl, growing up, becoming a moody teenager.  She knows how to throw a major meltdown if she doesn't get her way.

Tonight, I would like to give you an update on "Tara," the young woman I told you about last week.  I told you that she was having tests to determine if she had cancer.  Well, the tests came back positive.  Tara has thyroid cancer, and she is about to start her treatments, just before she's about to start her senior year of high school.

Please pray for Tara.  Pray for health and happiness.  She should be worrying about college admissions, not chemotherapy and surgeries.

Saint Marty is humbled by Tara, and she deserves all the hope and blessing in this world.

Amen, Padre.

September 10: Goddam Composition, Daughter's Paragraph, Weekly Prayer

Then when he was taking off his tie, he asked me if I'd written his goddam composition for him.  I told him it was over on his goddam bed...

Holden does his roommate's homework for him at the beginning of Catcher.  Despite the fact that he's flunked out of every school on the East Coast, Holden is a really intelligent kid.  He's just a little messed up at the moment.

My twelve-year-old daughter is currently having a major meltdown because she wants my help with a paragraph she has to write for her Language Arts class tomorrow.  In ten sentences, she has to analyze a passage of writing her teacher has provided.  My daughter will not let me read the passage, and she won't let me read the seven sentences she's already completed.  She's crying and frustrated, and I'm ready to put her out on the curb with a sign that reads, "Free to a good home."

I have one prayer this evening:

Dear God,

Please stop me from killing my daughter tonight.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

I feel your pain, Darth