August 27: Grasshopper, Transformation, School Clothes Shopping

A large gray-green grasshopper hit with a clack on my shirt, and stood on my shoulder, panting.  "Boo," I said, and it clattered off.  It landed on a grass head several yards away.  The grass bucked and sprang from the impact like a bronc, and the grasshopper rode it down.  When the movement ceased, I couldn't see the grasshopper.

This little passage is all part of a larger section of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek in which Dillard discusses grasshoppers and locusts and transformation.  Summer is coming to an end, and the landscape is changing.  The hot August days are giving way to the cool of September.  The world is transforming, like grasshoppers whipped into a locust frenzy.

Summer in the Upper Peninsula is winding down.  Next weekend, it's Labor Day, sort of the unofficial end of the summer season.  In the United States, it's one last time to go camping or travel or grill hamburgers and hot dogs before the festivities of autumn begin in earnest--school and Friday night football and, for me, teaching.  It really is a time of transformation.

My brother took my son on a fishing trip.  Picked him up yesterday and will return him on Sunday, much dirtier and happier.  This afternoon, I will be taking my daughter school clothes shopping, if I can get past the eye rolling and sighing.  She will complain because I am forcing her to alter her plans, which probably entailed squirreling herself away in her bedroom with her new phone.  However, eventually, she will enjoy herself.  Or I will drop her off at a homeless shelter.

I find this time of the year a little disorienting.  Half the people I know are still in summer mode, and the other half have already slipped into fall  mode.  We all have our feet in two seasons, not willing to let go of one, not willing to step into the other.  We are half-grasshopper and half-locust.

Me?  I think I'm coming down with a cold.  My throat is a little scratchy,  Hurts to swallow some things.  Of course, it could be allergies, as well.  I have never really suffered from seasonal allergies that much, but I have to admit that I'm getting older.  My body may be going through a little transformation of its own.  Or it might just be a coming-of-autumn cold.

Stay tuned.  Saint Marty may be growing wings and antenna.

December 12: Compassionate Power, Forgiveness, Catharine Savage Brosman, "The Beekeeper"

As his hair turned white, his features took on a compassionate power.  On some of those evenings, when people would get up and tearfully describe their tribulations, Mr. Ives would listen, his face reflecting the conviction of a man who may well have seen a Cross-of-light or an image of the Holy Mother in the sky.

Ives is transformed by his tragedy.  In his grief and anger, he turns inward.  He believes in forgiveness, wants to forgive the boy who killed Robert.  Yet, he struggles, and it is through this struggle that he is transformed.  Ives is a good man, and, when given choices, he always chooses love and compassion over hatred and disappointment.

This post is about forgiveness.  I am asking you to forgive me for not posting last night.  My daughter's friend who's a boy came into town last night, and I took them to a movie.  Then I cleaned my house a little when I got home because we're throwing a birthday party for my daughter tonight.  By the time I was done with all that, I just had enough energy to brush my teeth and stumble into bed.

This weekend, I am going to finish up my semester's grading.  Papers and finals and research projects.  So, I'm asking you to forgive me, in advance, for the possibility of missing another post or two in the next few days.

I have not had the opportunity to draw many cartoons recently, so I am relying on Gary Larson, among others, to provide the artwork for the next couple of days, as well.  Forgive me for that.  I will return to normal programming in a few days.

I am also working on forgiving myself, for getting behind in my grading.  For not being done with the semester by now.  For not having my house party-ready this morning.  For barely having any Christmas shopping or baking done . . . I could continue, but you get the idea.

Forgiveness is about love.  Loving the people in your life.  Loving yourself.  Loving God.  It is through this love that transformation takes place.  Love can be like a bee sting.  It hurts at the outset, but it is through this pain that flowers are pollinated and blossom.  Ives takes on the appearance of a mystic through his struggles with forgiveness and love.  I have no idea what love and forgiveness will do for me.

Maybe Saint Marty will be transformed into Saint George Clooney of the Cross.

The Beekeeper

by:  Catharine Savage Brosman

In linen, hat, and gauze
she tends the humming hives,
a vigil without pause
around the honeyed lives.

A sting from time to time
reminds her of the bite
of love, which is a mime,
and shimmers in the light,

but shoots a poisoned dart--
and how the sweetest care
--a jewel, a tender heart--
can turn into a snare.

And so she meditates,
mellifluous, refined,
on memories of fetes,
still golden in her mind;

and when the autumn brings
its chills and idle hours,
she sweeps up brittle wings
and lives on garnered flowers.

Rubes Christmas Cartoon

Rudolph struggled with forgiveness, too