November 21: Italian Cold Cuts, Happy Chaos, Issa, Two Haiku, Confessions of Saint Marty

Earlier in the day Ives had walked over from the office to Ninth Avenue during lunchtime, to buy boxes of Italian cold cuts and pastries, and these were set out on a table as a buffet...

To prepare for his annual Christmas tree decorating party, Ives buys food.  A lot of food.  Ham and salami and pastrami and cannolis.  Family and friends gather in his apartment, listen to Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney on the record player, and the kids decorate the tree with ornaments and fire-hazard lights that bubble and blink.  It's happy chaos.

I think that's the best way to describe holiday family gatherings.  Happy chaos.  This coming week is going to be filled with that kind of craziness.  On Monday or Tuesday, I'll bake my pecan pies.  My wife will throw together her double-layer cream cheese pumpkin pies.  On Thursday, pies in hand, we will attend two turkey dinners--one in the early afternoon, one in the evening.  There will be joking and tension, laughter and resentments.  That's family.

And I am thankful for this happy chaos.  Everyday life is too crammed with worry and stress.  It seems, some days, that I just move from crisis to crisis.  At night, when I climb into bed with my wife, I'm just happy that I've survived without landing in the hospital or worse. 

I used to thrive on the hectic quality of my life--two jobs, church organist duties, the publish or perish mentality of the university.  Now, I find it a little exhausting.  Given the choice between a quiet night at home watching the Food Network and performing in a Christmas concert, I would probably end up on my couch with a bag of chips.  Peace over turmoil.

I know this coming holiday week will not be without it share of drama.  But it's a different, more relaxed kind of drama.  Certainly, this first Thanksgiving since my sister's death will not be easy.  However, there will be the happy chaos of children and family, crowded into the kitchen, fighting over hot dinner rolls and mashed potatoes.  A blessing of busyness to combat sadness.

Saint Marty will be in the kitchen, knocking people out of the way to get his share of turkey skin.

Two Haiku

by:  Issa

     Windy fall--
these are the scarlet flowers
     she liked to pick.


     The pheasant cries
as if it just noticed
     the mountains.

Confessions of Saint Marty

November 20: Company Luncheon, Long Winter's Nap, Buson, Two Haiku, Off the Top of My Head

The next day, Ives was in the office by eight-forty-five, the last business meeting of the year before the Christmas holidays, with various art directors and executives, scheduled for half past nine.  Afterward there would be a company luncheon, and the office would close for a pleasantly long weekend at three, and the parties, held here and there at different agencies and suppliers would begin...

It is a few days before Christmas.  Ives has just hosted his annual tree-decorating party the night before, friends and family coming to the Ives' apartment, listening to records, eating lots of food, drinking lots of wine.  Now, on the last business day before December 24, Ives and his coworkers are going through the motions.  Having meetings.  Wrapping up last-minute projects.  Maybe writing a memo or two.  Nothing really important is accomplished, though.  The holidays have taken over.

I love the last day of work before Thanksgiving or Christmas.  Usually, there is little to do.  There is talk of Christmas shopping or pie making.  Sometimes, silliness ensues.  Snowflake-making contests.  Spontaneous caroling or turkey gobbling.  And then there's the baked goods in the break room.  Petty arguments are forgotten, and goodwill reigns, for a little while anyway.

It is Friday night.  Thanksgiving break for the university has commenced.  Over the next week, I have grading to do, books to read, a holiday essay to write .  But it's Friday, and here I sit, typing this blog post, listening to Christmas music.  For the first time in a long while, I am relaxed.  I don't really have to do anything tonight.  The world will not come to an end if I choose to crawl into bed right now and take a long winter's nap.

I am very thankful for this moment of peace, however fleeting it may be.  A respite is a respite, whether it's Johnny Mathis crooning "Winter Wonderland," Jimmy Fallon writing thank you notes, or Robert Hass translating seventeen-syllable Japanese poems.

Once upon a time, a wizard named  Bob decided to take a night off.  He popped some popcorn, rented a couple Harry Potter DVDs, and hung a sign on the door to his cottage that read "Visitors Unwelcome."

Half-way through Chamber of Secrets, somebody knocked on Bob's door.  Bob paused his movie and yelled, "Go away, or I'll turn you into a toad!"

After a few moments, there came another knock.

Bob took out his wand.  "I'm warning you," he yelled.  "If you knock again, I will turn you into an amphibian."

Another knock.

Bob stood up, jabbed his wand at his front door, and shouted, "Eat ribbit!"  A shower of sparks filled the room.

When the smoke cleared, Bob stormed to the door and threw it open.

On his front step were two pizzas from Pizza Hut and a toad.

"Oh,"  Bob said.  "Did you remember the breadsticks?"

Moral of the story:  don't expect a tip from a pissed-off wizard.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

Two Haiku

by:  Buson

     The old man
cutting barley--
     bent like a sickle.


     A tethered horse,
snow
     in both stirrups.

Off the Top of My Head

November 19: Hours of Service, Operation Christmas Child, Basho, Two Haiku, Off the Top of My Head

During the next several months Ives sent the center several large boxes of art supplies and paper from the office, and every so often on a Sunday afternoon he would go up to run a workshop for the kids, work that Ives much enjoyed, as it got him outside of himself.  He did this, either alone or with his daughter or Annie, on and off, for five years, and with a few hours of service, found an agreeable way of passing his time.

One of the ways that Ives fills his time after the death of his son is volunteering at a community center for inner city youths.  He donates his time and talents, and, for a few hours, his spirits lift.  By thinking of the needs of other children, Ives is able to find some happiness and peace.

This evening, I took my kids to a local dollar store to shop for a charity named Operation Christmas Child.  My son and daughter filled two shoe boxes with gifts for impoverished children in places like Eastern Europe and Africa.  We had a really good time.  My son ran up and down the store aisles, finding notebooks and plush toys.  My daughter, a little more methodical, went from section to section, filling her box with things like toothbrushes and a baby doll.  When we got to the cash register, my son proudly placed his box on the counter and said to the cashier, "I'm sending Christmas to a little boy who doesn't have Christmas."

I have to admit that I wasn't thrilled with the idea of spending an hour at the dollar store shopping this evening.  My wife was supposed to accompany us, but she got called in to work.  Operation Christmas Child has always been my wife's holiday tradition with our kids.  Tonight, it became my duty by default.  As we left the store tonight, I felt really blessed.  Yes, my wife and I are struggling financially right now, but, compared to the people who will be receiving our shoe boxes, we are well off.  Wealthy even.

So I am thankful for Operation Christmas Child.  For the generous hearts of my son and daughter.  For my wife forcing me to take my kids shopping.  For the money to fill those shoe boxes.

Saint Marty had a real Christmas moment tonight.

Two Haiku

by:  Basho

     Felling a tree
and seeing the cut end--
     tonight's moon.


     The crane's legs
have gotten shorter
     in the spring rain.

Off the Top of My Head

November 18: Why Me, Darkness and Light, Two Haiku, Buson, Off the Top of My Head

But for all that, there hummed through his body a sorrow and loneliness that took him back to his son's death.  The very thought made him dig into his own skin, deep scratches further enflaming his condition of old:  cutting himself and bloody and restless turning all night, an impossible itchiness--"un picazon" he told Ramirez--hives ravaging his knee and arm joints, bumps formed under his arms.  He knew it was really bad when welts rose on his back and blotches appeared floating like large measle dots on his face, a depressing state, because he felt like a leper, not wanting to touch or be touched, and he would twist and turn and ask, "Why me?" and "Why is it going on and on?"

For decades, Ives tortures himself like this.  He can't let go of his sadness and grief.  If he tries to be happy, he feels guilty, and the guilt manifests as scratches and oozing sores on his body.  Every day is a punishment for Ives.  At night, one question swoops through the air above him like a fruit bat--"Why?"  Ives wants to understand the reason behind his son's death and his own unending sorrow.

I have been in a quiet state of sorrow myself for the past three months.  I try not to let it overwhelm me.  It's difficult some days.  Driving to work in the morning this past week, I've been listening to a radio station that has been playing just Christmas music.  Bing Crosby.  The Carpenters.  Johnny Mathis.  Every morning, I've cried.  I'm not sure if it's the early hour, the music, or my tired state of mind.  By the time I get to the medical office, I'm a mess. I have to sit in my car for a few minutes just to pull myself together.

I don't think I'm as bad as Ives.  I don't brood or avoid happy occasions, and I haven't stopped participating in any of my normal activities.  In fact, I'm currently planning a Christmas concert to benefit a local homeless shelter.  I am able to function.  Yet, sometimes, when I'm alone, there's a sadness that descends upon me.  It's palpable, like putting on a wet bathing suit.

I know that grief is a process.  I simply can't wake up one morning and say, "Okay, I'm done with being sad.  Time to move on."  It just doesn't work that way.  And I'm getting better.  There are whole days where I don't experience that clinging sadness.  I am very thankful for days like that.  Other days are more challenging.  And I am thankful for days like that, too, because they remind me to cherish my blessings--my family, home, jobs.

You can't have light without darkness.  That's just the way the universe works.  The darkness defines the light.  Therefore, Saint Marty is thankful for the darkness.

Two Haiku

by:  Buson

     Calligraphy of geese
against the sky--
     the moon seals it.


     It cried three times,
the deer,
     then silence.

Off the Top of My Head