June 11: Tattered Nerves, Blessings and Curses, Michael Mlekoday, "Home Remedies"

He [Ives] stood on the front steps of his building on a nice spring day, in checked Bermuda shorts and new tennis shoes, waiting for his wife and daughter, and for Ramirez and his family, so they might all go for a long drive and picnic upstate.  He fell asleep one night with the television on in the background, his tattered nerves soothed by Bing Crosby in the movie Going My Way, and he thought about his son as a priest.  He played bridge aboard a Circle Line boat, during an Advertising Club cruise, as it made its way down the Hudson under the George Washington Bridge, and won twenty dollars in petty bets.  He wept while watching Miracle on 34th Street. . .

Ives is trying to move on.  He takes trips with his family, watches movies on television, goes on boat cruises, and plays cards.  Yet, no matter how hard he tries to create a son-less life, his life keeps bringing his son back to him.  Bing Crosby reminds him of his son.  James Bond reminds him of his son.  The assassination of Robert Kennedy reminds him of his son.  Each blessing becomes a curse.

I had a stress test this morning.  Two hours of scans and treadmills.  I didn't go into cardiac arrest.  The cardiologist didn't come charging into the room, yelling, "Stop the test immediately!"  I showed up, did the test, and left, hungry and sweaty.  The nurse was kind.  The ultrasound tech was funny.  They were blessings this morning.  Now, I wait until I get a phone call from my doctor.

I'm not worried really.  I don't think there's anything wrong with my heart.  The chest pain I've been experiencing has subsided, ever since I started taking medicine for acid reflux.  Plus, my life has pretty much been a stress test recently.  My kitchen ceiling.  My roof.  My car.  My job.  Two funerals this week.

I'm really good with life's curses.  My philosophy has always been to be prepared for the worst.  If anything besides the worst happens, I count that a blessing.  For instance, my car is currently out of commission.  I have an appointment with the mechanic on Monday.  I'm preparing myself for some really bad news.  If the mechanic comes back with a four-hundred-dollar fix, I'll count that as a blessing.  Plus, my sister has loaned me her car for the past two days.  That's a great blessing.

Other blessings that have come my way:  the credit union will give me a loan to fix my roof; the insurance said it will fix my kitchen ceiling (I'm a little skeptical); and the weather has been dry (no water dripping into my kitchen in the last week).

I just watched a movie with my daughter called God Is Not Dead.  In the movie, one of the characters keeps saying, "God is good.  Always."  Curses can become blessings, with God's help.

Saint Marty needs to be reminded of that every once in a while.

Home Remedies

by:  Michael Mlekoday

Baba once cast a demon out of my brother.
She slapped him hard across the face
and left a glass of vodka
on the kitchen table overnight.
By morning, the glass was empty
and the rainclouds hung fat and fanged
over our block.  Whenever it stormed,
she tongued her dentures out of her mouth
and sucked them back in, staring
out the window, and crossed herself,
cursing under her breath in Polish.

She taught us the old curses and the blessings,
brought us to the cemetery to practice both.
I was always better with the curses.
The way they had to be dragged
from the body, the odor
of sea salt stuck to the breath,
how they kicked the heart
like the pop of a burnt-out bulb.

Amen.