The retired headmaster of Durston House Preparatory School for Boys, on Castlebar Road, looked like almost all of the great, tearful, solemn war-lords of Victorian society. He was a stoop-shouldered man with a huge, white waterfall moustache, a pince-nez, ill-fitting tweeds. He walked slowly and with a limp, because of his infirmities, and required much attention from everybody, especially Aunt Maud. When he spoke, although he spoke quietly and distinctly, you knew he had a booming voice if he wanted to use it, and sometimes when he had a particularly dramatic statement to make, his eyes would widen, and he would stare you in the face, and shake his finger at you, and intone the words like the ghost in Hamlet then, if that had been the point of some story, he would sit back in his chair, and laugh quietly, displaying his great teeth, and gazing from face to face of those who sat at his feet.
As for Aunt Maud, I think I have met very few people in my life so like an angel. Of course, she was well on in years, and her clothes, especially her hats, were of a conservativism most extreme. I believe she had not forsaken a detail of the patterns that were popular at the time of the Diamond Jubilee. She was a sprightly and charming person, a tall, thin, quiet, meek old lady who still, after all the years, had some thing about her of the sensible and sensitive Victorian girl Nice, in the strict sense, and in the broad colloquial sense, was a word made for her: she was a very nice person. In a way, her pointed nose and her thin smiling lips even suggested the expression of one who had just finished pronouncing that word. "How nice!"
That is Merton describing two people he seems to love very much--his aunt and uncle who live in Great Britain. In these two short paragraphs, you can really sense the affection Merton seems to have for them. Aunt Maud is an angel, and Uncle Ben is the ghost of Hamlet, holding court with his admiring students.
Tonight, I had the privilege of giving a virtual poetry reading, sponsored by the Joy Center in Ishpeming, which is owned and managed by my great friend, Helen. It filled my cup to the brim to spend time with people whom I care about deeply, even if it was only in an electronic setting. I got to hear voices I haven't heard in a while. See smiling faces that filled me with such peace and happiness. The entire evening was medicine that I needed.
I try not to speak much about my fiscal or family difficulties in this blog. Everyone is struggling right now. I know this. So, let me just say that I had a difficult day because of a particularly difficult money problem. I was not in the best frame of mind when I began the Zoom meeting tonight. In fact, I would say that I was at one of my lowest points of an entire week of lows.
Yet, when people started popping up for my poetry reading, each smile and laugh, each wonderful shining face, worked to drive the darkness away. For a couple hours, all of my problems receded into the shadows, and I was able to soak in the love and friendship. I may sound sentimental here, like a Helen Steiner Rice greeting card. I don't care. Seeing all those people, sharing my poems and essay, was just the medicine I needed to remind me how truly blessed I am.
Yes, the money difficulties are still there, and the accompanying family struggles. But, through the power of poetry, I was able to find some happiness tonight. And that is truly grace at work.
Saint Marty loves you all and thanks you for loving him.
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