Sunday, June 12, 2022

June 12: Rather Be Exact, Schedules, Matching Socks

Santiago wants to be exact versus lucky . . . 

But, he thought, I keep them with precision. Only I have no luck any more. But who knows? Maybe today. Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.

I live by exact schedules.  My jobs sort of necessitate it.  For the library, I schedule programming.  I maintain two calendars for that.  For teaching, I follow the semester schedule I create for my syllabi.  For playing the keyboard and organ, I have to keep track of six different churches (two Catholic, three Lutheran, and one Methodist) I play for regularly and irregularly.  And then there's the stuff I do for fun--running poetry workshops and giving readings.

I'm lucky if I wear matching socks some days.

Today, I played at two different Lutheran churches, mowed my lawn, and led a poetry workshop.  At the end of the day, I introduced my son to Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  He loved it and said to me, "I have to say that you have good taste in movies."  High praise from a 13-year-old boy.

Sometimes, in the middle of my exact and hectic schedules, Saint Marty gets moments of grace like that.

And something I wrote in tonight's workshop . . . 

Norman and Me

after "The Runaway" by Norman Rockwell

by:  Martin Achatz

Oh, Norman, you and I would have been best friends
had we both been born a little earlier and a little later.
We would have met at a greasy spoon, eaten rhubarb
pie and sipped Diet Cokes.  You would have brought
your sketch pad, a couple Ticonderogas, me, my journal
of the moment and a good fountain pen. We would have
sat in a booth, waited, watched, until the police officer
showed up with the kid toting a bindle on his shoulder.
They would have sat at the lunch counter, ordered
fries or a burger or maybe a hot fudge sundae.  
You and I, Norman, would have gone to work,
each of us on our own narrative.  Yours, full 
of gee whiz and holy cow and Lassie Come Home.
Mine about all the little, darker-skinned runaways
that cop ignored on his way to this diner.  Yet,
Norman, we'd both be doing the same thing.  Imagining
a world that could be better, full of French fries, cherry
cobbler.  Where everyone deserves to be found,
brought home safe.



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