July 17: Let Us Hope, Too Busy, Hopeful Suppression

Santiago speaks his hopes , , ,

Maybe if I can increase the tension just a little it will hurt him and he will jump, he thought. Now that it is daylight let him jump so that he'll fill the sacks along his backbone with air and then he cannot go deep to die.

He tried to increase the tension, but the line had been taut up to the very edge of the breaking point since he had hooked the fish and he felt the harshness as he leaned back to pull and knew he could put no more strain on it. I must not jerk it ever, he thought. Each jerk widens the cut the hook makes and then when he does jump he might throw it. Anyway I feel better with the sun and for once I do not have to look into it.

There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.

"Fish," he said, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends."

Let us hope so, he thought.

Santiago does a lot of hoping in this passage:  he hopes to increase the tension on the line; make the fish jump; and kill the fish before the day ends.  The old man knows what he's doing.  All of his hopes come from his decades of fishing on the ocean.  

As I said in my post last night, it is my sister's birthday today.  However, I didn't spend the day dwelling on that fact--not on her presence in so much of my life, and not in her absence these past seven years, either.  I was too busy.

I went to two church services this morning.  I played at one, sang at the other.  Then, when I got home, I mowed my lawn in 85-degree heat.  After that, I finished my preparations for a poetry workshop, took a shower, and drove to a friend's house for a meeting of my book club.  (In case you are wondering, we discussed Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake.)  On the way to book club, I stopped at the cemetery to visit my sister's grave.  And after book club, I sped home and led the poetry workshop.  

So, you see, I couldn't be too sad today, except for those few moments at the cemetery.  Is busyness a sign of hope?  I'm not sure.  It could be my way of avoiding difficult feelings, too.  Take your pick.  I could be hopeful, or I could be suppressing.  Or a little of both.  Hopeful suppression, or suppressive hope.  

Sitting on my couch, typing this post, I realize that I'm often in this state, whatever it is.  If a busy life is a sign of hope, I am the most hopeful person alive.  It may also be a coping mechanism.  Either way, at the end of the day, I am usually too tired to be feel anything.

Tonight, therefore, I am a mixed bag.  Exhausted.  Hopeful.  Sad.  Grateful for friends and poetry.

Saint Marty's blessing tonight:  really great friends who love books.