October 17: It's Raining, Wisconsin Dells, Nobel Prize

I hear a roar, a high windy sound more like air than like water, like the run-together whaps of a helicopter's propeller after the engine is off, a high million rushings.  The air smells damp and acrid, like fuel oil, or insecticide.  It's raining.

Dillard is talking about floods and rain.  The power of Nature to redefine the landscape with water.  She has seen Tinker Creek revised by summer storms--trees uprooted, banks washed away, and bridges damaged. 

Just got back from the Wisconsin Dells a little over an hour ago.  The drive was fairly uneventful, but, as we got closer to home, it started to rain.  It's still raining and thundering and lightning.  We got soaked unloading the car.  There weren't any trees down, but the wind was pretty strong.  My Clinton-Kaine yard sign was taking a beating, but so were the Trump-Pence signs down the street.

Tomorrow, I return to my normal life.  At work by 6 a.m.  Teaching until 9:30 p.m.  In between, grading papers and midterm exams.  Plus, I have to prepare for my poetry reading on Thursday.  It's always difficult settling back into routine after several days of non-routine.  Sort of like Bob Dylan giving a concert after winning the Nobel Prize last Thursday morning.  (He performed a concert that night, and so far he has not responded to the news at all.)

So, unless massive floodwaters wash away his car tonight, Saint Marty will be back at it, making the world a better place, one comma splice at a time. 

The Swedish Academy is still blowin' in the wind . . .

July 16: It's Raining, a Kiss, Prayer of Thanksgiving

Then all of a sudden she gave me a kiss.  Then she held her hand out, and said, "It's raining.  It's starting to rain."

"I know."

Then what she did--it damn near killed me--she reached in my coat pocket and took out my red hunting hat and put it on my head.

Holden loves his sister, Phoebe, more than any other character who appears in Catcher, including Jane.  And Phoebe loves Holden, in a childish, motherly fashion.  In the passage above, Phoebe tries to shield her brother from the rainstorm that's starting.  Children like Phoebe have a way of breaking your heart with their tiny acts of love.  A kiss.  A hunting hat.  Yesterday, my four-year-old son did a very Phoebe thing.

I'd just gone swimming with him, and we'd changed clothes.  I drove him to my parents' house for a visit.  As I opened his car door to unbuckle him from his seat, my son looked up at me with a strange expression on his face.

I stopped what I was doing.  "What?" I said.

He stuck out his lower jaw and smiled.  "I want to give you a kiss," he said.

I unbuckled him, and he crawled out of his seat.  When he was standing on the pavement in front of me, I leaned over.  He wrapped his arms around my neck and pressed his lips to mine.  He held on for about twenty or thirty seconds.  Finally, he let go, and I stood up.

"Thanks, buddy," I said.

"You know," he said, "I love you more than a hour and a half."

In my son's universe, that's a really long time.  His little profession of love left me speechless for a few moments.  Eventually, I managed to say, "I love you too, bud."  My son doesn't express these kids of emotions too much to me, so his words were an unexpected moment of grace.

Most of the time, when I pray, I'm asking God to do something for me, to help me in some way.  Today, I'm going to do something a little different.

Dear God,

I don't think I thank You enough for the gifts You give me every day.  I don't say thanks for the sun and day's warmth, or the moon and night's coolness.  I don't say thanks for the lasagna I had for dinner or the strawberries I had for dessert.

So today, I want to say thanks for my son.  Thanks for the love he expressed to me yesterday, the kiss and hug.  I'm so lucky to have him in my life.  Thanks for his tantrums and stubborn streak.  Thanks for the cars he leaves scattered on the floor at night.  Thanks for his sense of humor ("Why did the chicken cross the road?...To poop on your head!").  Thanks for entrusting this amazing little child to me.

I'm a lucky man.  My son reminded me of this fact yesterday.  And for that, I give You thanks.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

Amen and thank You

May 8: It's Raining, a Kiss, an Almost Job

"No, I'll just watch ya.  I think I'll just watch," I said.  I gave her some more of her dough.  "Here.  Get some more tickets."

She took the dough off me.  "I'm not mad at you any more," she said.

"I know.  Hurry up--the thing's gonna start again."

Then all of a sudden she gave me a kiss.  Then she held her hand out, and said, "It's raining.  It's starting to rain."

"I know."

It's a tender little scene between between Holden and Phoebe at the end of the book.  Holden has reached rock bottom.  His little sister is his only anchor to life at the moment.  A few paragraphs past this conversation, Salinger provides the happiest moment in The Catcher in the Rye.  At this point, however, Holden has finally given up.  He's letting go of his plans to run away, to live as a mute lumberjack (or whatever the hell it was) in Wyoming (or wherever the hell it was.).  He's reaching a point of surrender.

Over the last day or so, my wife and I have been trying to arrange daycare for my son this summer.  Yesterday, my wife was offered a part-time job.  Three days a week, 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.  The difficulty is childcare.  All of the daycare providers we have used in the past are already full and have waiting lists.  We've explored several avenues, but we are now at a dead end.  My wife is going to call her would-be employer this morning to turn down the job.

She's upset.  It would have been a great boost for her self esteem and confidence.  Just getting the job offer has done wonders for her in the last 24 hours.  However, she seems at peace with the way things have turned out.  She called me a little while ago and said, "You know, it wasn't meant to be."

It was an almost job.  The extra money would have been great, especially over the summer.  But this isn't rock bottom.  That will come about mid-July, when the tax return runs out.  I'm upset for my wife.  I'm upset she has to sit on the bench in the rain, watching Phoebe ride the carrousel.  I will give her a kiss when I get home, tell her everything is going to be alright.

Saint Marty is letting go.  He has no other choice.

Haven't gotten this bad yet