April 6: Very Very Improbable, Good Improbabilities, Fill Me Up

Zaphod Beeblebrox and Trillian are arguing about the presence of Arthur and Ford on their stolen spaceship . . .

He tapped irritably at a control panel.  Trillian quietly moved his hand before he tapped anything important,  Whatever Zaphod's qualities of mind might include--dash, bravado, conceit--he was mechanically inept and could easily blow the ship up with an extravagant gesture.  Trillian had come to suspect that the main reason he had had such a wild and successful life was that he never really understood the significance of anything he did.

"Zaphod," she said patiently, "they were floating unprotected in open space . . . you wouldn't want them to have died, would you?"

"Well, you know . . . no.  Not as such, but . . ."

"Not as such?  Not die as such?  But?"  Trillian cocked her head on one side.

"Well, maybe someone else might have picked them up later."

"A second later and they would have been dead."

"Yeah, so if you'd taken the trouble to think about the problem a bit longer it would have gone away."

"You'd have been happy to let them die?"

"Well, you know, not happy, as such, but . . ."

"Anyway," said Trillian, turning back to the controls, "I didn't pick them up."

"What do you mean?  Who picked them up then?"

"The ship did."

"Huh?"

"The ship did.  All by itself."

"Huh?"

"While we were in Improbability Drive."

"But that's incredible."

"No, Zaphod.  Just very very improbable."

"Er, yeah."

You know, I've been dealing with the improbable for quite a while.  Some of the faithful disciples of this blog may argue with my use of the word "improbable."  They would say that everything that I write about is fairly common--experiences that many people have every day.  That may be true.  People are diagnosed with lymphoma of the brain every day.  People are displaced from their jobs every day.  People work three and four jobs every day to pay their bills.  People's brother and sisters and parents die every day.  I know all this.  However, to me, my life seems improbable, and I have the same kind of reaction to this improbability that Zaphod has.  I bristle and complain.

I'm sitting in McDonald's this morning, after a fairly emotional week of goodbyes and endings, feeling a little empty.  Like I don't have any more to give at the moment.  In the coming week, I start a new/old job with new hours and duties.  There will be a learning curve for sure.  It's not a job that I'm particularly excited about.  I'm sure my attitude will change eventually.  I'm still adjusting to the upcoming change, and you all know how well I deal with change.

So, indulge me today.  I'm going to try to think about the good improbabilities of my life.  Things that fill me up again.

IMPROBABILITY #1:  I am a poet.  This one has brought into my life many joys.  Friends.  Opportunities.  Ways to do good in the world.  At this moment, my tribe consists of poets who think like me, share my values.

IMPROBABILITY #2:  I am the Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula, for the second time in a row.  This one still blows me away.  There are so many great writers who've been nominated for this position.  Mentors and friends and heroes.  The fact that this plumber's son was chosen still amazes me.

IMPROBABILITY #3:  My daughter.  She's 18 years old, about to graduate from high school.  Smart and beautiful and compassionate and passionate.  She danced into my life one cold December morning, and she fills me with improbable love.

IMPROBABILITY #4:  My son.  My orange child.  He's so much like me that it's frightening.  We butt heads.  A lot.  But he makes me laugh, gives me hope.  (Of course, that hope is sometimes that he doesn't end up in prison, but it's still hope.)  Improbable love, yet again.

IMPROBABILITY #5:  My wife.  Next year will be our 25th wedding anniversary.  We have our share of struggles over the years.  Things that would have broken most marriages irreparably.  Yet, here we are.  Still struggling, but more in love than ever.  Improbable love.

IMPROBABILITY #6:  I lived to see the first African American President of the United States.  This one gives me hope, even in the dark time we're in right now in my country.  We got it right once.  We'll get it right again.

IMPROBABILITY #7:  My friends.  All of them.  I have a large tribe of people who genuinely care about my welfare.  When I'm feeling down, they reach out, do things that life me up.  When I have something to celebrate, they are the ones putting the candles on the cake.

IMPROBABILITY #8:  My brothers and sisters.  Dysfunction is always a part of familial relationships.  Yet, I know that these people have my back, will do anything to help me out when the chips are down.  They'll just bitch about it when I've crawled out of the hole.

IMPROBABILITY #9:  My wife's family.  These individuals welcomed me into their clubhouse over 25 years ago.  Recognized a fellow freak, I guess.  They continue to fill my life with acceptance, humor, and love.  Plus, they serve alcohol at Christmas dinner.

IMPROBABILITY #10:  The future.  I don't always think about the future as happy and fulfilling.  I'm a pretty pessimistic person a lot of the time.  However, in the past few weeks, as I've been struggling with my job and life situation, so many people have told me, "There's something better coming for you.  There is."  So, here's to something better.  Amen.

There you go.  I embraced goodness and hope this morning.  Don't worry.  Tomorrow, I'll be back to my old, cynical self tomorrow.

Today, however, Saint Marty is all about good improbabilities.

August 26: Pebbles in Water, Amazing Creation, Cellular Level

109.  Over time my injured friend's feet have become blue and smooth from disuse.  Their blue is the blue of skim milk, their smoothness that of a baby's.  I think they look and feel very strange and beautiful.  She does not agree.  How could she--this is her body; its transformation, her grief.  Often we examine parts of her body together, as if their paralysis had rendered them objects of inquiry independent of us both.  But they are still hers.  No matter what happens to our bodies in our lifetimes, no matter if they become like "pebbles in water," they remain ours; us, theirs.
                         ----from Bluets by Maggie Nelson

It's always unnerving when your body, or a loved one's body, becomes something you don't recognize.  Suddenly, you lose control of a hand or eye.  Your wife sleeps all day when she used to work nine hours and go for five mile runs at night.  You used to be able to sit for three or four hours, writing poems, and now you can barely concentrate for ten minutes at a time.  Your loving son attacks other kids with scissors.  Your father uses his cane like a mace in Game of Thrones.

I have been a diabetic since I was thirteen, and I am lucky.  I've had no problems with my eyes or kidneys.  I can still feel the bottoms of my feet.  My two brothers ignored their diabetes.  One of them opted to buy cartons of cigarettes instead of insulin.  The other thought he couldn't afford his diabetic medication and went for years with blood sugars above 500.  The former suffered a stroke and eventually died.  The second is on disability and probably needs a heart transplant.

The human body is an amazing creation.  When my kids were infants, I remember sitting in a chair, holding them as they slept.  Watching them breathe and twitch.  Imagining all the changes that were taking place inside of them on the cellular level.  Brain synapses sparking and forming.  Bones and nerves stretching and growing.  Even today--my daughter is 16, and my son is eight--I something look at them and wonder at the span of their legs, loam of their eyes, water of their laughter.

Saint Marty is so thankful for his healthy, if somewhat tired, body.

May 28: Cars, Mechanically Challenged, Google

...Elwyn [E. B. White] loved cars.  So did the boys' father.  After selling two of his three carriage horses, Samuel bought a Pope-Tribune runabout, which looked sporty with its long, straight-steering shaft and boxy engine bonnet, until he replaced it with a sleek Maxwell roadster whose short running board swooped forward and back to form elegant tire guards like wings.  But Samuel never learned how to drive and left that particular twentieth-century excitement to his children.

White was in love with the horseless carriage, as were his brothers and father.  Typical guys.  They're interested in cars that are fast, elegant, sleek.  I'm sure that if Elwyn were a teenager in the twenty-first century, he'd probably own the newest iPhone.


I've never been into cars.  The only thing I look for in a car is that, when I turn the key in the ignition, it starts.  That is my definition of a good car.  Of course, I like driving new cars.  But I really don't care if I'm driving a station wagon or a Lexus.  If it gets me to where I want to go, I'm satisfied.

I've always been mechanically challenged.  All of my brothers know cars inside and out.  They can do crap like brake jobs and oil changes.  I'm happy if I can change a taillight (and I usually have to ask my brother to help me).  I just don't do car stuff.  However, I can spot a bad metaphor from a mile away.  Give me a bad poem and pencil, and I will turn it into a verbal Corvette.

That's who I am.  I'm not the oily jeans kind of guy.  Sometimes I wish I was.  I could probably save myself a lot of money.  This morning, I heard a story on the radio about Google creating a car that drives itself.  Just enter your destination, and the car does the rest.  If Google invents a vehicle that changes its own oil and fixes its own valves (whatever the hell those are), I am totally sold.

Until then, Saint Marty will continue to put his key in the ignition, say a prayer, and turn it.

If it gets me to work, I'll drive it.