January 19: Daughter's Open House, Running Out of Time, "Ives" Dip

I haven't much time this evening for writing anything deep and reflective.  In about ten or fifteen minutes, I have to rush off to my daughter's dance studio for her open house.  I'm not sure if it's going to be hip hop or jazz or modern or tap or polka or the hokey pokey.  It's been one of those days where all my plans have come to naught.

I was supposed to have an hour-and-a-half to write two blog posts.  I ran late at the medical office where I work.  I was supposed to go to the gym to run on the treadmill for a half hour or so.  No time for that.  I was supposed to reread an essay for my poetry class on Thursday.  Ditto no time.  I have been simply running out of time all day long.

On top of all that, I think I have to go to the dentist.  My teeth are aching.  I'm not sure if I have a cavity or chipped tooth.  I may be grinding my teeth in my sleep.  I have been known to do that during stressful times in my life.  The beginning of this semester has caused me a few sleepless nights.  Whatever the cause, my teeth really hurt.

Once again, I am running out of time, so I will get to my Ives dip question for the week:

Will I be named the U. P. Poet Laureate this year?

And the answer from Mr. Ives is:

And in a few minutes they were standing around on Riverside Drive waiting for a northbound bus, its last stop Fort Tryon Park.  Shortly, around two o'clock, they were sitting in a crowd in an echoing gothically ornate hall listening to a group of choristers singing in Latin about the transformations of the soul and other such autumnal subjects, and in the midst of one such song, Robert, reached over and took hold of his mother's hand, holding it gently.  And he had looked over at her, his expression saying, "I will always be with you, Mama, from this day onward."

Well, the paragraph is about transformations and music and comfort.  I'm not sure if that means I'm going to be given the title or I'm going to be in need of solace.



Doesn't matter.  Saint Marty's gotta get going.  Out of time.  Again.

Shouldn't that word be "endure"?  Albom probably ran out of time to proofread

August 10: Aught to Teach Me, One Hundred Thousand, Perspective

"Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, "conduct me where you will.  I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now.  To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."

Scrooge is speaking to the Ghost of Christmas Present.  The Ghost of Christmas Past has already taught him a few things, and now Scrooge says he will accompany the Second Spirit, ready to accept any lesson coming his way.  Scrooge is already a mighty humbled literary character.

I learned a lesson last night while I was looking for my lost keys.  I learned that some of the things that preoccupy my thoughts on a daily basis are pretty silly.  When I found my keys last night, I experienced a kind of happiness and relief I haven't felt in a long time.  I know it seems stupid to get that upset about a set of keys, but I did.  And it put things into perspective for me in a way.

Most of the stuff I worry about day-to-day is pretty small.  I've been obsessing about the poetry contest I entered.  Money is in my thoughts constantly.  In the past week, I've been thinking about my daughter's dance lessons this fall.  I still have to put together a syllabus for my film class, and I haven't even finished reading my textbook.

Life is full of worries.  Worry has been the guiding force of my life recently.  Small worries and big worries.  But worry doesn't do any good.  It doesn't solve problems.  It doesn't stave off fear.  It doesn't make me feel any safer or more prepared for challenges.  Worry is just a waste of energy.

I let small things, like keys, run my life.  If I have my keys, then everything will be great, all the time.  The sun will shine.  I will have plenty of money in my bank account.  I will win that poetry contest.  President Obama will be elected to a second term.  The Swedish Academy will award me the Nobel Prize in Literature.  World peace will be established. 

Of course, all that's just a load of horse crap.

Keys will not solve the problems of the world.  Neither will worry.  Worry just opens up doors to more worries.  Worry makes life miserable.  I just need to do my work, take care of my family, and recognize the blessings of my life.  That's my job.

In that spirit, I will acknowledge a blessing this morning:  Saint Marty just passed 100,000 page views.  That's an amazing blessing.  One hundred thousand people have looked at or stumbled upon my blog.  I hope that I have done some good with my posts.  Provided some laughs or comfort or wisdom.  Maybe alleviated some worries.

Saint Marty celebrates one hundred thousand blessings today.

May 26: Comfort, Other Ministers, Powerless, New Cartoon

"Jacob," he said, imploringly.  "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more.  Speak comfort to me, Jacob."

"I have none to give," The Ghost replied.  "It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed  by other ministers, to other kinds of men.  Nor can I tell you what I would.  A very little more, is all permitted to me.  I cannot rest.  I cannot stay.  I cannot linger anywhere.  My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house--mark me!--in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!"

Not a very comforting passage this morning from Charles Dickens.  It appears near the beginning of the novel and doesn't paint a very flattering picture of the afterlife.  Or at least Jacob Marley's afterlife.  And it also doesn't provide much solace to Scrooge, who seems to be one step shy of being condemned to the ninth circle of the Inferno.

I have to say, the last couple of days have been a little difficult for me, ever since I received the news about the repair needed on my wife's Subaru.  Out of all the things in life that can cause me worry, finances top the list.  I hate having, as the old saying goes, to rob Peter to pay Paul.  I think there's a reason why finances are the number one cause of divorce in the United States.  The worry is insidious.  I haven't slept well since Wednesday.  Scrooge (and Marley, when he was alive) is in the business of creating financial stress.  He makes people lose sleep.  He provides no comfort, even though he has the financial means.

This morning, as I was taking my shower, I was really thinking a lot about money and worry.  I came to two realizations.  First, I can't do anything about having too little money.  I already have two, basically, full-time jobs, plus a couple part-timers.  My wife has been applying for jobs all over the place.  She just had another job interview yesterday.  Unless Scrooge's nephew, Fred, offers one of us a better position, we are in an economic holding pattern.  Second, worry is a waste of time.  It helps nothing and just consumes huge chunks of energy.  I need to take a cue from Bob Cratchit on this issue.  Bob seems to worry very little and has faith that everything is going to work out for the best.

Therefore, today I'm going to try to practice a little less worry and a little more faith.  A little less Scrooge, a little more Bob.  There are "other ministers" to provide comfort, as Marley says, and I'm going to have to trust in those ministers.

Embrace your limitations, Saint Marty.  You are powerless.  Until you win the Pulitzer and/or Nobel Prize.

Confessions of Saint Marty