December 8: "I Go Down to the Shore," High School, Rolling In and Out

Mary Oliver gets some advice  . . . 

I Go Down to the Shore

by:  Mary Oliver

I go down to the shore in the morning

and depending on the hour the waves

are rolling in or moving out,

and I say, oh, I am miserable,

what shall--

what should I do?  And the sea says

in its lovely voice:

Excuse me, I have work to do.

The human animal has a penchant for misery.  Perhaps it's the way we approach life--lamenting what isn't instead of celebrating what is.  The sea in Oliver's poem has no time for misery or praise.  It has a job to do, and it won't be distracted by Oliver's grief.  It just keeps rolling in and out.

Today, I visited two creative writing classes at a local high school.  I talked about poetry--my love for it, my devotion to it, my belief in its healing properties.  Some of the students got it.  Others merely tolerated my message, like the sea tolerates Oliver; they had more important teenagery things on their minds.  Boyfriends.  Girlfriends.  Math and science.  Weekend parties.  Fitting in.  Not fitting in.

Tonight, I had another birthday celebration for my daughter.  This one took place at my parents' house, with my sisters hosting and cooking.  We ate one of my daughter's favorite dishes--a chicken cordon bleu casserole that my sister, Sally, used to make all the time when she was alive.  Then we had cupcakes and sang "Happy Birthday."  After the table was cleared, we played a board game, and it was wonderful.

I simply didn't have enough time to be miserable today.  Now, I'm sitting in my living room, enjoying the glowing lights on my Christmas tree.  Classical Christmas music playing softly.  My day is done, the waves are rolling out, as Oliver would say.

I'm sure many of the high school students I taught today are up to the teenagery things they were thinking about this afternoon.  Getting drunk with friends.  Making out with their crushes.  Or just hanging at home, brooding and miserable because they're not getting high or laid.

As I said at the beginning of this post, the human animal has a penchant for misery.  However, I'm not giving into it this evening.  Night has fallen.  Bing Crosby is crooning.  My kids are happy.  Will that change tomorrow?  Possibly.

But tonight, Saint Marty is the sea.  Just rolling with it.

March 8: No Excuses Tonight, Another Day Done, Weekend

In case you're wondering whether I worked on Project Memoir last night, don't ask.  I had every intention of sitting down when I got home and putting fountain pen to journal.  Instead, I grabbed a bag of Fritos and watched American Idol.  If it's any consolation, I feel incredibly guilty today.  Therefore, instead of making a promise to write tonight, I'll simply say that I'm going to do my best.  Really, that's all any of us can do all the time.

My day is almost done.  I have no obligations to be anywhere or do anything tonight.  I just need to feed and bathe my son; feed my daughter; make school lunches; and get my kids to bed.  That's it.  Pretty simple.  At 8 p.m., I have the poetry editor of the university's literary magazine coming over to look at a couple of poems.  That should take about half an hour.  Plenty of time to think and write after that visit.


I prefer "Merry Thanksgivoweenlentinetrick's Day"

I'm looking forward to the weekend.  I have some house cleaning tasks to complete.  Things that should have been done a while ago and can't really be put off any longer without the neighbors complaining.  They involve Christmas lights and decorations.  That's all I'm going to say.

My wife starts her new job on Monday.  She's excited/terrified.  Normal new job jitters.  I think she's going to do great.  (I know that statement isn't grammatically correct, but, in its colloquial way, it communicates my emotions very effectively.)  Once she gets into the swing of her new schedule and duties, she'll be much more relaxed.

Saint Marty is in a calm place in his life at the moment.  It's a good place to be.