December 8: Explore the Moon, Hectic and Wonderful Week, Quiet Moments

There were barricades on the main roads leading into the ruins.  Germans were stopped there.  They were not permitted to explore the moon.

Welcome to the end of an incredibly hectic and wonderful week.  I sort of feel as though I've been wandering over the surface of the moon this week, not really exploring, but bouncing in a state of weightless energy.  Tuesday, my daughter's birthday.  Tuesday night, I hosted a benefit reading with some wonderful writers for a local canned food drive for area food pantries.  Wednesday night, teaching.  Thursday, the awards ceremony at the university where I received the Excellence in Part-Time Faculty Teaching Award.  Thursday evening, the monthly poetry workshop I facilitate.  Then this afternoon, I did some poetry with my nephew's fifth grade class.

I'm a little whipped.  At the moment, I am standing at the barricades of Friday, looking back over the last five days, wondering how I managed to survive.  I find myself physically weary, wanting to hibernate.  But my crazy life isn't going to slow down for a while.

I have about 3,250 pounds of grading to do.  On Sunday evening, my book club is meeting at my house.  I have to clean the house and cook something for that.  Next Thursday, I have a Christmas poetry reading at my hometown library.  Then, once I get through all that, I have a two-day gig at the Calumet Theater, recording a syndicated radio program, right before Christmas.

My life in a snapshot. 

I am not saying all this for sympathy.  I enjoy what I do.  Love reading poetry.  Performing poetry.  Workshopping poetry.  Love teaching, sharing what limited expertise I have.  However, the firestorm of events in these weeks has me feeling slightly overwhelmed.  I will get through it all.  I always do.  It's a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, grading one paper at a time, reading one poem and then the next.

So, those are my excuses for not posting last night.  Imagine that you're a German, standing at the barricades, staring at the lunar landscape of my life.

Saint Marty is thankful for some quiet moments tonight.

February 4: Saintly Fellow, Mask, Unsmiling

Catching his own reflection in a window, Ives, nondescript in an overcoat, hat, and scarf, judged himself a most pleasant looking, perhaps saintly, fellow...

Most people who know Ives see him in this light:  normal to the point of boring, pleasant, spiritual.  He's known as a good man in his neighborhood.  He volunteers at community centers.  Goes to church every Sunday (sometimes more).  Helps his friends in need:  gives them money, takes in their children, finds jobs for their relatives.  Ives is all of these things.  Yet, he's also incredibly sad for most of his life.  Suffers mental and physical afflictions.  He is a complex man, but he wears a mask.  He is Saint Ives to those who meet him at church, on the street, in the hallways at work.

It's pretty tiring wearing a mask every day, only taking it off at home, when the front door is locked.  I know.  I do it all week long.  At work, I'm happy, positive.  I tell jokes, draw cartoons, make everybody laugh.  I don't mind being that person.  I like making people smile.  But if I'm quiet at work, if I don't feel like talking, inevitably someone will ask me, "What's wrong?"

It's exhausting being a good guy all the time.  At night, when I get home and lock the front door, I say very little.  Sometimes, I just sit on the couch and try not to snap or be angry.  It's like I use up all of my goodwill during daylight hours.  It's not fair to my family.  I know that.  Usually, after a little while, I can carry on a conversation without swearing, being critical, or making my daughter cry.  It takes a little while.

I'm an introvert.  While I hide it pretty well, I know that I need solitude to recharge my well of kindness.  I find it at night, right before I fall asleep.  In the morning, before everyone else wakes up.  In my car, as I drive to and from work.  I simply need to be alone.  To not wear a mask.  To be myself, bad disposition and all.

So, if you see me walking across campus at the university or sitting by myself in his car, looking as if I'm trying to solve a some math problem or solve world hunger, don't worry.

That's just Saint Marty being himself for a few, quiet moments.

Take off your mask.  See who you really are.