May 20: "Charmed," Vena Amoris, "Wedding Band"

Billy Collins leads a charmed life . . . 

Charmed

by: Billy Collins

The tiny figures

on your bracelet

ride around one wrist

while on the other

the hours

circle your pulse.

I have always envied people with charm bracelets for some reason, each tiny metal sculpture carrying its own narrative.  A starfish from your Honolulu honeymoon.  An angel from the gift shop of the hospital where your father died.  A musical note from the person who taught you piano for 12 years.

I don't own much jewelry.  In my dresser drawer, I have a cross on a chain and a gold earring.  I used to wear both all the time, but, over the years, the chain snapped and the post turned my earlobe green.  So now the only adornment I sport is my wedding band.

It's a simple, gold ring with scalloped engraving around the edges.  I've had it on my hand for close to 30 years.  It reminds of good times and bad times.  I remember once hearing a pastor explain at a wedding ceremony that the fourth finger of the left hand possessed a vein (Vena Amoris) that runs directly to the heart.  It's a lovely belief, but is anatomically untrue.  No such vein exists.  Yet, the symbolism, originating in ancient Egypt, persists.  It's a good narrative.

The ring on my hand tells a story, too.  It's not a fairy tale.  I'm certainly no Prince Charming.  (Maybe Prince Mildly Amusing.)  There are struggles and heartbreaks in the story.  Moments of great joy and intense sorrow.  A beautiful daughter.  A funny-as-hell son.  A puppy that embodies unconditional devotion.  A woman who puts up with all my faults and failings.

It's a love story, warts and all, I guess.

Saint Marty isn't holding his breath for happily ever after.  He'll be satisfied with able-to-pay-all-his-bills ever after.

Wedding Band

by: Martin Achatz

can be on your

ring finger

symbolizing love

without end

or those guys

at the reception

who got drunk, played

"Achy Breaky Heart"

three times

in a row.

The face of love . . . 

May 19: Retrospective Falsification

When someone dies, there's a certain amount of retrospective falsification that goes on.  "Retrospective falsification" is a term coined by author Mario Puzo to describe the process of erasing bad memories.  We've all done it.

Retrospective falsification is inevitable.  My brother who recently passed was not a saint.  (Spoiler alert:  Saint Marty really isn't a saint, either.)  We all have things we've done in the past that make us cringe, blush, and hide our faces.  That's what being human is all about.  Making mistakes.  Learning from those mistakes.  Becoming a better person.

My brother made mistakes.  He smoked.  He didn't take care of his diabetes.  Because of those mistakes, he had a stroke.  Yet, he learned from his mistakes.  After his stroke, he worked hard at his recovery, became an active church-goer, and became a really good person.  At his funeral, I was amazed by the number of people who stood up and told stories about my brother.  Wonderful stories full of laughter and love.

I love my brother, warts and all.  He had his failings.  But he also had his victories.

Saint Marty prefers to remember his brother that way.

There aren't any shortcuts