July 4: Move Slowly Off, Independence Day, Bornean Orangutan

Santiago is towed by the fish . . . 

Nothing happened. The fish just moved away slowly and the old man could not raise him an inch. His line was strong and made for heavy fish and he held it against his back until it was so taut that beads of water were jumping from it. Then it began to make a slow hissing sound in the water and he still held it, bracing himself against the thwart and leaning back against the pull. The boat began to move slowly off toward the North-West.

The fish moved steadily and they travelled slowly on the calm water. The other baits were still in the water but there was nothing to be done.

The old man literally becomes a parade float on the ocean in this passage, slowly being dragged along by the fish.

It is officially Independence Day, and I did something this morning that I rarely do:  I slept in.  I didn't get out of bed until well past 9:30 a.m.  Some of you may be thinking, "Big deal."  But, for a person who is usually awake, dressed, and out the door by 7:30 a.m., those extra couple hours of lounging felt a little like gorging myself on a quart of Ben & Jerry's.  

When I finally did get up, I read a little.  Watched TV a little.  Ate some cold pizza for breakfast.  Then, I got dressed.  Again, really unusual for me.  The last time I did that, I had COVID in January and was alternating my time between sleeping on the couch and watching Love Hard over and over on Netflix.  (If you haven't seen that film, don't judge me.  It's compulsively rewatchable.)

The only thing I did today that qualifies as commemorating the holiday was attending a parade with a good friend of mine.  He and I have known each other for going on 30 years.  We worked together at a local bookstore back then.  Nowadays, every July 4th, we usually attend the local parade and catch up on each other's lives.  Due to COVID, we haven't done this recently.  The parade was cancelled two years ago.  One year ago, my friend was in Chicago with his wife, I believe.

So, today, he and I sat and watched the usual array of motorcycles, high school bands, dump trucks, and campaigning politicians.  A horse-drawn wagon clopped by, and, surprisingly, the horses did not lift their tales in front of us.  (I seem to be jinxed by animals with loose bowels when I attend parades.)  It was a wonderful couple hours spent with a person I care deeply about.  We commiserated about the sad state of the Supreme Court and the country in general, as two aging progressives are wont to do when they get together.  

In the evening, my family and I had a barbecue with my sister.  Hot dogs, bratwurst, homemade mac and cheese, and watermelon.  Then we all watched an episode of Stranger Things.  It was a lovely way to end the holiday weekend.

As I sit typing this post, I can hear some neighbors setting off fireworks.  It's raining, so I'm sure the rockets aren't exactly lighting up the sky.  It's just loud enough to make my puppy moan and shift in her crate.

That's a pretty good metaphor to end the final post of this strange Independence Day weekend where independence and freedom need to be put on the endangered species list.  Right next to the black-footed ferret and Bornean orangutan.  We're all sort of shifting in our crates uncomfortably, listening to the distant explosions, wondering what's coming.

Even though Saint Marty didn't see any this weekend, there's a lot of horseshit going around.

July 3: Eat It Well, Benjamin Franklin, Wild Turkeys

Santiago strikes hard at the fish . . . 

He let the line slip through his fingers while he reached down with his left hand and made fast the free end of the two reserve coils to the loop of the two reserve coils of the next line. Now he was ready. He had three forty-fathom coils of line in reserve now, as well as the coil he was using.

"Eat it a little more," he said. "Eat it well."

Eat it so that the point of the hook goes into your heart and kills you, he thought. Come up easy and let me put the harpoon into you. All right. Are you ready? Have you been long enough at table?

"Now!" he said aloud and struck hard with both hands, gained a yard of line and then struck again and again, swinging with each arm alternately on the cord with all the strength of his arms and the pivoted weight of his body.

On my way to play for a church service this morning, I passed two fat wild turkeys on the side of the road.  They moved slowly, without fear, almost like royalty.  I've been thinking about those turkeys all day.

Benjamin Franklin, after the bald eagle was chosen as the national bird, wrote in a letter to his daughter, "For my own part I wish the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country. He is a bird of bad moral character. He does not get his living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labour of the fishing hawk; and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to his nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him, and takes it from him. . . . the turkey is in comparison a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America."

In a lot of ways, Santiago is a lot like that turkey that Franklin praises here.  Dependable and patient.  Not cunning and violent, but respectable.  The old man is the same, rowing out on the ocean every day, casting his lines, and waiting for luck to swim up and bite his hook.

A long time ago, I was driving along another highway with a friend, and we saw a flock of wild turkeys on the side of the road.  My friend told me that seeing a wild turkey was a sign of coming wealth and prosperity.  That happened over 15 years ago, and I'm still waiting for that promised turkey payday.  Still working several jobs to pay my bills.

Today, I played keyboard/organ for two different church services.  Went grocery shopping.  Spent a couple hours mowing my lawn.  Took a short nap.  Then went for a walk with my wife and son to a new ice cream store that just opened in my hometown.  My wife got butterscotch ice cream.  My son chose a double scoop of root beer float.  And I got a single of peach.  On our way home, we stopped by the home of one of our best friends, sat on her front porch, and visited with her and her family visiting from Louisiana.  

I am a little exhausted right now, but I feel rich.  Not in terms of money in my pocket or bank account.  But I've got a pretty good life.  I have a roof over my head.  My family is healthy and happy.  The work that I do is fulfilling.  My lawn is cut.  And I got to share an ice cream moment with people I love tonight.

Saint Marty would call that prosperity.

July 2: Might Not Happen, Independence Day Parade and Fireworks, Freedom

Santiago thinks a good thing, but does not say it aloud . . .

Then he will turn and swallow it, he thought. He did not say that because he knew that if you said a good thing it might not happen. He knew what a huge fish this was and he thought of him moving away in the darkness with the tuna held crosswise in his mouth. At that moment he felt him stop moving but the weight was still there. Then the weight increased and he gave more line. He tightened the pressure of his thumb and finger for a moment and the weight increased and was going straight down.

"He's taken it," he said. "Now I'll let him eat it well."

I understand Santiago's reasoning here.  As a matter of fact, I hold the same belief.  When I think that something positive should or will happen, I avoid actually putting breath and words to that thing.  It's the kiss of death.  It almost guarantees epic failure.  That's why most authors are pretty superstitious regarding talking about their current writing projects.

Today, my hometown celebrated Independence Day with a parade, community picnic, and fireworks at dusk.  This morning, I watched the parade with people I love--family members who make me laugh and feel blessed.  This evening, I sat on a grassy hillside, listened to some bad bands, ate snow cones and kettle corn, and enjoyed the rockets red glare.  It was sort of a perfect day.

Yet, as I said last night, this Independence Day feels different to me.  Less free.  Usually, I think of this holiday as a time that unites citizens of the United States, regardless of politics.  I know that this country has been flawed since its inception.  Stolen from Indigenous peoples.  Built on the backs of slaves.  Ruled by white male privilege.  Freedom has been relative in this land since that little document penned by Thomas Jefferson was signed.

The United States has been an experiment since its inception.  Lately, that experiment has been corrupted.  Do I believe that I'm witnessing the downfall of my country?  At times, yes.  Today, however, seeing everyone gathered to celebrate the signing of a document that most citizens of this country have never even fully read, I can still feel a sense of hope for better and kinder times.

I'm not going to put that hope into specific words.  I am not Thomas Jefferson, and I'm not about to turn this post into some kind of Declaration of Hope for my flawed homeland.  That would be an enterprise destined to fail.  You see, until everyone starts recognizing those flaws and tries to fix them, we won't ever be truly united.  We'll remain doomed to an existence much like our present time, where racism and homophobia and xenophobia and misogyny infest all parts of society and government.

But I do have hope for my country this Independence Day weekend.  We can be better.  I know this.  We've been trying to be better for almost 250 years now.  Let freedom ring this July 4th for everyone.  For my daughter, who now has to refight battles that were won in the Supreme Court over 50 years ago.  For my son, who may have to join in his own Stonewall riot.  For everyone who isn't male and white and Christian.  

Hope belongs to everyone.  So does independence.

There's a verse in the song "America the Beautiful" that goes like this:  "America!  America!  God mend thine every flaw!"

That's Saint Marty's refrain tonight.

July 1: What a Fish, Holiday Weekend, Liberty

The fish takes Santiago's bait . . . 

"He can't have gone," he said. "Christ knows he can't have gone. He's making a turn. Maybe he has been hooked before and he remembers something of it."

Then he felt the gentle touch on the line and he was happy.

"It was only his turn," he said. "He'll take it."

He was happy feeling the gentle pulling and then he felt something hard and unbelievably heavy. It was the weight of the fish and he let the line slip down, down, down, unrolling off the first of the two reserve coils. As it went down, slipping lightly through the old man's fingers, he still could feel the great weight, though the pressure of his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible.

"What a fish," he said. "He has it sideways in his mouth now and he is moving off with it."

What a day.

Full of sun and warmth and sky.  As I sat working in my office, I watched the sunlight track through the trees and over the Methodist church across the street as the hours passed.  When I got to the library at 8 a.m., it was about 59 degrees.  When I left, it was in the low 70s.

Today begins a long holiday weekend in the United States.  Independence Day.  July 4th.  It's when the citizens of my country are supposed to celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776.  That's the document, written by Thomas Jefferson, that begins, in part, with this sentence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness . . . 

Certain unalienable rights.  Life.  Liberty.  The pursuit of Happiness.  The way I understand these words, Jefferson is saying that everyone deserves to live a life of freedom and happiness.  The United States Constitution, ratified a little over 11 years later, begins with these words:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Again, the Blessings of Liberty are guaranteed, not only to the dead white guys who wrote the Constitution, but to their children and children's children and children's children's children.  You get the idea.  Each and every citizen of the United States is guaranteed the Blessings of Liberty.  Including women, who now make up 50.52% of the nation's population.  Now, it's been a long time since I've taken a math class, but, by my calculations, that means that men make up 49.48% of the country.  

That means that men are in the minority.

I'm going to be playing the organ at three different church services this weekend (one Catholic, two Lutheran).  There is going to be the normal array of quasi-religious/patriotic hymns sung.  "America the Beautiful" and "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory."  This morning, someone suggested that we sing "The Star Spangled Banner" at one of those church services.  I made a joke, saying that only Whitney Houston could hit the high notes.  When the issue was pressed further, I replied a little more directly:  "I prefer not to."

I live in a country right now where the majority of its citizens have had their freedoms taken away by the highest court in the land.  I'm not seeing a whole lot of the Blessings of Liberty and unalienable rights these days.  In fact, it seems to me that those rights have become alienable, at least for people with vaginas.

The reason that I'm able to express myself like this is that I am guaranteed freedom of speech.  I can say and write whatever I want without fear of imprisonment.  I can be as offensive as I want to be, as long as I don't cross the line into hate speech.  Thank you, dead white guys.  If you don't like what you're reading right now, move along.

I won't be playing "The Star Spangled Banner" this weekend.  Won't be singing it, either.  Instead, I will offer up prayers for the females in my life.  And for my friends and family who are LGTBQ+.  Because they have very clearly received the message that they are not part of "We the People" who deserve "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."  

Think about that while you're barbecuing your hot dogs and hamburgers this weekend.  While you're watching parades and fireworks.  And remember this quote from Lutheran pastor Martin Niemoller about Nazi Germany:

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a communist;

Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a socialist;

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a trade unionist;

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--because I was not a Jew;

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Just a reminder of the price of lost freedom.  We all need to speak out.  Now.

Saint Marty wishes everyone reading these words Life, Liberty, and Happiness this Independence Day weekend.