July 30: Alone on the Sea, Emotional and Spiritual Closeness, "Nunsense"

Santiago meditates on being alone . . . 

"Now," he said. "You can let the cord go, hand, and I will handle him with the right arm alone until you stop that nonsense." He put his left foot on the heavy line that the left hand had held and lay back against the pull against his back.

"God help me to have the cramp go," he said. "Because I do not know what the fish is going to do."

But he seems calm, he thought, and following his plan. But what is his plan, he thought. And what is mine? Mine I must improvise to his because of his great size. If he will jump I can kill him. But he stays down forever. Then I will stay down with him forever.

He rubbed the cramped hand against his trousers and tried to gentle the fingers. But it would not open. Maybe it will open with the sun, he thought. Maybe it will open when the strong raw tuna is digested. If I have to have it, I will open it, cost whatever it costs. But I do not want to open it now by force. Let it open by itself and come back of its own accord. After all I abused it much in the night when it was necessary to free and unite the various lines.

He looked across the sea and knew how alone he was now. But he could see the prisms in the deep dark water and the line stretching ahead and the strange undulation of the calm. The clouds were building up now for the trade wind and he looked ahead and saw a flight of wild ducks etching themselves against the sky over the water, then blurring, then etching again and he knew no man was ever alone on the sea.

"No man is ever alone on the sea."  That's a pretty profound statement from Santiago.  It touches upon a feeling that everyone experiences at some point in their lives.  Isolation.  Alienation.  It can happen when you're completely alone (in a boat on the sea), or when you are surrounded by a crowd (at a beach, concert, or parade).  Because this feeling is not about physical closeness.  It's about emotional and spiritual closeness.  Or distance.

I'm sitting on my couch right now.  It's late at night, pushing 1 a.m.   Everyone else in my home is asleep.   I just turned off the TV, and a ringing silence has settled in my ears.  I can honestly say that it feels as though I am the last human being on the planet.  The Omega Man.  I'm waiting for Godot, but, of course, Godot is never going to show up.

These emotions are false.  My whole life has been filled with wonderful individuals who I love and who love me.  Family.  Friends.  Colleagues.  Yet, at times (like tonight), loneliness can seem very tangible.  Almost a physical presence.  It's up to me to figure out a way to shake off this presence.  

Earlier tonight, I attended a performance with my family of the musical Nunsense.  It's a show I know very well.  I've directed productions of it.  Twice.  I directed Nunsense II, as well.  And I worked with almost all the same actresses each time.  These wonderful women are family to me, and their characters are my crazy nun aunts.  Going to the theatre tonight was like coming home.  (Two of the lead nuns tonight starred in my productions, as well.  So, it was a Back to the Future kind of feeling.)

I sat there, listening to the jokes, knowing the punchlines.  I remembered the lyrics to every single song, and I could have done all of the choreography, as well.  And my son, who had never seen the show before, loved every second of it.  Seeing it new through his eyes was sort of amazing.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, sitting in the theatre tonight, surrounded by my family, watching my Nunsense gals, I didn't feel alone.  My mom and dad loved Nunsense.  I remember them sitting in the audience, my dad laughing so hard that he took the handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe away his tears.  My sister, Sally, attended every night of all of my Nunsense shows.  She sold concessions, but, when the shows started, she stood in the back of the auditorium and watched the entire performance.  My sister, Rose, loved the nuns, too.  She cackled at every one-liner.  

Tonight brought back a wonderful time in my life.  A time filled with laughter and love.

Saint Marty is so grateful for the Nunsense blessings he received.

July 29: My Brother, Poet Sister, Birdlight

Santiago and his brother fish . . . 

I wish I could feed the fish, he thought. He is my brother. But I must kill him and keep strong to do it. Slowly and conscientiously he ate all of the wedge-shaped strips of fish.

He straightened up, wiping his hand on his trousers.

It's not surprising that Santiago feels a certain kinship to the fish.  They are both, in a way, old men of the sea--Santiago above, the fish below.  They are siblings of water and salt.

Today was the birthday of one of my best friends.  A sister in poetry.  In a lot of ways, she's the yin to my yang.  I tend to darkness in my moods and thoughts.  My friend runs to the sun, physically and spiritually and emotionally and artistically.  We text each other new poems frequently.  Her poems are full of sunlight and flowerlight and birdlight.  Mine are . . . not.  Yet, we hold each other up through difficult times.  And we sing each other in joyful times.

Today, I went to an artist/poet reception for a poetry broadside exhibition.  I saw many close poet friends and listened to them read their beautiful words.  My sister in poetry was there.  So, we ate chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies, drank some flavored waters, and soaked in the poetry around us.  It was a perfect way to mark the occasion of the day of her birth.

And I felt uplifted, as I always do when I'm with her.  We know each other so well.  She has seen me through some pretty rough times, and I hope that I've been able to do the same for her.  She is facing some struggles right now, being the child of aging parents with health problems.  Because she works in healthcare (as I did for almost 25 years), she and I have similar reactions to these kinds of situations.  We hold onto hope, but we also deal with the reality.  In our friendship, we allow each other to celebrate and grieve.  Without judgement.

Being with my friend for an hour or so this afternoon was like taking a deep breath.

And that was Saint Marty's blessing today.

July 28: Calm and Steady, Parable, Old Donkey

Santiago eats, even though he's not hungry

"It is a strong full-blooded fish," he thought. "I was lucky to get him instead of dolphin. Dolphin is too sweet. This is hardly sweet at all and all the strength is still in it."

There is no sense in being anything but practical though, he thought. I wish I had some salt. And I do not know whether the sun will rot or dry what is left, so I had better eat it all although I am not hungry. The fish is calm and steady. I will eat it all and then I will be ready.

"Be patient, hand," he said. "I do this for you."

Doing something that you don't feel like doing.  Because it's the right thing to do.  

I think everybody has moments like that.  Eating a food you don't like because it's polite.  Watching a movie you hate because another person loves it.  Working a job that brings you no happiness because you need the money.  I could go on, but you get the idea.

This is going to be one of those posts where I can't really give specifics.  I need to protect both the innocent and guilty.  I absolutely could name names and point fingers.  However, that will do no good.  It won't change the situation, and it would only make me feel better temporarily.  So, I will speak as generically as possible, perhaps in parable.

There once was an old donkey that spent its days plowing fields for its master.  From sunup to sundown, it toiled in hot weather and cold.  Rain and snow.  It did the best it could, because it needed the oats its master provided in order to live.

One day, the donkey's master came to the stable and said to the donkey, "I had a meeting with the owner of the farm.  The owner isn't happy.  He needs a donkey that can work more fields and longer days.  So, I have to go to the village square this morning and buy a new donkey.  Today is the last day I can give you oats."

With that, its master gave the donkey one last trough of oats to eat, patted the donkey on the head, and said, "Good luck, old donkey."  Then, the master opened the gate to the donkey's stall so that the donkey could leave after it was done eating.

The donkey ate and then left, not sure where it was going or what it was going to do.  

The master bought another donkey that went to work in the owner's fields.  The new donkey worked hard, and the harvest was greater than the previous year.  The owner got even richer than before.

The old donkey, tired and broken, wandered into the wilderness and was never heard from again.

Moral of the story:  sometimes, no matter how hard you work, somebody is always looking for a better piece of ass.

Saint Marty's blessings:  drinks with some friends at the end of a long day, and a beautiful sky on the way home.

 

July 27: Another Full Piece, Film Series, Pizza

Santiago eats some fish . . . 

Chew it well, he thought, and get all the juices. It would not be bad to eat with a little lime or with lemon or with salt.

"How do you feel, hand?" he asked the cramped hand that was almost as stiff as rigor mortis. "I'll eat some more for you."

He ate the other part of the piece that he had cut in two. He chewed it carefully and then spat out the skin.

"How does it go, hand? Or is it too early to know?"

He took another full piece and chewed it.

I'm not sure Santiago is really enjoying the bonito he's eating, but he knows that, if he wants to survive, he must eat.  To keep up his strength.  Stay hydrated.  Remain alert.

That's what I did today, too.

It was another busy day at the office.  I spent most of it working on film series for the library.  An international film series and a documentary film series.  That may sound like an easy task.  It wasn't.  First, I had to make sure we had all of our film licenses up-to-date.  Then I had to investigate film distributors.  Once I had the names of the movie companies that distributed the chosen films, I had to scan through a 54-page list of distributors covered under the library's umbrella licenses.  

All of that took me most of the morning.  

Then, I had to design a poster, which took me another hour or so.

When I was done with the international film series, I started all over with the documentary film series.  That one went a little quicker, but the poster took me another hour to put together.  

This work is creative and fun in a lot of ways.  So different from teaching or working in the healthcare industry.  And I like to think that I'm pretty good at it.  It's so in line with my passions and interests.

I also recorded a podcast episode with a friend/coworker from the library.  Actually, she is now a former coworker.  She's moving away to attend graduate school in Indiana.  Pretty much since I started my job at the library, she's been a really good friend.  We see eye-to-eye on almost everything, from witches to women's reproductive rights.  It was good to sit down with her one last time and talk books.  

This evening, I had pizza with another good friend who plans programming at the Upper Peninsula Children's Museum.  I love being around this man.  So does my wife and son.  My friend and his wife have become part of our family.  They even attended my son's eighth grade graduation.  

And I ate a few slices of pizza.  To keep up my strength and blood sugar.  I drank some pale ale to stay hydrated.  (No comments, please.  I know that alcohol does not really hydrate.)  I tried to stay alert.

That's Saint Marty's laundry list of blessings today.  Friends and movies and pizza.