6.25.2020 – checklist for changing?

checklist for changing?
anger, frustration, fear, want
right person at top

Thinking back over the great revolutions in world history, I went looking for common denominators.

The American Revolution, the French Revolution and the Russian Revolitions.

They all had anger in common.

Frustration and feat and want all in common.

And one other thing.

A real bone head at the top the pyramid.

George III may have been well meaning but he was a well meaning fat head who maybe could not get his arms around the fact that Americans wanted out but for sure did not grasp that any one would not want to be a subject of the Lord’s Anointed on earth.

And even if he wasn’t truly in charge, it seems that a lot of His Majesty’s Government were boneheads.

Take Lord George Germain for example, Secretary of State for the Colonies.

He wrote the orders of General John Burgoyne to march south from Canada along the Hudson River.

The Lord George went to lunch.

When he got back, he forgot all about writing orders to General Henry Clinton to march north from New York up the Hudson River to meet Gentleman Johnny.

The result being that when Johnny came down the Hudson to Saratoga, all he found was a bunch of really mad armed Americans and we had our first big victory of the war.

In France lets start with who was there.

To leave France and settle in Quebec, you had to prove you were a good Catholic and a loyal to the King.

In Great Britain the rule if you don’t love it here, feel free to leave and they did.

In France all the whiners and complainers had to stay in France.

The pro-King people all left.

And when the hungry people complained about being hungry, the Queen suggested Little Debbies.

Her husband, King Louis the whatever they had got to believed it when he said, “French people and above all Parisians … return to your king. He will always be your father, your best friend”

He accepted the crowds as his best friends right up to that last drop of the guillotine.

And Russian leaders.

After the American Revolution, Russians were inspired to launch there own revolution in 1825 when Tsar Alexander died.

It was hoped that Alexander’s brother Constantine, would take over and esatablish a new Russian Constitution.

The Decembrist mob stood outside the royal palace in St. Petersburg yelling Constantine and Constitution, Constantine and Constitution!

True many in the mob thought that Constitution was Constantine’s wife but they were yelling and having a great time.

Inside the palace, Nicholas I, the son and heir of the dead Tsar could hear the crowd.

Whatever they were yelling they were not yelling Nicholas.

So Nicky, a little pissed off, called out the Cossacks.

It is because of this charge that Nicholas I is known as Bloody Nicholas and not his Great Great Grandson, Nicholas II.

Of Nicholas II, wikipedia reports that, “Most commonly, he is described as shallow, weak, stupid—a one-dimensional figure presiding feebly over the last days of a corrupt and crumbling system. This, certainly, is the prevailing public image of the last Tsar. Historians admit that Nicholas was a “good man”—the historical evidence of personal charm, gentleness, love of family, deep religious faith and strong Russian patriotism is too overwhelming to be denied—but they argue that personal factors are irrelevant; what matters is that Nicholas was a bad tsar …. Essentially, the tragedy of Nicholas II was that he appeared in the wrong place in history”

Shallow

Weak

Stupid

Slow

Out of Touch

Feeble

Dumber than a stump.

Dumber than stump water.

Dumb from the neck up.

Start with people.

People frustrated, angry, scarred and looking for answers.

Looking to leaders to provide direction and the lights are on and no one is home.

Kind of reminds me of somewhere.

Kind of reminds me of someone.

Kind of doesn’t fill me with excitement for the future.

6.24.2020 – smile behind my mask

smile behind my mask
wearing my mask no one sees
so take it on faith

Is wearing a mask to simple a task?

I remember this story form the Bible.

When Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his robes, he sent him this message: “Why have you torn your robes? Have the man come to me and he will know that there is a prophet in Israel.” So Naaman went with his horses and chariots and stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”

But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy. 12Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage.

Naaman’s servants went to him and said, “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’!” So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy.

6.23.2020 – music heard with you

music heard with you
more than music, without you
all is desolate

Adapted from the Conrad Aiken’s Music I Heard.

I like his work though I had never heard until Savannah attached itself to myself late in life.

Yet the words, Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread, describe life with my wife that it seems like I have known his work for years.

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread.
Now that I am without you, all is desolate,
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved:
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.
And in my heart they will remember always:
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!

Like Johnny Mercer, the poet Conrad Aiken was known as Savannah’s own.

Mr. Aiken, according to his entry in Wikipedia, was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship, taught briefly at Harvard, and served as consultant in poetry for the Library of Congress.

Somehow, he was also largely responsible for establishing Emily Dickinson’s reputation as a major American poet.

Yet, in Savannah, he might be best know for recognizing a word combination in the daily newspaper where one day under SHIPS – ARRIVALS – DEPARTURES, he saw the notice;

Cosmos MarinerDestination Unknown.

Mr. Aiken took notice of the notice.

Mr. Aiken recognized the pure accidental poetry of the words.

He like the arrangement.

He like the rythym.

He liked it so much you that can read to this day as he had it carved into a marble bench.

A marble bench that sits next to his grave in a Savannah.

A bench where anyone can sit and watch the ships come and go from the port of Savannah.

Maybe one of them might be the Cosmos Mariner.

And its destination might be unknown.

Maybe I am the Cosmos Mariner.

Going out through the Cosmos.

Destination unknown.

6.22.2020 – rain falls, sail boats sink

rain falls, sail boats sink
temperatures drop, stocks plunge
emotions plummet

At the click of a switch.

Drop of a hat.

Off the edge of the table.

Closing of a door.

Night and day.

Black and white.

Sweet or sour.

Why do the bad days have to follow the good days so close.

No transition.

No warning.

Life is good and then it isn’t.

I wish I could remember how bad it can get when its going good.

I might appreciate the good more maybe.

But mostly I want to remember how bad it gets and some days the bit of good just isn’t worth it.

6.21.2020 – fathers day, my day

fathers day, my day
larger cast of characters?
still my miracle day

The biological process and the other process.

I do not think I have to go into the miracle of birth.

Hands down, no argument, the biological process of birth is a miracle.

I remember an episode of the TV show ‘Frasier’ where Niles Crane was diagnosed with ‘slow motility sperm.”

When his wife learns she is pregnant she says she must have fast eggs.

Miracle.

In this direction, things didn’t work out for us.

But with family history in play, it wasn’t that unexpected.

I guess I was ready for it.

When I had my first one-on-one meeting with the social worker, she asked, “Why do you want to adopt?”

I thought that was a dumb question seeing as how I was talking to an adoption specialist.

“We want a family,” I said.

She looked at me, made a note on a pad.

Then she asked, “What are you looking for?”

Which I thought was an even dumber question.

“Whatcha got?”, I responded.

She made a note on a pad.

I said, “Wait, wait, wait. What are you writing down? What do people say to that question?”

She looked at me and said, “Well in your case, most people would respond, a child with blond hair and blue eyes. Someone who looks like me …”

“OH?” says I, “what happens to those people?”

“They wait for 2 to 3 years.”

I need to say that I and this social worker hit it off.

I can say my response of whatcha got never changed .

I would even step on a limb and say she liked me.

She might have thought I was a bit … different, but she liked me.

She pulled some strings.

She pushed some buttons.

She had also placed a bunch of kids with my wife’s extended family.

Like I said though, she liked me.

She liked us.

Me and my wife Leslie.

She liked us though she warned that on our personality profiles we both tested high on leadership.

She told that could lead to ‘interesting’ situations later on.

But we also got fast tracked for adoption.

10 years later we had 7 kids.

Miracle.

Then there is family history.

In June of 1862, my Great Great Grandfather was shot through the lungs at the battle of Gaines Mill as a soldier in the Union Army.

Left for dead and abandoned when the Union Army retreated and left 2,000 plus wounded soldiers to the rebels.

My Great Great was a POW on Belle Isle in Richmond, Virginia before being exchanged and returned to the Union Army, all the while receiving no medical care.

Once back north and in a military hospital, he was mustered out of the service.

For the rest of his life he carried that rebel bullet in his chest.

But he made it home and THEN got married and THEN fathered two daughters.

One of who was my great grandmother.

Shot through the lungs.

Left for dead.

Survives a Civil War era prisoner of war cap.

Then starts the line that led to me?

Miracle.

You want to stack any of these miracles up against each other?

You want to go to Vegas and get one chance to make a bet on any one of these miracles?

As far as I know, me and my wife have seven kids.

Shortly after getting the girls, they were all in the basement and they were fighting to beat the band over something.

I was frustrated.

I was mad.

I said to my wife they are all down there fighting.

WHY CAN’T THEY GET ALONG LIKE BROTHERS and SISTERS …….

I stopped in mid sentence.

I thought about it.

“Never mind,” I said.

I might not be the brightest bulb in the box.

But I like to think I am smart enough to appreciate miracles.

Sure there were miracles that created our kids.

They are other people involved with that.

I got no problem there.

I got no problem there because I got not problem with who I am and who my kids are.

Me and my wife had this big, odd, weird family.

It has a big, odd weird story.

My kids call me Dad.

I am not prepared to argue.

One miracle or another, I don’t care.

Love these kids very much and proud of what they have done and proud of the grand kids.

Love being a Dad.

Love being a Papa.

Love my wife being Grammy.

It has been rough.

It has been smooth.

Good times and bad times.

Like any other family.

I am lucky guy.