Category: Life

7.25.2020 – the path most taken

the path most taken
Titanic mentality
the end doesn’t change

It seems to me that in the old show, F Troop, a comedy about the good old days in the US Cavalry in the post Civil War West, there was this ongoing gag.

One of the Native American characters was always reading a book on the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

At some point some one would say, “Are you reading that again?”

And the character would answer, “I like how it ends.”

Last night I was watching TV and low and behold a lady from where I live in Gwinnett County was on CNN.

She was telling the CNN Anchor why she and other parents wanted the schools here in Gwinnett, the nations 4th or 5th largest school district, to be open in a few weeks.

She said she felt she was on the Titanic and there was no room in the lifeboats for her and other people who felt like her.

Her comments stuck with me.

It comes to me that the Titanic is a great analogy for where this great county is right now.

All the technology you can ask for.

All the power and services you can ask for.

All the anything you could ask for.

And neighbors, let me tell you, the story ends the same way.

THE

SHIP

SINKS.

We can argue on the course that got us here.

We can argue about who gets in the lifeboats.

We can argue about how to launch the lifeboats.

But in the end.

The story ends the same way.

The

Ship

Sinks.

I am getting more and more used to the idea that WE ARE ON THE TITANIC.

We are sinking.

Congress seems to think we have time to argue about it.

A lot of people seems to think we have time to argue about it.

This morning on TV I heard what I think was a one time Sec of Treasury in another (GW BUSH, OBAMA) administration who said it wasn’t the amount of financial aid in the next the stimulus package it was the LENGTH OF TIME the package would be available.

I cling to that.

One voice saying look at the length of time here folks.

I feel like these arguments and discussions on payments, masks, schools, quarantine, social distancing and what not are important, but in the grand scheme, no one will care.

Why?

Because.

The

Ship

Sinks.

The end of the story stays the same.

Only this time, I do not think any one is going to like how the story ends.

7.24.2020 – a sweet demeanor

a sweet demeanor
selfless way, giving, caring
soft-spoken nature

Joyce Elizabeth Peterson was a rare gem on this Earth.

I only know that from reading her obituary.

And I only happened on to her obituary because I thinking about Duluth, Minnesota.

I only happened be thinking about Duluth, Minnesota because of where I live.

When the railroad came through here in the 1880’s folks said, ‘What is the furthest you can go on this railroad.?

And the answer was Duluth, Minnesota.

So the town where I now live was named, Duluth, Georgia.

And I was thinking about Duluth, Minnesota.

And wondered who lived up there or at least who had been living up there.

And I checked the obituaries in the local paper.

And I found Joyce Elizabeth Peterson.

The first line of her obit might be considered a life goal for any person any time any where.

Her sweet demeanor, soft-spoken nature, and selfless way of giving and caring for others made Joyce a rare gem on this Earth.

It certainly stands out today.

And maybe the fact that she stands out, she was a rare gem, is as sad a comment on us today as the fact that for us, Joyce Elizabeth Peterson has passed on.

Here is here obit.

Joyce Elizabeth Peterson

Her sweet demeanor, soft-spoken nature, and selfless way of giving and caring for others made Joyce a rare gem on this Earth. She will be greatly missed by her family and lifelong friends.

Joyce Elizabeth Peterson, 95, lifelong resident of Duluth, passed away peacefully in her sleep on July 17, 2020 at Barnes Care assisted living in Esko, MN.

Joyce was born in Duluth on June 26, 1925 to Wallace and Elizabeth Clemens. She graduated from Duluth Central High School and technical college. She married Gordon R. Peterson and they were married for 45 years. She was a hardworking Homemaker, raising their daughters and maintaining their home. She loved to knit and spend time at the cabin on Caribou Lake. She was a member of Trinity Lutheran Church and active in the church circles and bible study groups.

Joyce was preceded in death by her parents; husband; and brother, William.

Joyce is survived by her children, Debra (Ron) Brochu and Cynthia (Terry) Cossin; grandchildren, Derek and Jessica Brochu; great-grandson she adored, “DJ”; special nephew, Richard Ouellette; nephews, Tom (Carol) Ouellette and Lewis Wackler; and niece, Barbara Gwynn.

The family would like to thank the staff at Barnes Care in Esko for her great care during the last 16 months.

Due to Covid-19, a memorial service will be held at a later date, hopefully sometime in the fall. Interment will be next to her husband at Sunrise Memorial Park Cemetery. Memorials may be made to Trinity Lutheran Church, 1108 E. 8th St. in Duluth, MN 55805.

7.22.2020 – A need of silence

A need of silence
and of stars. Too much is said
too loud. I am dazed.

Adapted from the poetry of William Alexander Percy.

According to Wikipedia, William Alexander Percy (May 14, 1885 – January 21, 1942), was a lawyer, planter, and poet from Greenville, Mississippi. His autobiography Lanterns on the Levee (Knopf 1941) became a bestseller. His father LeRoy Percy was the last United States Senator from Mississippi elected by the legislature.

Mr. Percy had a lot more issues and foibles that could be collected and covered in the average wikipedia article.

He could also write about minds that gain all knowledge but no calm.

Where to put Mr. Percy and his work?

For me I will just read his work and hope for the best I guess.

Just another of the authors you run into when you move south.

Here is the complete poem, “Home” from the collection titled, “In New York.”

I have a need of silence and of stars;
Too much is said too loudly; I am dazed.
The silken sound of whirled infinity
Is lost in voices shouting to be heard.
I once knew men as earnest and less shrill.
An undermeaning that I caught I miss
Among these ears that hear all sounds save silence,
These eyes that see so much but not the sky,
These minds that gain all knowledge but no calm.

If suddenly the desperate music ceased,
Could they return to life? or would they stand
In dancers’ attitudes, puzzled, polite,
And striking vaguely hand on tired hand
For an encore, to fill the ghastly pause?

I do not know. Some rhythm there may be
I cannot hear. But I oh, I must go
Back where the breakers of deep sunlight roll
Across flat fields that love and touch the sky;
Back to the more of earth, the less of man,
Where there is still a plain simplicity,
And friendship, poor in everything but love,
And faith, unwise, unquestioned, but a star.

Soon now the peace of summer will be there
With cloudy fire of myrtles in full bloom;
And, when the marvelous wide evenings come,
Across the molten river one can see
The misty willow-green of Arcady.

And then the summer stars … I will go home.

7.21.202 – ten, twelve hours a day

ten, twelve hours a day
8 cents a box, drops to 6
pictures for today

Today’s haiku comes from the poem, Onion Days, by Carl Sandburg, that I recently ran across.

It is a poem about a woman who picks onions 10 to 12 hours a day for 8 cents a box.

The owner of the farm worries about how to make his farm produce more efficiently so he hires more workers so he only has to pay 6 cents a box.

The poem was written in 1916.

I also recently watched the movie ‘The Irishman”.

I wonder if its time for DeNiro and Pesci to close the door on mob movies but I digress.

The movie was about Jimmy Hoffa, a man today more famous for not being here than for what he did when he was here.

And that’s too bad.

Right or wrong in his methods, Hoffa cared about the people who did the working.

Not sure there is anyone in that role today.

His first strike was on the loading dock of a grocery company in 1931.

The crew on the loading dock was expected to work 12 hours shifts.

They were paid 32 cents an hour.

12 cents in cash and 20 cents in credits at the grocery store.

BUT they were only paid for the time they spent actually unloading trucks.

Hoffa organized the crew and on a hot summer day when truckloads of strawberries rolled in, they went on strike.

They demanded a full 32 cents an hour in cash and a minimum of 4 hours pay for a 12 hour day.

The grocery store, a place called KROGER, gave in a signed a one year contract.

Congress will meet this week to ‘discuss’ a further stimulus package.

How many of them are really thinking of the people who work.

Don’t the men and women of Congress enjoy chanting the Nicene creed with their daughters on each side of them joining their voices with theirs?

I am lucky.

I have a well paying job and am allowed to work from home.

No one would ever write a play about me.

But as Mr. Sandburg says in his poem about Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti …

or the crew on the loading dock …

or the people who need to work and can’t work because there is not enough work …

or can’t work enough because stores are closing …

because restaurants are closing …

because businesses everywhere are closing …

No dramatist living COULD put them into a play.

No one could capture that.

In 1916, in 1931, or today.

But I hope the men and women in Congress at least think about them this week

– – – – – – – – – – –

Onion Days in Chicago Poems by Carl Sandburg, (1916)

Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti comes along Peoria Street every morning at nine o’clock

With kindling wood piled on top of her head, her eyes looking straight ahead to find the way for her old feet.

Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, whose husband was killed in a tunnel explosion through the negligence of a fellow-servant,

Works ten hours a day, sometimes twelve, picking onions for Jasper on the Bowmanville road.

She takes a street car at half-past five in the morning, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti does,

And gets back from Jasper’s with cash for her day’s work, between nine and ten o’clock at night.

Last week she got eight cents a box, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, picking onions for Jasper,

But this week Jasper dropped the pay to six cents a box because so many women and girls were answering the ads in the Daily News.

Jasper belongs to an Episcopal church in Ravenswood and on certain Sundays

He enjoys chanting the Nicene creed with his daughters on each side of him joining their voices with his.

If the preacher repeats old sermons of a Sunday, Jasper’s mind wanders to his 700-acre farm and how he can make it produce more efficiently

And sometimes he speculates on whether he could word an ad in the Daily News so it would bring more women and girls out to his farm and reduce operating costs.

Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti is far from desperate about life; her joy is in a child she knows will arrive to her in three months.

And now while these are the pictures for today there are other pictures of the Giovannitti people I could give you for to-morrow,

And how some of them go to the county agent on winter mornings with their baskets for beans and cornmeal and molasses.

I listen to fellows saying here’s good stuff for a novel or it might be worked up into a good play.

I say there’s no dramatist living can put old Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti into a play with that kindling wood piled on top of her head coming along Peoria Street nine o’clock in the morning.