Telegram

Hair

Moments ago, I finished giving myself a haircut. I sit in front of a mirror with a pair of scissors and trim away all the odd bits of hair that have started to annoy me; I try to make the cut more or less even, especially around the ears, and then I stop. This suits me: if it's bad it's my own fault, the price is right, and, since I'm involved in the entire operation, I'm never taken by surprise. Not that my appearance will surprise me much after decades of familiarity. The funny thing is, to the extent that people will notice that my hair has been cut, they will compliment me on my appearance. Now, I will look presentable, possibly, but not fabulous; so what is the meaning of the compliment. It may be a standard phrase, devoid of truth value; or it may mean that I've let it go so far that the contrast makes it look good; or maybe these people haven't been looking all that closely at me, and still aren't; or it may mean that, objectively, the haircut is adequate and that everyone else is wasting their time, money, and emotion on paid-for haircuts that aren't any better than the home-made kind.


David on 07.31.04 @ 03:19 PM CST [link]

String of Pearls

On Sunday, they called me over and invited me to lunch. It was a little tight - there was a memorial service in the afternoon - but I dropped by. When I got there they made references to the trip they were taking tomorrow (Monday) so I had to pretend I knew all about it, and that I was ready to housesit for them. There weren't any new instructions, especially, and I wished them well and tired to figure out what I would be leaving undone at my own house. Nothing in particular, so fine; a little unexpected, a little inconvenient, but fine. Then, Sunday night, a call: "Can you housesit this week?" Sorry, I'm booked. She tried Katie, then called me back. Are you sure you can't? I can't stay over, I can only do the basics.... So I did that, through Thursday, and had evening obligations two nights, and now I'm down to one housesit, and don't know where I am anymore, but I guess it's here.


David on 07.30.04 @ 04:51 PM CST [link]

H

The Story-Teller; by Patricia Highsmith. A tale of suspense, about a writer of thrillers whose wife disappears in circumstances which cast suspicion on him. The atmosphere of foreboding is maintained for a good long time, but the story slips a notch once the disappearance takes place. Characters start doing unconvincing things which happen to heighten the atmosphere of suspicion. Not quite exasperating enough for me to give up on, but close: however, the writing was clear, well-crafted and interesting.
David on 07.29.04 @ 03:46 PM CST [link]

Haiku

Up on a wet roof
Hairy woodpecker in blue:
Hammers through the dawn.

David on 07.28.04 @ 07:35 AM CST [link]

Housesitting

For the next few days, expect only a haiku a day.

Green oak on blue sky -
Ragged lines of red sandstone.
Eternal songbird.
David on 07.26.04 @ 05:33 PM CST [link]

Theater

I went over to the park to see the outdoor production of Seussical last night; it was the last presentation and I know a couple of people in the cast, a pair of Whos. It had rained ferociously on Friday night and the performance was cancelled. So the show began, the who cast was on stage and I spotted my friends. It was nice and tuneful, but it's been too long since I've read any of the books and I couldn't follow the plot. If you can't follow Dr. Seuss, you're really confused. After a while I got distracted by a little boy nearby, who was enjoying the show so much he was practically bursting. He was jumping up and down with excitement, little rhythmic hops. Why, I wondered, don't adult jump up and down with excitement? How do we manage to hold all that zippy energy in? After a while his mom grabbed hold of him and tried to hold the little squirmer down. I'd lost track of the one show and the other had drawn to an end, so I went home.
David on 07.25.04 @ 08:03 PM CST [link]

Summery

It was, first of all, a smell. After many hours of travel, driving over a scrubby, moorish landscape, a smell of brackish water and decaying vegetation. At the base of the causeway, on the island side, was the realtor's office where the keys waited. Another ten minutes, along short, densely packed blocks of houses, then left, stopping at one indistinguishable from the others. It was still only mid-morning, so after the necessary tasks had been completed, which seemed to take forever, there was the beach. Smooth and pale, blinding in the sun, and there, where it ended, the sea began. Regular as rhythm the waves surged ashore. Towels were spread, an umbrella raised, and the introductions were made. The child was tentative and timid, the ocean inscrutable and protean. The first wave came as a big scary surprise. Where's the fun in this?


David on 07.24.04 @ 05:36 PM CST [link]

The Other Guy

The head sexton has been talking my ear off. I don't have much choice but to listen when he talks, and hope that when it's over we can get some work done. He is a fault-finder and a second-guesser, and to the extent that I am those things too, I'm getting worse by exposure to him. I have decided that, in a different era, he would have made a first-rate Klansman or, with very little deviation from his line, a first-rate Wobblie. He is suspicious and discontented and will express that discontentment and suspicion on any subject, with vehemence and certitude. He has absolute and simple solutions to the war, the election, the problem of undocumented aliens, the economy, as well as all problems in the workplace in which his counsel was not sought. And all this without any documented facts to support his position. Today he asked me, rhetorically, "Am I wrong?", and I told him he was, and offered the facts as I understood them. He wasn't fazed at all and continued his tirade, regardless.


David on 07.23.04 @ 06:27 PM CST [link]

Take and Read

The house I grew up in had books on all the shelves and reading was a regular pastime with my parents and my two older brothers. In school days my social circle was small and their homes were much the same. But when I got to college it became apparent to me that many people, successful, inteligent people, didn't really read. I spent more time reading for fun than reading for school in those days, and chose academic courses for the promising reading lists they had. Of course, I spent more time drinking than reading, but that's off topic. And now I spend time in other people's homes, and often find there only the most disheartening kinds of books -- pop finance, pop fiction, pop medicine. My mother read cookbooks for fun but I can't imagine anyone would read a book about high blood pressure in that spirit. And what a loss: to lock yourself into only the life you're living, when it's possible to see the world through the eyes of another, time and time again.
David on 07.22.04 @ 05:51 PM CST [link]

Any Morning

I don't usually open my eyes right away. At this time of year I can hear the insects and birds through the window. It may be dark, still. I get my glasses off the bedside table and put them on. I might turn on the radio; the classical station doesn't come in too well right now and may be overwhelmed by loud rap. It might be turned right off again. Out of bed before too long. I turn on the computer on the way to the bathroom and kitchen. I make two cups of coffee, and nowadays that's all i drink for the day (most days). I log on, check the mail, stats, and some favorite websites. I refill my coffee while pages load. Read a little in the reading room. Get dressed and brush my teeth. Turn off the computer and do a few chores until it's time to leave.


David on 07.21.04 @ 05:41 PM CST [link]

Thousand

Twice today I received implicit compliments on my photographs. A member of the church's Communications Committee called to ask if he could submit a picture of mine to the local paper. I assented. He is a little hazy about what their requirements are for digital pictures, and I suspect the photo isn't dense enough to meet them. Later, the father of the bride from the July 3 wedding asked if he could have copies of any pictures I took of the decorations. He is a highly-regarded interior designer and I suspect my inartistic documentation will be a bit inadequate to his eye. Nevertheless.



David on 07.20.04 @ 05:18 PM CST [link]

Fear

"When we are children we are afraid, but we are not ashamed." I wrote that down last night, and as far as it goes, it sounsds okay. Before we learn to put up a front, we express our reactions and emotions nakedly and unselfconsciously. We haven't learned; we are afraid of the trivial and bold in the face of real dangers. And, as we learn what is really to be feared and what is not, we become embarrassed by the fact that we have shown, publicly, our fears. And we learn to conceal our fears, even when they are legitimate. We learn to fear, not only what is before us, but what may come to pass, so that fear becomes a kind of evil twin of hope. That kind of fear, though, is a lie, since very little of what might come to pass actually will, and to fear it all is too diffuse and disabling to endure. "Present fears are less than horrible imaginings."


David on 07.19.04 @ 07:34 PM CST [link]

Staccato

Weekend. It started at three o'clock on Friday, when my work day ended. Used the telephone at the office, spoke to the wedding coordinator, left before the rehearsal started. Arrived home after four (actual commute ten minutes). Food, nap, ablutions; television. Food. Internet, including entry here, more television. Sleep. Up Saturday morning by six or so. Bible study at seven, until nine. No bible study today, just discussion of what we'll study next. Bank, grocery store, back to workplace to pick up equipment. Home to drop off groceries, then to friend's house to do some trimming. Water break, talk and work on crossword puzzle. Home, nap; then to church for wedding. Coordinator arrives after two, florist about ten of three, groomsmen a little after. Done there by five-fifteen. Home. Read, eat, drink a beer, television (Prime Suspect 2, on tape). Bed. Up at ten after midnight to go turn on lights for returning youth mission trip. Home by one. Bed. Up at six, work by seven. inished by quarter after twelve, shopping, home for nap. Telephoning, ablutions, food. Now off to take care of blind-deaf-arthritic-diabetic dog for night. Weekend over.


David on 07.18.04 @ 02:36 PM CST [link]

A Glass, Darkly

I am getting a little tired of 1 Corinthians 13 as a wedding text. It's mainly overexposure; it is dutifully read at every wedding I see, maybe ten a year, and the mandatory use of it bothers me. Especially since the text isn't about marriage or marital love. Out of its context, it can sound safe, sentimental, warm, romantic, but this is scripture, this is Paul, and it's part of a discussion of the excesses practiced by the early church, and some guidance for moderating these excesses. The passage makes no sense if it's purged of all its references to the spiritual-gifts contoversy, but in the context of a wedding all the references to tongues and prophecy seem like a lot of smoke and mirrors. The trouble is, the Bible is full of references to sordid and furtive sexual escapades, unhappy marriages and marriages of convenience, and what advice it offers on undertaking marriage sounds old-fashioned and patriarchal. Scripture doesn't hold romantic love in high esteem; that's a modern conceit. Jacob loved Rachel, and look at all the trouble they went through. It's inspiring, sure, but the story is kind of a downer for a wedding day recitation.


David on 07.17.04 @ 07:57 PM CST [link]

Into the Now

I don't do much for her birthday any more. I took a couple of red roses to the cemetery and laid them next to the headstone. I don't stay very long because I don't find her there. I did my usual day off tasks; paid bills, laundry, shopping. I called Z's mom and then, S. We talked about the memorial service, the back roads of Hunterdon, Morris, and Warren counties, I copied out the letter into my journal. Bob is still at AU, as a staff member. Barbara, the girl from across the street, moved to New York 20 years ago and I haven't heard from her since. Mark, my best friend from high school, moved to Philadelphia, and is married with two sons. Gen died about a year ago and her son is an entomologist in Australia. There was a wasp struggling in a cobweb outside my window. I called Z today.
David on 07.16.04 @ 06:00 PM CST [link]

Birthday

July 21, 1981

Dear Dave,

How do you like my new birthday paper that cousin Betty gave me? And I'm writing with my new pen from the pen & pencil set Gen sent me. I really appreciated your happy birthday call, honey. It's nice to be remembered. The next night Anne called with birthday greetings. I hadn't heard from her in ages - as usual poor Anne has had one catastrophe after another. If all goes well, she's treating me to a birthday lunch Thursday. And then a real surprise when, at 11, Nancy called from Louisiana. We talked about an hour, and caught up on everything - well, pretty much. Also talked to Kendra, who sounds like she has the beginnings of a southern accent. Nancy is bored out of her skull, but says she likes it, and likes the people. But it is way out in the country, with mostly elderly people around and nothing to do. She's even been making jams & preserves from figs, which are ripe and in abundant supply. She may get up around Thanksgiving - her mother wants to pay her plane fare so she can come.

I sold the extra air conditioner Sunday for $50. I had advertised on 3x5 cards that Bob posted in the nearby supermarkets, & was feeling discouraged, thinking I can't even manage to sell anything. this man had moved here from Colorado, & the family is having to wait for some time for their furniture to arrive, & they are sort of camping out in their new home. I imagine this kind of heat gets to them. The air conditioner was old,but works well. I wish I could go out and blow the whole 50 bucks or put it in savings at least, but we need it for other things. I'm grateful to get it. If the government didn't want so much in taxes every time I turn around, I'd be in clover.

The Walsh's finally sold their house, but I haven't talked to Rosemary, so don't know when they'll be moving. There are a lot of houses for sale, & they're moving very slowly. No wonder, between the prices & the high interest rates.

Bob's allergies kicked up last week, & made him feel lousy, but he seems to be O.K. again. The lawn & garden really need attention desperately by now though. The lettuce can be pcked now, & we have a couple of small peppers & some green toamatoes, so maybe by the time you get down, we'll have fresh vegetables!! My gladiolas have been bloomingthe past weeks. I rush out and pick them immediately, and have kept myself supplied & also given some to joan, Pat & Barbara. The forget-me-nots and dahlias are doing well, so I'll have them to replace the glads (which are about finished). They're lovely too - just not as showyas the glads.

Bob's delivering phone books today. They sent an insert with the bill & Bob applied. He has a local neighborhood - delivers about 200 books for $25 & they give him 2 days to do it. Then they can return for a new territory. It's going to be hot work today, but he can use the money.

Bob got all his stuff off to American Univ. last week, so now will have a wait. At least the postal strike seems to be settled. Gen & I both felt they'd been having a slowdown already. I hope this all works out for Bob - the financing won't be easy, especially now. Naturally I'm dreading having to learn to live alone again - it will be so lonely. But I'm happy he has decided what he wants to do & how to go about getting it. Dad took him to Bloomingdale's the other night & bought him some clothes.

Mark & Barbara were here Saturday & most of Sunday, but they were really very pleasant & companionable, & kept the noise level down, so everyone was happy. Mark's birthday is today, & his grandparents are surprising him by having Barbara & Bob for dinner. When his grandmother called to invite Bob, she asked for Dave's brother Bob.

Nothing much more to say, & I'm getting tired. It's still early, but I've been up since 5:30, so am already ready for lunch & a nap. there's a good Ginger Rogers movie on at 1 p.m., so maybe I'll watch that. It's so humid today, it's hard to do much. I have plenty of leftovers for myself for tonight, so don't have to worry about that. I think I've made every known salad & salad combination the past few weeks & can't look at ne anymore! I made mayonnaise, with Bob's help, using the blender. I was so thrilled to see it actually get thick & look right. I somehow felt that mayo only came in jars in the supermarket.

How are you? I miss you, & hope you can get down before too long. Is your dog bite all right? Haven't you gotten your medical insurance straightened out yet? You should be able to take your card & go to the emergency ward & not pay anything - you have 1st dollar - or so Bob says. It's really dangerous to neglect something like a puncture wound or a dog bite. And I could always pay for anything that important - so please don't be like that if such a thing should happen again. Cross my fingers it won't.

Gen's son gave her an explanation of the swarming bees & she wrote me. I'll read it to you when I see you - quite fascinating!

Lots of love, Mom
David on 07.15.04 @ 04:11 PM CST [link]

implicit arches.
David on 07.14.04 @ 08:00 PM CST [link]

Ramblin'

Supposedly we had over five inches of rain yesterday. Further south some places got eleven inches, so I guess we can count ourselves lucky. It didn't seem that bad to me, moderate most of the day, but heavy enough that we were able to locate the leak in the sanctuary roof, and block the drip from coming through the ceiling. At my meeting in the evening, I could hear it pelting the windows once in a while, but I didn't pay much attention. That must have been when it rained hard enough to come in under the foundation and flood the church basement. I didn't sleep well, so maybe the rain in the night disturbed me. I finally got up and tried watching TV for a while. There was nothing on except some kind of "Girls Gone Wild" infomercial, and nothing on there, either. I went back to sleep, eventually. The worst night-mares are the runaway horses of thought when you can't get back to sleep.


David on 07.13.04 @ 07:37 PM CST [link]

G

Digging to Australia, by Lesley Glaister. A very interesting novel, by an author previously unknown to me. The odd details of the story are integrated into the context so that they remain plausible; the writing is clear and controlled, the plotting coherent. The references to Alice in Wonderland and Portrait of the Artist are probably significant, but it's been too long since I've read either of those to catch them; but this probably means the novel is not overburdened by them. Dark and disturbing, and altogether a good find.


David on 07.12.04 @ 05:51 PM CST [link]

Port Murray II

"Unable to establish a connection." My computer tells me this practically every day, and there are times when I fear that it is my valedictory epigram. They had 23 years together, blended their families, served the community, friends and neighbors, and when his health failed, they went through it all together. Able to establish a connection. I saw a dozen or more of our rummage faithful there, shared hugs with the women and handshakes with the men, and talked it all over. Acting strong and feeling weak, acting brave and feeling anxious, being sympathetic and at the same time feeling jealous, of all that these grieving people had, and have, of that connection that even death cannot break. A fading, declining town, on a long-defunct canal, and he lived there all his life and gave his heart and soul to its people, because he knew how to give and he was willing. It's like going out on the high seas to get there, climbing the crest of one high, huge hill after another, and slipping down the other side. Thirty miles out, alone; thirty miles back, alone. A lot of time to think abouit connections. Unable to establish a connection. Redial.


David on 07.11.04 @ 03:59 PM CST [link]

Port Murray

Standing in a little Methodist church, in the bluffs over the Musconetcong River; surrounded by firefighters, sweating through to my blazer, singing "Amazing Grace".



David on 07.10.04 @ 07:55 PM CST [link]

Knots Landing

In the middle of all the grief, the hilarious becomes hysterical. I had Z's dad on the phone, and I mentioned that I'd seen our friend the senator. "Is he out on bail?" It was all in the local paper, as it turned out; and K and I laughed over it later. A local election was being disputed by the challenger, who lost by eleven votes. His side darkly accuses the senator of electioneering, going into the voting booth with addled voters, exhorting them to "vote the line", and other nefarious influences. senator says, "It's a crock." They're "sore losers". The polling place was in the community center of the retirement village where Senator lives, and he went down, voted, and socialized for a while. Someday I'll have to tell you about the time I saw him set himself on fire.
David on 07.09.04 @ 06:34 PM CST [link]

I don't know why I think of him as a "gentle giant", when he couldn't have been any taller than me. But he was physically imposing, gruff but soft-spoken, and he seemed tireless and uncomplaining, through the chronic aiments that changed his lifestyle, and through the cancer that ate up his life. I saw him one last time, whe he came down to the fairgrounds in the spring with his family, and he seemed the same. He said little, his handshake was strong, his gaze was direct, his countenance was sad. We all knew. Not long after that they made their first franic trip to the hospital with him, and I can't even imagine what these last two months have been like. To me it seems like the end came rapidly; to them it must feel like it stretched out interminably. But now, one life is over, and all these others, changed forever.
David on 07.07.04 @ 11:15 AM CST [link]

Across the Miles

My friend, who is over eighty, heard his friend was seriously ill in Indiana and planned a quick trip out to see him. It has been several decades since my friend lived in Indiana, but the friendship had survived the years. My mother kept her friendships alive and flourishing from her childhood, through all of life and into age and its end. This was her greatest gift, and her rarest, as well; and I hope and pray that I have inherited it, at least in part. My brothers do not seem to have kept up their old friendships, nor has my father; I do have friends from school days, and from college, but too much time passes between contacts. The love remains. My friend's friend died before he could depart; he and his wife will be back in a week.
David on 07.06.04 @ 05:24 PM CST [link]

Religion of the Republic

Is patriotism a religion? It often bears the trappings of one, with its holidays, holy writ, hymns, saints and theology; and I think there is an argument that, historically, patriotism in America was promoted to replace religion in the hearts of our citizens. I no longer have the references to support this story, but I seem to recollect it was a conscious movement in the early to mid-ninetheenth century. Need to research further, but anyway.... as a religion Americanism is highly unsystematic. As generally practiced, it is a sin to criticise a Republican president, but not a Democrat. Some public servants are idealized as if in holy orders (soldiers, firefighters, cops); others are not (librarians, IRS agents, congressmen). The Pledge of Allegience is akin to scripture, the Constitution, not so much. For these patriots, the American way of life is universally and self-evidently the right and true one; but this doesn't explain, on the one hand, why foreigners blindly insist on being patriotic to their own homelands instead of ours, even unto death; but this is probably a good thing, since in the eyes of the Americanist, this is the Promised Land for us, no others need apply.


David on 07.05.04 @ 05:51 PM CST [link]

Year Zero

It took me a few days to realize it, but I am, more or less, celebrating my one-year-anniversary of journaling. I date it to my accepting, and fulfilling the 100words.net challenge in July of 2003, starting a journalspace journal around the same time, and finding out in the process that, whether or not I had something to say, I was certainly capable of saying on a regular basis. The benefits to the world of this insight are arguable. It seems to me, based on a quick glance, that my life is much the same as it was a year ago. My relationship with Z or V or J or whoever she is has changed incrementally, but remains a frequent subject for cogitation. I'm still over-analytical, wordy, and cheap. I spend too much time alone. I am still conflicted about my job, but find it colorful to write about. I reminisce a lot about my mother's last years, and I'll do it some more this month, since her birthday is the 15th. I probably look more serene than I am.

July, 2003, member name "chrysostom";

Telegram in utero.


David on 07.04.04 @ 07:08 PM CST [link]

Holiday

I'll be busy and away from my computer. The actual entry here will appear in the comments, later.
David on 07.03.04 @ 06:42 AM CST [link]

Three Women

I delivered the CD with the pictures. She is summoned to the reception desk, and we try to talk there. She thinks I have gone to a lot of effort, and have entrusted her with something very precious. Maybe I have.

At the grocery store I see someone I know from church, standing at the exit. I am taking over Sunday School snack from her this year, so I discuss it with her through the open electric door. She has a full cart of groceries and smiles a lot.

Inside, another friend, another full cart. Her youngest will be going away to college at the end of the summer, and she is already wistful about it. We look at lemons and limes. I pick up the four or five items I need and go back to the laundromat.

I've missed her a lot.
David on 07.01.04 @ 05:31 PM CST [link]