Trying Our Souls

I don't know about you, but I'd like a respite from this unending series of final exams called "life."

It's bad enough finding yourself on the cusp of your anecdotage, but when the banking system as we know it collapses, the economy tumbles into and nearly past a recession, one's pension takes a wallop, Arlen Specter becomes a Democrat, newspapers start to swoon all around us, the globe is warming with every passing day, most of our citizens don't have medical insurance, and now swine flu has begun to invade our lives...well where does it bloody well end?

Or is this perpetual state of angst the normal state of things for the next little while...like the rest of our time on this vale of tears? OK, my time, if you're really picky.

Maybe we should just find a good book, a wee dram of something to help us along, a comfortable chair, and just try to relax. No really.

K likes to listen to the gloom and doom guys on the radio through the night; each morning I hear about some new conspiracy designed to poison the food supply, to generate civil unrest and violence, to allow our country to be taken over by [fill in your own damn blank], and to ensure that American supremacy will come to an abrupt end.

Men don't handle these complexities very well - we want to know who won and who lost, no matter how meaningless the competition might be.

Women seem to have a knack for making sense of very complicated situations, and I think they deserve a shot. Even I am willing to learn how to manage the vacuum cleaner, and I'm already a pretty fair cook and bake a nasty good loaf of whole wheat bread. I could even catch up on Jerry Springer and Oprah and learn about new decorating ideas for the bathroom and talk to my friends about the NFL draft and the local team's prospects for the upcoming season.

And not have to worry about all this other stuff. Sounds like bliss to me.

Nearly Throwing In The Towel

I'm a native of Minnesota, and you would think that I would have figured out Mother Nature's insanely creative capacity...you know, the one where the snow begins to melt, you can feel the barest hint of Spring just there - over there - and you begin to think about putting away the caps, mittens, boots, heavy jackets  and all the other impendimenta related to winter and WHAM!

Bloody WHAM!

The skies grayed and became foreboding yesterday  with an overture of rain.  Then the symphony of snow began with heavy accents of wind, and eventually the cold of January paid us another visit.

Spring is ten days away, and it might just as well be 2.5 light years.  With the bad news swirling around our heads since last autumn, I'm surprised that more of us haven't found ourselves a cave.

Well, maybe we have - that is, if you believe that watching television has a cave equivalency value.

I do feel better now that I have all that off my chest.  Time to take the scotty for her walk, and when that's done, I think a wee celebration with something Scottish to end the day....probably a single malt, my most favorite of all "lifesavers."

Slainte, Skol, or Prost.  Here's to those of us still trying to fight the good fight!

Oh, sweet Spring, we all hope for your approach sooner than ever....

Something To Warm The Heart

OK, so the economy is slipping down the chute, we are between administrations and have been for what seems like an eternity, and here in Minnesota the wind chill this morning was around -35 (F), and yet.

And yet.

In today's New York Times, there is one of those articles that will remind you, me, us, that sometimes the stars align, people respond without regard to their personal ideology, and we are reminded about how easy it is to do good if we just join together and do, well, not very much...but something.

After reading this artice, I think you'll agree.  No, I know you will.  Click here to read it.

I fear that we are all heavy laden this Christmastide...and not with gifts. These last several years have been wearing and painful and depressing, with not much sunshine left in our hearts, and the stretch beginning in mid-summer and ending we-have-no-clue-when has been particularly difficult in so many ways.

In my three score and nearly ten on this planet, I cannot recollect anything like it, except in hearing the stories my parents told about the roaring twenties and the massive depression which followed...until the start of World War II.

And yet....and yet, we soldier on, keeping hid the pain and fear in our hearts, whilst we wonder what's next, as we wander.

Christmas, that's what. And it really isn't about the presents and the parties, nice though they may be. It's about an unmarried couple going home and having a baby in the most humble of circumstances - an event that changed the world, an event well worthy of a lifetime of reflection.

That's what I'm going to concentrate on this Christmastide - thinking about the simplest and most powerful story on which my faith is based and is the core belief for a world-wide community of faith, in its multitude of patterns. (You may celebrate another story, but no doubt we still have much in common in terms of the people we are trying to become as we trudge on down life's path.

On Christmas Eve, the choir of King's College at Cambridge University in Cambridge England will present their "Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols."** This year, they will premiere a new carol by D Muldowney, with words by Bertold Brecht. Here is the first verse, as translated by M. Hamburger:

The night when she first gave birth

Had been cold. But in later years

She quite forgot

The frost in the dingy beams and the smoking stove

And the spasms of the afterbirth at dawn.

But above all she forgot the bitter shame

Common among the poor

Of having no privacy.

That was why in later years it became a holiday for all.

Not quite the scene we celebrate in our songs and stories and perhaps a bit hard to accept, but worth full consideration.

This year, my presents are fewer and more modest, and most of my gift budget is going to two local charities which house and feed the homeless. In these days and times, that seems right - to participate in efforts in our community to help others.

It's not bad to go back to the basics; it's positively invigorating. We won't get through these troubles alone, so keep your various communities close, and we'll get through them together, somehow.

In spite of all, a happy Christmas to you and yours...and a productive 2009.

Cheers!

**You can probably find it on a public radio station near you or on the BBC's Radio 4 web-site, beginning at 10:00 am, Eastern Standard Time or 3:00 pm in London.

Thanksgiving 2008

This year, I expect that many of us look down the road to Thanksgiving with a somewhat baleful expression.  It has been a year unlike any other I can remember, and to concentrate on this seasonal event takes a good deal of concentration:  the election, the state of our country's financial system, the widely varying price of oil, the inflation which we see in the daily costs of our lives, and the fear that our very personal fiscal underpinnings are far weaker than we ever would have thought - well, it really is enough to drive a person crazy.

I thought that getting myself into a thankful attitude might be a little tricky, until I saw Islay the black scotty jump up on the sofa, find her way next to K's lap, lie down, and put her head on top of K's thigh.  It was an off-pawed gesture, perfectly natural, but the result was that Thanksgiving took on new meaning in an instant.

For the last couple of years, both these creatures have, in their own ways, been sanding down my rough spots after nearly half-a-century of living by myself.  Other scotties in previous years were wonderful companions but were less effective as teachers.

K has always had a clear idea of what matters in life, and while I am (and probably always will be) a work in progress, she has helped open my eyes in a number of important ways, even though I have refused to hand over the tv remote and will continue to do so.

This morning we drank coffee in the living room and watched the last great gathering of the Canada geese swimming in the last remnant of open water on the lake.  Most of them will be off to their southern migration soon, and we shall miss their honking enthusiasm.  Then a pileated woodpecker - one of the big ones - climbed up an oak tree no more than fifty feet away.  Winter is but a step away, yet there is still much to savor.

The larger issues remain, of course, but good people are going to do their best to resolve them, and I hope we shall be asked to participate in that process.  Notwithstanding those troubles, there is much for us to appreciate-that is,  if we can be "thinkful" about being thankful.

My Goodness....

My mother was always very proud of the first presidential ballot she cast in 1932 - for Norman Thomas, the Socialist candidate for President. The first election in which I participated was in 1960, and I cast my first vote for John F. Kennedy. As one result, one of my uncles stopped talking to me for several years, and given his political views, I did not consider that much of a loss.

A great many young people cast their first ballot yesterday, and it had an impact; they will never forget the experience and the result. Their children will grow appreciatively tired of the story but will remember it.

We woke up this morning, a little groggy, but with something of a sunrise streaming in through the windows. And we knew in our brains and in our hearts that something important happened in and to America yesterday.

It doesn't matter which side we were on - it really doesn't. What does matter is that we try to slip past the post-mortem clichés of election analysis and understand that a great many Americans stepped into the voting booth and voted for an African-American for the highest political office in our land.

There seemed to be few problems with the process of voting and counting; local governments were better prepared than they had been last time, and the only significant demonstrations were celebrations of joy in Chicago, New York, and in front of the White House in Washington. Joy and lots of tears because another glass ceiling had been broken.

America grew up yesterday. In the face of economic chaos, two unpopular wars, foreign relationships in tatters, civil rights diminished, and an increasing gulf between rich and poor, voters made a decision to vote for the man who happened not to be "white." For a great many of us, that choice could not have been easy, but the choice was made.

Politicians who routinely consider the the citizenry as "ill-informed," "stupid," or "inattentive" must now do a recalculation, as must countries which look at the United States as a monochrome monolith.

We are different today, perhaps better, but certainly different.

It's a start, and that's good enough for me.

The Old and The New

Last night K and I went to a piano recital by Marc-André Hamelin.  I go to a number of concerts and lug my large sack of musical ignorance to every one.  Last night's music began with Alban Berg, stopped for a time to visit Chopin, and ended with an astounding performance of the music of Charles-Valentin Alkan.

We had never heard the Alkan before - a piece which requires virtuosity in the extremely, and Mr Hamelin conquered it with none of the flamboyant gestures of some concert pianists and made it the highlight of all the recent musical performances I've attended over the last year or so.

Where had I been with regard to Alkan.  And then I thought about Alfred Sisley, the English impressionist painter.

Years ago, I had attended a Sisley exhibit at the Royal Academy in London.  Until that day, I had no idea of Sisley's role in that 19th century  movement, and - frankly - I was startled by the experience.  One purpose of the exhibit was to put Sisley back into the middle of Impressionism, and it succeeded, at least for me.  

Think of Alkan (1813-1888), Sisley (1839-1899), and toss in a long-term favorite of mine, Georges Seurat (1859-1891).

There they were at about the same time, working away, not well known, not selling much of their output, but deeply committed to their cause.

Here we are, a century and a half later, listening, seeing, and admiring what they produced.  I learned two things (at least) from all this - firstly, you have to make sure you continue to find the new, even if it's only new to you, and secondly, you should be willing to discover our own contemporary artists and composers with enough oomph so that whether their time comes now or not for another century and a half, they might believe that their commitment to their art will always have value.

Be open and show support.  Always helpful, no matter what the situation.