Duck, duck. goose.

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I got to see my oldest daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandson. How three such wonderful people came together to form a family is a marvel to me. They are each different but share some qualities. They are each quiet, they are each so involved in the joy of living that it shines out from their faces, they are each so polite.
They arrived around noon time. My grandson has a new fishing rod and tackle box. He was anxious to try them out. He sat patiently as we sat at the table making small talk. Then we set off for a picnic.
We headed off for the Blackstone Canal and river. I noticed immediately that he got into his car seat and buckled all of the buckles himself. No whining, no complaining, just doing what had to be done. Just like his Father who endures the ride out to Yawnsville without complaining or whining, just doing what has to be done.
We stopped at the small store on the corner to pick up some things. Nutty-Buddies were in order and I watched my grandson peel the paper himself. He is becoming very self-reliant.
We parked and walked to a nice site that has a barbeque and table right by the river. Rix noticed that the spillway that runs beside the river was coated with a layer of algae. He said it looked like a golf green and tested it with a small rock. As we walked my grandson dropped his ice cream cone and I was not even aware of it. No whining, no crying, no "I want another one.".
We left the pile of things that I had brought with and headed to the river. He watched patiently as his Father tied the lure onto the line and tested the casting of his rod. No whining or begging, just a suggestion as to which lure to use. His Father took off the lure he had chosen and put Rix's choice onto the line. My son-in-law Alan was the only one in the group that has the patience required for fishing.
After a while we lit the fire and grilled some knackwurst. My grandson wanted to cook his on a stick. That soon lost his interest and all were cooked on the grill. I toasted some rolls and put a knackwurst into each one. As each one was done I handed it to my grandson. He took the first and gave it to his Mother. He took the second and gave it to his Father. I was very impressed by this. The boy has made the transition from self-centered child to a member of the family.
Soon my grandson announced that he had to do his business and didn't want to do it in the woods. My son-in-law put down his knackwurst and walked him to the car. No complaining, just doing what has to be done.
While they were gone I had the rare opportunity to talk to my daughter. She inquired about some family matters as did I. She commented on some personal matters that irk her, matters that she could easily avoid by being demanding but goes along with to maintain peace in her family. No whing or complaining, just doing what has to be done. The person that irks her had better beware, he has a reckoning in his future. She is a rare person, a person of gentleness and thought, with a soft exterior and a core of steel that most people are unaware of.
After a while we returned to my place. We sat, we talked. I showed my son-in-law a book that I have on loan from the library. A book on the cooking of Louisiana, something he is evidently very interested in. I watched as he looked over it with the intense concentration that I previously noticed in his son digging out dinosaur bones.
My daughter and her son and I went into the living room and there began the game of "Duck, duck, goose.". My grandson explained the rules, we played a bit, my grandson explained the new rules, we played some more, my grandson explained the new rules. It reminded me of Calvin's explaining to Hobbs the rules for reaching thirty-second base. My son-in-law joined us and my grandson explained the new rules to him.
After a while they had to go as they had another appointment. I loaded them up with the usual pile of things that I am sure that they don't want and they left.
One thing remains as a pleasant glow in my heart. While we were cooking the knackwurst, my grandson and I had a stick fight with small sticks, a battle he was obviously pleased to win. It reminded me of the days of miniature golf and bowling with my own daughters, two things that I am very good at. I always managed to just lose to them. It may be important to compete with other adult males but it never is to compete with your family. It is more important to stand in the background, offer guidance when it is appropriate, and let them learn how it feels to be a winner. Alan and Kristen are winners.
As I sit here typing, I am staring at a picture of my daughter. I sat with her yesterday and, as she was talking. I marveled at her beauty. I stare at the picture and marvel at her beauty. The beauty of her outside and the beauty of her inside. Quiet, polite, and strong as Damascus steel. Beautiful!

Mushrooms

Once more it is cool and damp and all around un-Juneish here. Today was supposed to be nice but doesn't look like it. It was cool and rainy on the porch this morning. It is a good day for mushrooms and mould, not for people. Perhaps it will get warmer and the Sun will shine.
I am having trouble finishing the book that I am reading. The trouble is that the author is dull, dull, dull. I have read one other book of his and it was the same thing. He spends too much time on the arcane knowledge that he has acquired and not enough time on substance. Sounds a bit like a personal biography.

Once more

Once more I made it through a month. I am in my usual state but I made it. I have been up since 1:15 A.M.. I went to bed early as the weather here hasn't been as nice as New England usually is in June. It has been cool and damp, very, very, very, damp! I have been sleeping with a blanket each night which is unusual for this time of year. This won't last. I will have to install the air conditioner soon. It doesn't really get the room cold but at least it will be cool and dry.
If all goes well I will go to the grocery store today. This is the highlight of my month. If I ever get rich, I will go grocery shopping every day and donate the food to the local food pantry. I have always enjoyed grocery shopping. When I was young, my family would go every Friday. We went Friday because Friday was fish day and it is best to eat fish the day that you buy it. It was a happy time for the whole family. Now grocery shopping has gone way beyond enjoyable and is at the apex of my month.
I am wending my way through a book that is very thought provoking. There is a question that I have had for a long time and the book offers many new ways to address this question. I thought that I had found an answer to the question through a melange of Hawking and the Rig Vedas and Jainism. The book takes all of those theories and tosses them on the trash heap and says "The personal quest for knowledge is selfish, only a quest for knowledge that will be used to benefit others is admirable.". An unopened book is the grave of the knowledge it contains. Only by opening it and sharing that knowledge with others do we give the book any value. Letters are simply symbols that convey the thoughts and findings of others.
Perhaps the thoughts that I have been having are the reason for the way I feel this morning. "I can see clearly now the rain has gone,".

Nils 2, Bird 0

Once again I beat the bird. I was up at 3 A.M. and the bird was still asleep. Why was I up so early? Because I went to bed really, really, early. It was still light out when I went to bed but I have a really good book and bed seemed the best place to read it. I went for quite a walk yesterday as the Sun felt so good. It was so warm that I wore shorts. I don't think that I have worn shorts in eight years. I have no plans for today. I may make pizza and transplant some plants. Today is one of those wonderful times when I have absolutely no reason to go out. A day for reading and cooking and cleaning, something that I have been neglectful of recently. Several days ago I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. It is quite a task as I am a little anal about cleaning the floor. It takes a lot of time and my knees are a mess for several days afterwards. Having a white floor is good. When it needs to be cleaned it stares up at you each day saying "Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of business!". It has become easier now that I take off my shoes when I come in the door. The thought of all the stuff that gets on your shoes while you are walking is disturbing. People with dogs seem to have an affinity for letting their dogs do their business on the sidewalk. The town that I used to live in had an ordinance that if you were walking a dog and didn't have a baggie with you, you would get a ticket. You were not allowed to walk a dog on the beach under any circumstances as there was shellfishing just off of the beach and shellfish are filter feeders. I am reminded of the words of a very wise woman. "Dogs are like strings, every yo yo needs one.". I like dogs very much but most dog owners think that there is something wonderful and natural about their dog doing its business on the sidewalk or beach or someone else's lawn. Cats at least bury their business, dogs are content to give it a strong kick and spread the wealth. Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of your dog's business so Nils doesn't have to bleach the floor so much!
There used to be a television show Mayberry and there was a character Ernest. I am becoming more like him each day. I would rather be a bachelor farmer. I need some powdermilk biscuits.

Denoument

It is amazing the difference a day can make. Yesterday my old nemesis the telephone rang and all of the clouds cleared away. Once again I have been forgiven. Once again I thought back to the sage advice my Father gave to me "Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet!". I went to bed early and read till quite late. I was up early, my friend the bird was up and bursting with song. I had coffee on the porch watching the bats making their final runs over the house. This must mean that there are mosquitos in the air and the bats are welcome to them. I became aware that I was singing. No special song, just an old Billy Joel song that I have always loved, "I'd rather run with the sinners than.......". I have always admired his music and lyrics. He has a pleasing combination of pathos and humor and common sense and a common touch that seems to elude many others.
This morning is overcast and cool and damp but the Sun is shining on me. I am looking forward to June 28th, a day that will burst with joy and laughter and tender thoughts and pride. The pride that a gardener feels when he realizes that he has produced the perfect rose. As far as the weather today goes, what more perfect weather can exist for a Svenska boy? It is a good day to dust off the longboat, swig down the mead, and head off to England for a day of pillaging and plunder. Who else would leave France to take up residence in England?
That brings up a strange thought. Two successful invasions, almost a thousand years apart. Normandy to England and then England to Normandy. Hitler must have never read a history book. William the Conqueror's successful sea voyage and Napoleon's disastrous trip to Moscow, "Those who do not read history are forced to .....".
As I try to peer into the rest of this year, "I see wonderful things.".

Here again

An old acquaintance stopped by this morning and won't leave. He has never been welcome but has often stayed a long time. I awakened when it was already light out. I went to sleep a little after nine last night. I was up so late because I was able to get the television working. This analogue to digital conversion was complicated but not impossible to subvert. 2 1/2 men was a particularly meaningful episode. It may have something to do with my visitor.
As I awoke I realized that the visitor was here. Locking the door has never helped. The day is cool and damp and there is no breeze, just a gray sky. I had coffee on the porch and could feel the crush of the visitor's presence. I have a paper that identifies the visitor, the paper says "Typical Scandinavian Depression.". I found some pictures of happier times but they only reinforced the invitations that were recently sent out to the visitor. So today I will deal with the visitor as I have always done. I will wander from meaningless task to mindless drivel. I will ask myself the questions that I have always asked myself and ponder my meaningless conclusions. The latest is the question "How would the world be different now if Grouchy had ridden to the sound of the guns?". I will clean and I will cook and I will walk. Sitting and reading is not an option, there is too much time for the old questions to barge in. Those questions that assault any feeling of well-being and lead to the cross examination and destruction of any feeling of self worth. I used to think of myself as a resident of an island, protected from the turmoil of the world by a moat I dug myself. I feel like a man I once read about. In 1939 he realized that the world was going to fall apart. He decided to get away from all of the ensuing craziness by moving to a South Seas island. He moved to Guadalcanal. I don't need to move. My visitor has brought the jungle and swamps and strife to me to help me decorate. Perhaps Wordsworth can help or Keillor. The arrival of their beauty and humor in my mind may help to drown out the clamor of the residents.

Wake up bird!

This morning I beat the bird. I woke up at 12:06 A.M.. I don't know if this is going to become a habit. I am sure that it is because I was asleep before sundown. I laid down to read and drifted off to sleep. I am not uncomfortable with this routine as for many, many years I worked the midnight shift. I worked 11:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M. for two years when I was in the Army. People used to stare when my fellow soldiers and I would be having draft beers and pastrami sandwiches at eight o'clock in the morning. I worked midnight to 8:00 A.M. for many years at the telephone company. It was not by choice, I had the least seniority of anyone in the plant and was forced to work those hours because no one else wanted to. It created havoc within my family but not as much as living in a cardboard box and eating weeds would have. I have regrets but I did my best. The regret is that my best was nowhere near as good as someone else's very worst effort would have been.
Memories and dreams are becoming a big deal in my life. There is still a ten minute delay when I try to retrieve a memory but other memories are flooding my mind constantly. Things that I was not even aware that I remembered are constantly cropping up. The span is enormus. I can remember the Christmas when I was three years old. I remember the day that my parents brought my brother home from the hospital. I remember my Grandmother Hulda. That memory is cherished deeply and tainted by the memory of her funeral. It was one of the two times I ever saw my Father cry. I held my Mother's hand as she died, I know how my Father felt and I watched her go through the same tears.
Dreams are much the same as they have always been but they are much more vivid. There is still the nightmare that I am absent from the Army and they are looking for me. There is still the nightmare that I am late for work and have no way to get there. There is still the nightmare that there is no food for my family and no way to get any. The only relief is that I pop awake and realize that those situations no longer exist and I am free to float like a leaf on a stream. No direction and no goal and only the inevitable cascade in the future. I am free to harm only myself by my lethargy. "I'm just sittin here watchin the world go by.". I traveled extensively when I was younger. I never found a joy over the horizon that could match the joy of being home in New England. If you are looking for Paradise, you will find it by sitting at the kitchen table of your own home. There is no greater peace or joy or comfort to be found anywhere. It doesn't matter where home is, home is where your heart finds peace. I have seen people living in the halls of power and wealth that were not at peace and therefore not home. I have seen people living in a tarpaper shack in Texas that were at peace and therefore home. HOME, let the word roll around in your mind and taste the ambrosia of its sound on your lips and tongue. Feel the warmth of it as it travels through your mind.
A denizen of those halls of power and wealth once wrote "You can never go home again.". He was right, you can never go home again because, if you are lucky, you are home.
Perhaps I should find an hospitable island. It would be appropriate because I think that my last name means island home in my Grandparent's native tongue. That might explain the joy I feel when the cold, salty, breeze touches my nostrils and the murmor or crash of waves touch my ears or the plaintive cry of seabirds touch my heart. It would certainly explain the joy of scallops and clams and smelts and haddock. I lived right on the edge of the sea for several years. I still remember the Sun rising from the waves on a weekend morning. That was in New England. I lived on the edge of the sea in Galveston, Texas for six months. By the time that the Sun rose there, it was already to hot to enjoy and I was far from home.
I am enjoying Coolidge's legacy!

Precession

The days pass. The change in the season is apparent from the growth of green things, the baby birds learning to fly. and the increasing warmth of the Sun on this old and graying head. Another sign has become apparent.
Yesterday morning I was awakened by my invisible friend, proudly announcing his presence outside with his chirping whistle. I looked at the clock and noticed that it was 4:38 A.M.. This morning the same thing happened with one difference. It was 4:26 A.M.. Morning comes earlier each day. In a few weeks the cycle will reverse.
Soon will come the days of frost and cider and cinnamon doughnuts. Soon will come the season when New England celebrates its bounty and glides into the season of rest. Rest that tests the mettle of all of us Swamp Yankees. I have seen 256 seasons and, lo and behold, miracles of miracles, I have seen the Red Sox win the World Series! That was something my Father long anticipated but never saw.
I will not see it this year if it happens. The television that I have now shows nothing but snow, how appropriate for a New England television. I am the victim of digitalization. It has been two days now and I am enjoying it. I never realized how much of my life was spent under the spell of the Cyclops in the corner. The only things that I miss are 2 1/2 Men and Stargate. I also miss Oswald and Joey, my two personal heroes and role models. Released from my bondage, I read, I clean, I cook, I walk, and I stare at this Cyclops on the desk. There is still Wikipedia but that is small comfort. There is little joy in reading things that you already know. Once again the joys of the library blossom forth. I feel a need to once again try to understand Hesiod.
Th Asiatics gave us the zero and the alphabet. Stern rules that allowed no deviation. The Romans gave is the law. Stern rules that allowed no deviation. The Germans gave us astronomy, stern rules that encompassed the Universe. The Greeks gave us the Question. The gift that allows us examine the rules. They questioned everything. We celebrate their achievements in geometry, philosophy, drama, poetry, and sculpture. Hesiod dealt with religion and myth. Might he have discovered something that has been overlooked? Those subjects have been much on my mind lately.
Long ago I read something that I have always remembered. As you journey out in a search for knowledge, you will meet a Greek coming back. The Greeks spent so much time and effort and thought on discovering the secrets of life, you would think that they might have spent a little more time looking for a decent cheese. The French did.

Sword

It came to me last night that the word "words" and the word "sword" have the same letters. Why would such a thought occur? It occured because yesterday I loosed my lip on the gentlest of flowers. A treasure of my heart was verbally assaulted. It has not happened in a long time but my fears for that flower have not been aroused for a long time. If I could somehow take those words back and crush their bile between my teeth and swallow their poison, I would.
I look on the words now and realize why they were born. I have learned many lessons in life. Never have I learned with ease, only catastrophy has been has been my tutor. I tried to offer advice and was overwhelmed by my fears for that flower. I became stern and loud and unthinking. The petals of that flower are delicate and treasured. They wilt and turn away from the hot breath of criticism. I have known that for a long time and I can only hope that some day the face of the flower will turn again to me. The face of a flower that is so dear to me and has always been.
Words cannot be recalled from their evil flight. It is the message that I was trying to convey. Instead of advice on the consequences of words, I flung forth an example. It is a catastrophy that I hope to be some day to learn from instead of being condemned by.
Gentle is the soul of that flower and gentle are her ways. Caring is the plight of that flower and caring is how I will always remember her. I can only hope that some day the light of her being may once again shine on my face. The light of my pride and love for her will always be shining out, searching for her.
She has found the way of grace and caring and love and humor in life. She needs no guidance from me. The paths that I have chosen and the way that I have followed have wreaked only havoc on those around me. A sword has two edges and so do words. The first edge of words strikes out and the second edge returns the deadly thrust to the heart of the wielder.
So, hope will be my only goal for the future, hope that some day I will again bathe in the purity and light of that flower. She is what I would have been if it were not for me.

Logostrician

I got a call from the Word Police yesterday. They told me that I had used up my lifetime ration of words. Before you all start celebrating and dancing in the streets, I have a word of caution. Because I am such a loyal and frequent customer, they gave me all of Calvin Coolidge's unused ration. Beware the deluge of words that will follow!

Who is he?

When I woke up this morning it was already light out. This is unusual for me but I hadn't gone to bed until ten P.M.. While I was attending to a task that most men take for granted, until the horrible moment that the task can no longer be tended to, I noticed a man in the mirror. I began to wonder "Who is he?".
He is someone I have known for a long time but never really known. He is someone I like but am not proud of and don't really admire. Over the last six years we have been constant companions and I have come to like him more. I knew him when he was young, full of the questions and doubts and misgivings of the young. I knew him through the years when he thought that all he had to do was work every day and everything would be allright. I knew him when his world fell apart, when he thought he was the lowest form of life on the planet, and I knew him when he tried to establish a new foundation on a bed of ashes, convinced that the next day held nothing but more doubts about his worth.
I see him now in a different light. He no longer thinks that he will someday become a captain of industry or a worthwhile writer. He realizes that his shoes are full of clay and his mind is full thoughts that jumble about like the colors in a kaleidoscope. In the morning light I saw that he was smiling. Smiling does not come easy to him. Others see a litany of faults when they look at him but their litany pales in comparison to the mountain of faults he has inventoried in himself.
He has spent too much time alone with me. I recently spent some time out and about in the world, meeting other people and seeing other places. I see him in a new light. The smile is justified. He is not mean, he doesn't cheat or steal, he doesn't judge. He is concerned with his own faults and not interested in the differences of others. He has come to realize that the differences of others are not faults of others, just differences.
As I stared at him I saw a transition. The wrinkles fell away, the grey became unimportant, and I saw a glimpse of the boy he once was. The shy, smiling, boy that was so wracked with self doubt and misgivings and wanted so desperately to be accepted by his peers. The boy that tried to do what others did, think what others thought, and have what others had. In his Father's yearbook it says "He has not found his peer.". It would be a fitting epitaph for the man in the mirror. It does not mean that he has not found someone that measures up to the grandeur of himself, it just means that he has not found someone that is the same as him.
I would be proud to be that peer for him. He looks out from the mirror and smiles at me for he knows what I have become and he knows the boy I was. We both have learned what happens while you are making other plans. He is good company and maybe that is all that is necessary in life, good company no matter how strange. Good company, not good company as others would define it and not yourself as others would define you but good company as you would define it and yourself as you define yourself.
By the way, he has finally been able to grow a moustache to be proud of. He has finally found a friend to be proud of, peering into the mirror.

Promises

Sometimes my mind makes promises that my body can't keep. I did that recently about a day in September. The promise involves travel. I am unable to travel as I need to be near a bathroom frequently. Maybe this situation will resolve it self before September. I have disappointed the person I made the promise to so many times in the past and I don't want to do it again.
It has been very cool here in the mornings. Yesterday morning I had to put on a sweater during my morning inventory of the objects in the sky before the Sun comes up. This morning was a little warmer and I noticed two objects that I don't recall seeing before. They are probably geosynchronise satellites that are only visible at a certain time of the morning when the Sun hits them at an angle just before sunrise. Either that or I am seeing spots again.
This is going to be a banner year for tomatoes. The plants on the porch have flowers on them already. What a time to have a surfeit of tomatoes, when the tomatoes from Maine are only ninety-nine cents a pound in the market. They don't have much flavor but they sure look good. How appropriate for the times we live in.