So normal!?

      Six (almost) months away and I find being back in my condo it's as if I never left. It's certainly not what I expected. Perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise because I have lived here for ten years. I'm prepping for what my father euphemistically called "One of the little joys of life." 😀  Both my parents bequeathed to me a sense of humor. Mostly that sense of humor has been helpful to me though on occasion it has gotten me into trouble. While the prep isn't very pleasant my overwhelming feeling is one of gratitude because the procedure has almost certainly save my life.To that end I offer this poem.

Thanksgiving

Originally from the Carmina Gadelica III, 31
Taken from Esther de Waal, editor, The Celtic Vision (Liguori, MO: Liguori/Triumph, 1988, 2001), p. 18–19

Thanks to Thee, O God, that I have risen today,
To the rising of this life itself;
May it be to Thine own glory, O God of every gift,
And to the glory of my soul likewise.

O great God, aid Thou my soul
With the aiding of Thine own mercy;
Even as I clothe my body with wool,
Cover Thou my soul with the shadow of Thy wing.

Help me to avoid every sin,
And the source of every sin to forsake;
And as the mist scatters on the crest of the hills,
May each ill haze clear from my soul, O God.

Takk for alt,

Al

...and a random photo 😅

Posted to Facebook. Thai lawnmowers. Why did the  cattle return to the marijuana field? It was the pot calling the cattle back. 

How slow of me??????????

      I should have known!  With frustration about "Comments" on this site it belatedly dawned on me that perhaps there is something I needed to do to facilitate the posting of them. Duuuuuuh! Well, ya, don't you suppose there is a thing called "Comments needing moderation." Opening it up I found 87 comments awaiting  moderation!!!!  This gives me the POWER to approve or disallow comments. Sorry for being so slow on the uptake, 😮 So, post your comments and see what I do with my POWER!  But. because I relish comments, I'll only disallow spam.

     Surprisingly it feels totally normal! Having abandoned life in my condo since early March I'm back to stay in it for 3 nights to keep a medical appointment. It's as if I never left, but of course I have lived here for ten years. Even my old desktop computer responds to my touch. I'll watch the replay of the Lynx amazing win over Los Angeles on a bigger screen tonight...how fun. Here I have to wear a mask if I leave my rooms, not so necessary with the space around The Little House on the Prairie.

     This desktop also houses many more pictures so I best do some random postings while I'm here. 😉

Takk for alt,

Al

With the Thai teachers in their Scout Uniforms. Scouting is integrated into the schools thanks to the late king. I'm the one lurking in the back. 

Shaking Hands...

 Pádraig Ó Tuama

Shaking Hands

Because what’s the alternative?
Because of courage.
Because of loved ones lost.
Because no more.
Because it’s a small thing; shaking hands; it happens every day.
Because I heard of one man whose hands haven’t stopped shaking since a market day in Omagh.
Because it takes a second to say hate, but it takes longer, much longer, to be a great leader.
Much, much longer.

Because shared space without human touching doesn’t amount to much.
Because it’s easier to speak to your own than to hold the hand of someone whose side has been previously described, proscribed, denied.
Because it is tough.
Because it is tough.
Because it is meant to be tough, and this is the stuff of memory, the stuff of hope, the stuff of gesture, and meaning and leading.
Because it has taken so, so long.
Because it has taken land and money and languages and barrels and barrels of blood.

Because lives have been lost.
Because lives have been taken.

Because to be bereaved is to be troubled by grief.
Because more than two troubled peoples live here.
Because I know a woman whose hand hasn’t been shaken since she was a man.
Because shaking a hand is only a part of the start.
Because I know a woman whose touch calmed a man whose heart was breaking.
Because privilege is not to be taken lightly.

Because this just might be good.
Because who said that this would be easy?
Because some people love what you stand for, and for some, if you can, they can.
Because solidarity means a common hand.
Because a hand is only a hand; so hang onto it.

So join your much discussed hands.
We need this; for one small second.
So touch.
So lead.

Pádraig Ó Tuama is leader of the Corrymeela Community, a poet, theologian and mediator. He has worked in conflict resolution in Ireland, Africa and the Middle East.

"Because it takes a second to say hate, but it takes longer, much longer, to be a great leader.
Much, much longer."

     It's been a long time since I've shaken hands with anyone.  The students in "my" Thai school know that Americans shake hands so they would line up to shake hands with me. I much prefer the Asian wai 🙏. Every teacher would wai me the first time we met each day. If I forgot that I'd seen her and would initiate a wai at a later meeting she'd embarrassedly wave me off. Shaking multiple sweaty hands throughout the day wasn't pleasant to I taught the students to fist bump. This was very amusing to students and teachers alike.

     Do I miss shaking hands now? Not so much but I miss what it represents. Tuama writes "...it takes a second to hate." There's a good test for ourselves and others "Does it serve love?"  Or "is it in the service of hate?"  We join hands if only figuratively.

Takk for alt,

Al

                                A picture of 6th grade from "my" Thai school.

Terror in the night! or at least worry.

 

How Many Nights
by Galway Kinnell

How many nights
have I lain in terror,
O Creator Spirit, maker of night and day,

only to walk out
the next morning over the frozen world,
hearing under the creaking snow
faint, peaceful breaths...
snake,
bear, earthworm, ant...

and above me
a wild crow crying 'yaw, yaw, yaw'
from a branch nothing cried from ever in my life.

 

     Reading this poem it struck me how different things look at night compared to how they look in daylight.  Insomnia is a not much of a problem for me. (Martin Luther said that insomnia is an opportunity for intercessory prayer.) However, I am awake enough at night to know that issues which may seem insurmountable at night fade to insignificance with the breaking of day. It reminds me of the story of an elderly women who said to her pastor "I've had many problems in my life and most of them never happened."

     What will winter bring to my life in The Little House on the Prairie?  It's a snug little house, and though I don't like cold, I'll test the Norwegian saying "there's no bad weather, only bad clothing."  It isn't as if I haven't experienced cold before. Traveling to Thailand doesn't look feasible and I will miss that as I will miss teaching at Noble Academy. Those are small sacrifices compared to what so many people are suffering.

     Sleep well my friends and if night time finds you awake remember what Luther said.

Takk for alt,

Al

PS Also remember what President Lincoln said: "Don't believe everything you see on the internet."  

Worth reading...

      When the download of Erik Larson's The Splendid and the File wouldn't play  on Kindle, Larson's Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania was immediately available. Copious archival material was available to Larson much of which had been long classified.

     There's plenty of blame to go around in this tragedy of the sinking of a passenger liner on May 7, 1915.  The German government had posted ads in American papers warning that sea travel to The British Isles was not safe becasue the waters around the Isles were a war zone. Almost no one paid heed to those warnings. The British Navy knew that a German submarine was operating in the area that the Lusitania was to cross. Yet, the Navy only gave a general warning to the ship and provided no destroyer escort for protection. Winston Churchill had spoken of his hope that the sinking of a ship carrying Americans would bring America into the war. British knowledge of the submarine's location, the one that fired the fateful torpedo, was kept secret so that Germany would not learn that Britain had broken Germany's secret code. After the fact the British Navy tried to blame Captain Turner, skipper of the Lusitania, for the sinking. Turner faced three enquiries and was found blameless in all three.

     The ship was sunk by one torpedo from the German submarine U 20, skippered by Schwieger, who died later in the war. The torpedo struck a vulnerable spot, broadside, and killed many of crew who were in that area sorting baggage for their landing at Liverpool. A second explosion, likely caused by the rupture of the steam lines, rendered all systems inoperative. Because the ship was moving fast lifeboats could not be immediately lowered. It could not quickly stop because the propellers could not be reversed. The ship quickly listed so severely that few lifeboats could be successfully lowered. Many of the crew who would have lowered the boats were killed in the initial explosion.The ship sank eighteen minutes after the torpedo struck. There were 1959 passengers and crew, plus 3 German stowaways,  1198, which included the stowaways, died and 123 were Americans. 600 were never found. The dead include many children becasue this was a passenger ship. Many drowned because they incorrectly used their life jackets.  Given the communications of 1915 many families did not learn for months the fate of their family members. Many who could not be identified are buried in a common grave in Ireland. 

     Larson spends much of the book presenting biographical data on passengers and crew.  Then he follows many of them through the sinking, in the water, rescue if they were, and some much later in life. A helpful factor was that it was sunny with calm seas, though if it had been foggy they wouldn't have been torpedoed, because it took rescue boats two hours to reach the survivors. Water temperature was 55 degrees so hypothermia was an issue.

   America did not join the war for two more years. It took the sinking of many more ships, and a purported German plan to involve Mexico in a war against the U.S., before America declared war. Larson includes some fascinating detail about President Wilson's status and thinking during this time. 

While it's morbid it is also a fascinating read.  

   On a much more mundane subject: it rained last night with precipitation in the .6" to .75" range. Very welcome!

Takk for alt,

Al

"My life goes on....

      The song says "My life goes on in endless song..."  My life goes on in daily repetition. Frequently I have to check my watch to see what day it is...not that it matters much. Most mornings there's an outside project that provides exercise and diversion. This morning it was a walk on prairie pasture in pursuit of pests. (The native grasses return. 😊) Frequent walks keep me in reasonable shape. News papers come online. Investing too much in their success I wait to see if the Lynx win and if they do I watch the replay. Readers of this blog are well aware that books are an important part of my routine. Phone calls fill my people bladder daily. All in all it's a very pleasant life and I feel blessed and grateful.

Laura Kelly Fanucci

When This is Over

When this is over,
may we never again
take for granted
A handshake with a stranger
Full shelves at the store
Conversations with neighbors
A crowded theater
Friday night out
The taste of communion
A routine checkup
The school rush each morning
Coffee with a friend
The stadium roaring
Each deep breath
A boring Tuesday
Life itself.

When this ends
may we find
that we have become
more like the people
we wanted to be
we were called to be
we hoped to be
and may we stay
that way — better
for each other
because of the worst.

Takk for alt,

Al

A poet speaks.

  My friend, Peter, had this poem published in Midwest Quarterly Summer 2020. 

Healing 

 

I echo you echo me 

but I cannot in this  

be with you any closer 

than a bird's shadow 

racing along the river far 

below her solitary flight 

close as fear, as far as laughter. 

After the operation you must live  

for a time on water only   no bread 

no solid anything   the tube of your throat  

that feeds you that IS you torn   needing  

like a crash like the young needing hope  

like a bucket needing more  

than the usual repair 

sustenance a fix mostly air. 

Under the mirror river 

water-supple leaves like the wings 

of an unseen bird rise from their rest  

spread out then dart lower disturbed 

as what we cannot see moves  

into deeper water. Some roiled emotion. 

Healing is a miracle that approaches  

like a cluster of cats who drift along  

somewhat together in the woods  

a herd of patience  it hurts 

there's not much I can do  

no matter what I wish. 

Yet if we wait on the bank 

longer than slowly  

the unseen returns no less  

mysterious for its journey 

an unclenching of the fist 

around the throat 

so experienced voices 

reassure us.

 

P M F Johnson

    When Peter sent this to me it brought to mind the fourteen surgeries Joanne endured. Of course there were moments of tedium while I practiced my skills at caregiving. Perhaps my weakest area was conversation. That's when I appealed to Joanne's friends as she was confined in the proximity of a monosyllabic introvert. Now I wish I could do more.

     Wishing for comments, as I do, I cut and pasted what opens when "Comments" are clicked at the bottom of my post (see below). Please give it a try and report your experience to me.  Thanks!

Takk for alt,

Al

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      RE: Commenting on www.negstad.blogspot.com    This is what open with a click on "Comments" at the bottom of the page. Write your comment, Choose and identity and strike "Publish Your Comment" and it should appear in the blog..