I believe I wrote this poem in the early nineties. It was, at least obliquely, addressed to a woman I had fallen desperately in love with (this would be the last time in my life I fell that stupidly, at least until we adopted and I became a father.) The love of one’s child—especially the first—is far more powerful and nuanced than any other type of love I’ve ever experienced.
This poem, however, speaks to my desire to see this woman* open up and face some of what I thought were self-destructive fears that were keeping her from enjoying her life. It was complicated, as was she . . . and it just wasn’t to be. I have little doubt the somewhat crazy depth of my desire was just too overwhelming for her. Hey! I was just a kid . . . in my late forties.
There exists in all things A strength and beauty Unappreciated by those of us Who have suffered the constraints of narrow education Yet . . . it exists In repose Silently waiting for the moment of discovery In many of us it is doomed To remain unannounced unapprehended and, yet Undeniably It is there And there are those of us Who by some mad twist of fate Crush the beauty in ourselves Divert the strength And smother the fragile wonder of our lives Beneath pain and isolation Which we call self-protection
* I will not use her name in deference to my wife and children. She is a part of my history, but only relevant today to explain the motivation behind this particular bit of communication.
Don’t know if this will show up on the page, but I’m trying it. I want to share this sentiment posted to Instagram by Colin Kaepernick. I have seen it before and I believe it’s narrated by James Baldwin, but I may be wrong. Regardless, this is something all of us must keep in mind. Our country is not exactly the righteous, benevolent State we’ve been propagandized into believing it is. Please don’t forget what’s been done in our name.
I think I wrote the following a couple of weeks ago. Shortly after my oldest participated in her final dance recital at Santa Susana High School, I was hit by the realization my baby is now an emancipated adult. She just got notification of her registration to vote yesterday. I was a little beside myself but, as you can tell, it passed fairly quickly, in large part due to numerous friends who were willing to listen and allow me to vent, which helped me understand what I was feeling.
Aimee Grajeeatin’
As many of you know, the impending graduation and emancipation of my
oldest has hit me kind of hard with a case of “empty nest” syndrome. I
know my grief is unwarranted, especially since she’s not leaving the
house for the foreseeable future, and I know I’ll get over it; already
am. Please don’t worry about me. Two things (among many) I’ve learned so
far:
1. My greatest sense of loss involves time and it’s having passed. “Did I do the right things?” “did I help her enough?”; “did I neglect her by paying too much attention to her younger sister, who desperately needed it (still does)?”
2. Merely talking to Aimee helps for two reasons. The first is she
reassures me I have been a good father and she feels no lack of love or
attention. That feels good. The second is related, because talking to
just about any teen with tude is often enough to make you want to cut
yourself. Doesn’t feel as good, but I’m real familiar with it.
I
really appreciate everyone who has reacted to, or commented on, my cries
of agony. Special thanks to those whose shoulders I cried on, both
figuratively and literally. Y’all are wonderful therapists.
I tend not to mince words when it comes to this guy, the absolute worst President this country has endured . . . certainly during my lifetime. Hating this worthless grifter is not a bad thing when it’s cold-blooded, steely disdain for what is tantamount to a tapeworm. Impeach the Motherfucker NOW!
I was a Wiener Clerk at the Wiener Factory back in the early 70s. “We may be contumacious, but we’re never revocatory.” “Tell us how long you want us to hold the onions.” The owner wrote every bit of graffiti in there . . . and the moderately risque stuff in the toilets out back. I think my favorite dog was the coleslaw and cheese, though a good old fashioned kraut dog still hits the spot when I’ma cravin’.
I worked there throughout my first year of law school, 1973 to 1974. It was a decent job at the time. The owner, whose first name—Gene—is all I remember, was a former English teacher and stockbroker. He was a bright, somewhat tortured guy, but he treated his employees with respect, which is frequently not the case.
We used Gulden’s mustard, which we thinned just a bit with pickle juice, adding a significant bit of extra flavor. I often wonder if anyone actually noticed. I think the hot dogs were Vienna’s natural casing wieners, and we got the knackwurst and one other type of sausage from a small sausage maker in Burbank. Alpine sounds about right. We used fresh egg buns, which we steamed before serving so they were nice and soft. We also sold a shitload of German potato salad. I don’t think we had fries, but I just don’t remember.
Flooky’s
made a damned good hot dog as well, and I was sorely disappointed a
couple of months ago when I was returning to Simi after an appointment
at the W.H. Kaiser Med Center. I was planning on having a Flooky’s hot
dog (or two) only to find out they had gutted the place. I don’t know if
there’s a Flooky’s left in the SFV.
I still crave a good hot dog probably a lot more frequently than is healthy for me, but I was raised on the damn things. I love a good, kosher, natural casing wiener with gulden’s mustard and a hearty sauerkraut on top of that. I also love mustard, relish, and onions, as well as mustard, chili, cheese, and onions. Hell! I’ve been known to slice one lengthwise and eat it between two pieces of rye bread with some mustard. It’s just a mini bologna, after all.
I wore a suit and tie for many years. I’m not super vain, but I do like to present a sharp image when called upon to do so, and one of the most important things is how you dress. Many years ago I read a book by John T. Molloy, called “Dress For Success.” If memory serves, one of the most important items in any man’s wardrobe is his tie. The tie must be silk, it must be of a certain pattern and color (though there are numerous styles considered acceptable), and it should have a well-tied knot with a dimple which, believe it or not, takes a bit of practice to execute well. Below is an example of a well-tied (looks like) four-in-hand knot. Actually, it’s so symmetrical, it looks a bit like a Windsor knot, but I’m pretty sure it would be thicker if it were.
The Perfect Dimple
Another thing I learned from Molloy’s book, again if memory serves (I read it right after it was published, in 1976 – the year I graduated Law School), is that young men wear their collars too tight and old men wear them too loose. Then there are men who can’t admit how old they are and who hang on to images of their self that may enhance their self-esteem, but which make them look a bit ridiculous. In the below case we have such a man. Note how he has no dimple in his tie, but his collar is too small for him, creating a classic, oblivious man’s neck dimple (or neck vagina, depending on how uptight you might be).
The Perfect Neck Vagina
I’m not entirely certain what this says about a man, but I have my ideas. You, of course, are quite free to develop your own opinion of what this says about any man, let alone this particularly egregious example.
Is there really anything happening on our southern border that’s surprising? If so, where have you been?
I want no prisoners. I wish you to kill and burn; the more you kill and burn, the better it will please me… The interior of Samar must be made a howling wilderness… — Gen. Jacob H. Smith
Slavery
Jim Crow
Wounded Knee
Trail of Tears
Chinese Exclusion Act
The Philippines
Manzanar, et al
Overthrow of Salvador Allende
My Lai
Abu Ghraib
(And dozens more . . .)
The United States is not a benign government and it is responsible for an awful lot of pain, suffering, and death. Especially for people of color. Don’t ever forget it.
In honor of this year’s (2019) Independence Day festivities in the nation’s Capitol which, for the first time in our history, looks to be more like a campaign rally for Trump than a celebration of our Independence from a(nother) tyrant, I offer this wonderful cartoon.
I really like the first stanza and the way it rhymes. The second isn’t too bad, but it falls down a bit at the end. The third I’m not pleased with at all; it ends rather unspectacularly. Nevertheless, I wrote it . . . it’s been collecting dust for over two decades . . . and I’m putting it out there. In case it’s not obvious, this was a love poem to someone who has been long gone. I’m not even going to use her name in deference to my current life.
If ever it should pass that i should start to tire and somehow lose the fire that you and i have made you’ll be the first to know when the glow begins to fade
If ever i should feel that your love is not enough and i need some other stuff to fulfill all of my dreams you’re the one i’ll come to to relieve me of these things
For it’s only you i want yes, you’re my heart’s desire and each day i just get higher when i think how i love you and i think of what it means to have the love we do
Say goodbye to Independence Day (July 4th) as a national holiday for all Americans. Trump is turning it into a celebration of him, and his snowflake brigade will be out in force on the mall. I guess the rest of us will have to be content with our backyards, our pools, and our grills.
On Tuesday, The Daily Beast reported that several far-right groups are planning to rally in Washington, D.C. as President Donald Trump hosts his massive Fourth of July celebration — and that some of the attendees may be armed. The event, titled the “Rally for Free Speech,” will be headlined by such right-wing activists as former…