Lizzo Blues

I wrote this when I was in my late teens. Much of the stuff I wrote in that time seems to be lost, but Liz copied the poem & decorated the margins with fall leaves. It hung on the wall in my attic bedroom until recently. The ink faded. In places it was only a shadow on the paper. “Trapped in cold concrete” refers to the community college I was attending at the time. “Paint crew reds and greens and blues” is a reference to stage crew. I helped build sets for high school & summer theater plays. See if you remember what it was like to be a teenager in love.

It’s to be sung to a traditional blues tune. I don’t read music, but I do whistle & have a pretty good ear. I’ll see if i can do a recording of it & get that posted.

The Lizzo Blues (ca. 1975)

Well I’ve been runnin’ all the morning

I’ve been runnin’ all the night

And you know some people tell me

Such cavortin’ ain’t too bright

But I’ve got the blues

I’ve got those rotten stellar blues

They get down in your pocket

And you’ll spend your time a-wishin’

You’d see her once again

So you’re working all day

And talking all night

Your parents been away

You’ve never known such delight

I’ve got the blues

I’ve got those far out Lizzy blues

And just one free back scratch

Can take away those blues

Well you wonder how she does it

Now just how she stays so pure

‘cause once you’ve been trapped

There ain’t no man-made cure

I’ve got the blues

I’ve got the flea-bitten, Lizzy-lookin’ blues

And though I feel like shit

I just know I’ll never quit

So here I sit just writin’

Entrapped in cold concrete

The wind and snow  a bightin’

But ol’ Lizzie makes me feel so neat

I’ve got the blues

Oh Lord, I’ve got the blues

I’s s’posed to go to sleep last night

But Lord I’ve got the Lizzy blues

I’ll sleep some more tomorrow

And I’ll stay inside tonight

A wonderin’ ‘bout ol’ Lizzy

I’ve got to figure what she likes

I’ve got the blues

I’ve got the paint crew reds and greens and blues

But I know that if I fall in love (heaven forfend)

My mind’s gone down the drain

Now I’ll write you one more verse, dear

I’ll write you one more line

‘Cause I know by now you must be

Feelin’ really fine

But I’ve got those blues

Those ? far out Lizzy blues

I can’t explain why I love you (reason to be found)

But I’d like to stay your friend

Season of Twilight

Season of twilight

Your father will grow old and die, as will you and I.

And our children….

‘Tis best to make peace while peace can be made.

When he’s curmudgeonly, ornery, contrary or just plain cussed,

Picture a sign on a strand of hairy binder twine around his neck,

The sign laying against his chest

Jagged letters by infirm hand scrawled, that say:

“Humor me.”

Just keep in mind that it really means

“God, I need your love

now more than ever”

Hold me tenderly in your heart

Allow me dignity

As I sing my final song

Remembering

No one knows the last line. ###

I’m not obsessed with death. This & “Back to Iowa” reflect what’s going on in my life. My in-laws come over for Sunday dinner. My wife was struggling with her dad. I wrote this for her on Christmas morning as I sat in the silence of Meeting for Worship.

Just for a Moment

Just for a moment can you set aside

who you think you are

so that you can see who you can be.

Perception becomes reality, so they say

but they also say garbage in, garbage out.

And if perception is based on garbage, well.

Wrong belief results in wrong action.

 

Just for a moment can you set aside

what your (or someone else’s) dogma says you believe

to see what is written on your heart.

To look past yourself to see a good beyond your own.

Passion can be an important source of energy,

but it can cloud vision, too

so we no longer know where rhetoric ends or truth and justice begin.

 

Just for a moment

Suspend disbelief

Love your brother, someone said

Though they grind your soul like Jezebel’s bones beneath the steed

Follow the light [of the world] and

Allow yourself to be set free

Peace is possible.

Remember that.

Pizza Reflection

There’s a new pizza place in Spring Mills. They named it Pizza Heaven. I’m sure they were trying to conjure images of the best pizza that could possibly be. My mind, being the associative menace that it is, reflected on that name. I mean, where do we go when we die (if you follow traditional religious belief)? Heaven, of course! Naturally it follows that pizza heaven is where dead pizzas go. Remember all those dead pizzas from your single days? They laid around your house or apartment or car until they could have earned you an “A” in microbiology. Now perhaps when they get to heaven, those pizza bones are “made new,” but I didn’t get there. My understanding of a pizza heaven was more like a pizza graveyard.

Much to my surprise, that evening  I found myself sandwiched between my granddaughters, 6&9 years old, headed for… Pizza Heaven. I explained this all to them, there in the back seat. The six year old is kind of fussy. Not maybe a neat freak, but she did warn Judy that “Um Grammy? You might not want to eat that. It’s moldy.” When Judy was fixing to have some blue cheese & crackers. It was plain that the idea of having dinner at this repository for dead pizzas made her uncomfortable. I provided her with an alternative. After a pensive moment, I confided “well. You really wouldn’t like the live ones. They scream when you bite them.”

Reblog: Regeneration in a clearcut

My friend Chuck Ray walked through the same clearcut 4 years later. Clearcutting has become an emotionally loaded word, concept.

It’s a tool. I tell people that if you want to change a spark plug, you need a certain tool to do it. And a screwdriver isn’t it. While forestry is less absolute than mechanics, the analogy is valid. When a clearcut is what’s needed, little else will do the job of forest regeneration as well.

Here’s a link to his post:

http://gowood.blogspot.com/2016/07/pennsylvania-clearcut-four-years-later.html

Enjoy.

Martin.

Refrigerator Theology

I’m standing in front of the fridge looking for the catsup. It will not show itself to me; I cannot see it. I call to Judy, my wife, “where’s the catsup?” “Third shelf, right side, in the back.” And sure enough there’s the catsup.

The lesson is about presence. God meets us where we are, whether that’s in the fridge (no, this is not a light box), in the garden, or (in my case) up a tree somewhere.

The lesson is about attitude: if you think the catsup is in there, it is more likely to show itself. It is about faith. If you believe the catsup is there, it is much easier to see. It is about the ubiquity and grace of God: God can speak to us through any medium She believes will reach us. If we understand the catsup as a metaphor for Truth, we are assured it’s “in there” even when we have given up hope. We pray “God, help me see the catsup.” The answers are often not what we expect. Grace  overflows: we are not berated for not knowing or seeing. We are gently guided.

There’s a lot of stuff in the fridge besides the catsup, some of it bad, like that bit of 3-week old casserole that has become sentient, has “culcha” (culture pronounced with a Joisey (Jersey) accent) and will have linguistic ability if we leave it another week. Now it is the nature of prayer that we may start by asking God to show us the catsup, only to find that we really wanted the French dressing. It helps to be open to redirection. What we practice is discernment, whether we call it that or not.

In the “Am I a Preacher” essay, I discuss embedded (or intuitive) and deliberative theologies. Embedded “stuff” is largely absorbed passively. Deliberative stuff (for the idea applies to many things in our lives besides theology) requires us to be intentional in our pursuit of whatever. So, we stand in front of the fridge and passively practice discernment.

To actively (deliberatively) practice discernment requires us to take worship (understood as being in communication with whatever you call that which is beyond us) from the meetingroom (church) into the rest of our lives. We are easily confused. We think of our work as doing the chores or how we earn a living to keep body & soul together when in fact the actual work is to take worship from the nursery we call church into the gardens of our lives. We start by asking questions. The Bible is full of people questioning God, sometimes not so gently. Catsup, God? Really? Are you sure there’s not something else that would taste better? Or at least not give me bad breath? And so we ask questions. Clearness (the product of discernment) tells us that yes, indeed, catsup is the answer. Or not.

But how do we know? Some of the questions have to be about ethics, about rightness. Will our proposed course of action lead us towards (closer to) God or away from the Presence as the center of our lives? Does it help our neighbors (whether plants, animals or other humans)? Is it ethical? What do Scripture & other sources of wisdom & Truth have to say about it? By asking questions, we can hope to test the rightness of our actions. One of the places to ask questions is in community. The caveat is that we have to be willing to accept the answer when we reach clearness that the casserole is spoiled (evil) or that catsup is not the way forward.

We also need to be aware that some of the stuff in the fridge is not ours (or intended for us). Those messages are not for us. But sometimes, the burning truth is in some insignificant speck, as perhaps a fleck of jalapeno in the corner of our eye. Just as a weed is merely a plant out of place, evil can be misapplication of an otherwise good thing. Things just /are/, in the sense of absolute value they tried to teach us in math. The goodness or badness then goes back to those questions we asked earlier about ethics and direction in relation to us & God.

Remember all this next time you’re lost in the refrigerator.

A Father’s Advice

A Father’s Advice

It seemed the only opportunity. It seemed that career progression planned to take my son & his wife to England, not the sort of place one commutes to or that such plebes as myself visit for the weekend. It seemed the only opportunity to see them before they left. The birth of their son is immanent. So we bailed in the car Thursday at 9 PM and drove all night for a long weekend in Wisconsin. We arrived at 6 in the morning feeling sort of spent, like the fuzzy edges of a spent thundercloud.

After lunch on Friday, Christopher & I went for a hike in the greenspace near the apartment where he lives. We talked of a broad range of subjects from box elders and mulberries and milkweeds to engineering. Then he asked “Do you have any advice for a new father?” It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. Here’s some of what I said.

Mom & I agreed early on that we would present a united front when we you kids asked us something. Whichever one of us was asked first, the other one would agree. In the event of a disagreement, the policy stood and the matter could be discussed privately by us at a time when a decision wasn’t riding on it.

Grandma did a number of things I think were good parenting. Say we were making cookies. She would show us how to measure, then let us measure (for real, not pro forma), but say “can I check that?” The wisdom was in affirming what we did with the opportunity to suggest better ways or corrections.

The actual goal of parenting is to raise children who are capable of making unsupervised decisions that are ethically and morally acceptable. In the same vein as making cookies, allow kids to take risks and succeed while supervised, like spotting them the first few times they cross the monkeybars. Risk allows kids (and adults, too) to find boundaries, which are often well outside expectations. It allows them to learn to evaluate, to fail, to succeed.

My Quaker scoutmaster encouraged me to practice running rapids backwards when the choice was mine so that when the time came that the choice wasn’t mine, I could do it. One day I wound up running a rapid called Coliseum backwards in my C-1 (a decked canoe that looks like a kayak). Coliseum is a class 5 rapid on the Cheat river in West Virginia.

As parents, we always put the truth of the matter (whatever had happened) at the top. It wasn’t to say that there wouldn’t be consequences, but that they would be less if you told us than if we learned of them otherwise. Punishing kids for truth-telling trains them to evade responsibility. Another advantage of the approach was that it was forward-looking. There may have been an element of blame, but the focus was on what was wrong and how it could (or needed to) be changed. As they grew,the kids knew they could tell us what was going on in their lives. It kept communication open, even when they were teenagers. They later admitted that they (more or less) gave up pushing our buttons because they knew they weren’t going to get our goat.