The Master Butchers Singing Club

I just finished this book. Before leaving Minneapolis Dave saw the play. Didn't know how they could make a play from this book because it's complicated and spans most of a century. But then I remembered they did it with one of my favorite books and plays, Ragtime.

And like Ragtime, The Master Butchers Singing Club is a raw story about families, with our changing country as a backdrop.

What goes on in these families? Death, alcoholism, homosexuality, love, betrayal, loss. In other words, real life.

Here's a quote that reminded me about how our country has many times encountered hard times and came out stronger. It takes place in the butcher's shop during World War II:

At the same time as business boomed, shortages plagued them. Although Fidelis possessed a much coveted C sticker for the delivery truck, they were always low on gasoline. Coffee disappeared. The government requisitioned butter from the dairies so she sold blocks of oleomargarine with little pats of yellow dye. Her distributor could supply only the lowest grade of canned goods, then none. No eggs.

Here's a quote that reminded me of me:

That mother loss had made Delphine strong, but also caused her to live as a damaged person, a searcher with a hopeless quest, a practical-minded woman with a streak of dismay. Even now that she could count herself close to middle age, she missed her mother.



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The Oliver Sachs Excuse

Oliver Sachs is a Professor of Neurology and Psychiatry at Columbia Medical Center. He's also a prolific writer. He writes about quirky brain abnoralities. He wrote "Awakenings" in the 80s. It was made into a movie staring Robin Williams as Sachs and Robert De Niro as a patient. I loved the book and the movie.

But my favorite book was "The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat." It's case studies of people who's brains play terrible tricks on them.

Some critics who think he exploits his patients call him The Man Who Mistook His Patients for a Literary Career - but I don't think that.

His work is very readable because it's personal so it gives me grace in the sense that it helps me to know that I'm fallible and my brain will never be perfect. Lately he's written about music and the brain. He, himself, has a disorder of the brain that prevents him from recognizing faces. For some people it's voices. Even faces and voices of folks we know and love.

I was thinking about Dr. Sachs yesterday in church when I looked at several people and thought "Do I know you?" And hearing's more of a problem. Is it my brain or my aging ears?

I'm going to see Dave tomorrow after being apart for two weeks.

I hope I don't get to the airport and mistake him for a hat.


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Intense Competition

This morning I took my usual Saturday walk on my favorite street in all the world.

I love looking at the sidewalk sales. I saw some black jeans that were half price at only $178.

As you may remember, I have a hard time with the double strollers blocking my way at the farmer's market and the designer dogs. And I especially have a problem with the double strollers that contain dogs.

Ever since my running days I've been intimidated by big dogs, even if they're dressed better than I am. Loving but clueless dog owners (or as some of them call themselves "parents") think the rest of us are fine with their one hundred pound dogs lunging at or jumping on us petless walkers. But maybe being knocked down or nipped on this street would have an upside.

Cha-ching!

But I was treated to a new sight today. I'm used to the guy with the colorful parrot on his shoulder but - and I'm not making this up - I saw a big guy with a little black bunny rabbit on an expensive leash.

I missed Dave. I missed my Oldies. But, as usual, I loved my walk.

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I Miss Him

A friend said today, "Don't you miss him?"

Yes, I miss him. But Dave and I knew when we got into this thing that life would be tricky. Dave's still in Minnesota. I'm in Florida. Why? We have homes and other, even more important, obligations. Life is complicated. But he'll be here on Tuesday. Whoopee!

We knew when we got into this that it would be complicated. You may remember our (some might say anal) buttoning down every detail we could think of. But then we just gave in and decided to go for it.

During that time Dave sent me a poem he'd seen in some magazine. We agreed it described our relationship to a T.

We saw each other
in the same place for
years before we met.

Destined? Rather as
if we were trying
to defy fate. But

finally worn out
we acceded to
the chance and a bed.


***

Thomas Merton

Have you ever needed to say something but didn't have the words? Happens to me all the time.

When I was stewing around a while back about folks who have everything nailed down - especially theologically and politically - I found myself struggling for words to express where I am.

Then I read some "Thomas Merton." Merton was a Catholic Monk and, some say, the most important Catholic writer of the 20th century. I've found that, when I don't have the words, great minds like Merton can express them for me.

So, while reading, I ran across an old prayer that said exactly what I was (and still am) feeling. I read it in Sunday school yesterday and a couple of people asked for a copy. So here it is.

Discernment

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end,
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I
am following your will does not mean that I am actually
doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please
you,
and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore I will trust you always
though I may seem lost and in the shadow of death
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
And you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

-Thomas Merton, The Road Ahead


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Getting Old is the Pits!

I'm not talkin' about me. All my parts are still working. I haven't had a brain lapse since I tried to drive a stranger's car home from the mall. But, as you know, that was months ago.


I'm talking about getting really old.


I'm taking a class and one of the questions was "Where do you expect to be in 20 years?" After much thought, I answered, "Dead."


But my good friend reminded me that her mother is 20 years older than we are and she's still very much alive and making life interesting for herself and her family.


All this to say that one of the first things I did after coming home to Florida was to visit my Oldies. Through A Series of Unfortunate Incidents they're now in assisted living. They didn't go quietly.


At 89 and 90 they have many serious health issues including heart disease and Alzheimer's. They're in a lovely place but they no longer have the freedom to eat in restaurants three times a day and do the other things they love.


But they are absolutely where they need to be.


I was so happy to see them - but afraid they wouldn't know me. They did. She knew my name but he called me Beatrice a couple of times.


I said, "Who is this Beatrice? My name is Cess." He laughed (but he had no idea who Beatrice was either.)


Dave has a very dignified older friend who has never, ever used bad language but he recently said:


"Dave, getting old is the pits!"


But he didn't say pits.








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Leaving the Land of 10,000 Weather Changes

I'm packing up and heading home to Florida tomorrow. With a few days stopover in Atlanta. Hard to know what to pack, what to mail, and what to wear.

When I board the plane in the morning the weather will be in the 50s. When I get off it will be in the 90s. The weather inside the plane could be either of these.

The last couple of days I've been teased a bit about the crazy people in Florida. I have to remind these Minnesotans that if it wasn't for the crazy and bizarre folks (not to mention the serial killers) in Florida and California, this would be a boring country indeed.

For instance, I like to tell Dave that I don't believe there really is an Iowa. It's never in the news.

Last summer Florida was never out of my mind due to the daily Casey Anthony news fix.

Folks here in Minnesota are way more reserved. And blond. And Lutheran. Dave has a neighbor whom I really care for. We've had many conversations. Some of them funny. But I don't think I've ever seen her laugh. However, she's a good and nice person.

This morning the guys at Breugger's wouldn't let me pay for my coffee and bagel because it was my last breakfast for a while.

Now that's Minnesota Nice!


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