Waiting for Delos

 Samual Beckett wrote his wildly acclaimed play Waiting for Godot in 1948. First in French and then later, in the 90s, in English.  The play has been described as a typical example of Theatre of the Absurd.  In 1996 it was voted the most significant English language play in the 20th century.  

What's it about?  Two guys are waiting for Godot to show up.  Who is Godot?  Is it God?  Who knows.  The extensional questions of Who, What, Where and When are asked but not answered. 

When my husband Ken started his health journey we had to, from time to time, visit his vascular surgeon's office.  While the surgeon was excellent, the office wait time was always an agonizing several hours.  It drove me absolutely crazy. 

So to express my frustration with my own little existential angst, I wrote a poem.  And, yes, I did share the poem with the vascular surgeon, Delos Cliff.  

WAITING FOR DELOS

Some were doing laundry,

Some were laying fires,

Some were birthing babies,

Some were changing tires.                                                                                                                            

Waiting for Delos

Some were reading epics,

Some were dreaming dreams,

Most were doing nothing,

But stifling their screams.

Waiting for Delos

But if you have a need spectacular

For anything that's titled vascular

You will surely find yourself

Waiting for Delos.

***

 

Notes From The Past

 

About 20 years ago I attended a writer's workshop and was urged to read the wildly popular book for creatives called  The Artist' Way - A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.  Written by  Julia Cameron, it's a workbook to encourage your creative juices to flow.  

The book is very interactive and is famous for encouraging "Morning Pages."  These are pages we write every morning - whether we want to or not.  

Today I got out one of my notebooks filled with morning pages from about 20 years ago.  It's mostly stream of consciousness and not very interesting.  I have carefully ripped out and shredded every page because they're a personal glimpse into my mind and heart at the time.  

I did save a couple of pages.  They were written in 2002 when I was caregiving my husband, Ken.  He passed away in 2004 after a long, long goodbye.  Serendipitously, as his body and mind wore down he became strangely content - for the first time in his life.  

Last night Ken sat at the dinner table trying to eat our usual Saturday night roasted chicken dinner.  But his hands were flying akimbo.  Getting the fork to his mouth was an adventure.  Lifting his water glass without jerking the contents all over the table was near impossible. 

After dinner he went to the other room and fetched the book he'd been reading, A Patriot's Handbook, with  songs, poems, stories and speeches celebrating America.  Ken sat back down at his place at the table and began reading to me from a portion of the book about "Shakers."  

He read...."The members were known for their trembling produced by their religious intensity - hence the name "Shakers."  Shaker communities gave up their worldly possessions and lived a celibate and austere life concentrated on God."

Then Ken closed the book and said "This certainly describes me."

***

Powerful Words

Today I cleaned out some files and found poems I've not seen in decades.  Some were mine, some from others.  Many years ago I was inspired by writer/poet, Judith Viorst.  She's always been a bit shocking, raw and very funny.  This book, Necessary Losses, a New York Times bestseller from several decades back, explores the loves, illusions, dependencies and impossible expectation that all of us have to give up in order to grow.  

I love the poem printed below.  It's sweet and funny but a punch in the gut.

My Mom say I'm her sugarplum.
My mom says I'm her lamb,
My mom says I'm completely perfect,
Just the way I am.
My mom says I'm a super-special wonderful terrific little guy.
My mom just had another baby.
Why?

The following poem by Cynthia MacDonald, is harsh and shocking.   I honestly can't remember if it was included in Necessary Losses but it was from that same time decades ago when I was trying to help women who were struggling with identity and overcoming our need to please.  I remember that I seldom used the poem because I knew it invoked reactions in some folks that I was not qualified to handle.  You've heard of "Shock Jocks."  MacDonald was a shock poet.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS  by Cynthia MacDonald

I painted a picture-green sky - and showed it to my mother
She said that is nice, I guess.
So I painted another holding the paint brush in my teeth,
Look Ma, no hands, and she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in painting which
I am not.  

I played clarinet solo in Gounod's Clarinet Concerto
With the Buffalo Philharmonic, 
Mother came to listen and said 
That's nice, I guess.
So I played it with the Boston Symphony,
Lying on my back and using my toes,
Look, Ma, no hands.  And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in music which I am not.

I made an almond souffle and served it to my mother.
She said, that's nice, I guess.
So I made another, beating it with my breath,
Serving it on my elbows,
Look Ma, no hands.  And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in eating which
I am not. 

So I sterilized my wrists, performed the amputation, threw away
My hand and went to my mother, but before I could say
Look Ma, no hands, she said,
I have a present for you and insisted I try on
The blue kid gloves to make sure they were the right size.


***

P.S.  Thanks to all of you who've purchased my book New Day Updated and Revised.  I've loved hearing from so many of you.   It's available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Putting Out Fires

This photo from yesterday's  California fires hurt my heart; for the fire fighters and the loss of property and the loss of living things.

We're good at putting out fires of all kinds.  For me, it's heartwarming every day to read about first responders and others who are keeping us relatively safe.

But responding and deep down problem solving are two different things.

Yesterday I read a devotional written by my friend, Tonya.  She heads up our church's Diversity Team.  Among other things they are tackling the book, Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.   Tonya shared how important it is for all of us to read hard stuff and own up to who we are and what we were taught to believe.  One of the things she quoted has stuck with me for the past 24 hours.  I can't get it out of my head.

She referenced the mass incarceration complex which is set up to imprison one out of three black babies born.

Truly solving problems is much harder than this.  Most of us know that massive fires, multiple deadly hurricanes and extreme heat are caused by climate change.  And we know how to fix it.

Most of us know that our overcrowded prisons are largely filled with people who were born into circumstances that helped shape them into who they became.  We know that solving these problems needs to begin before they are born. Any of us who've ever been involved in tutoring can tell sad stories of children who've never had a book read to them.

I'm grateful for first responders but sometimes by the time they get there it's too late.  And the attempt to address crime by setting up a prison system to accommodate one in three black babies born is, well, too late.

***

Looking Up

Every day we could, and sometimes do, feel an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety.  So every day I overtly look for ways to Keep Calm and Carry on.

I'm happy I'm finally strong enough to take a walk most mornings.  Being outside, especially in my neighborhood, helps me as much spiritually and emotionally as it does physically.

On Saturday mornings my friend comes to call bringing me treats from Panera.  But the best treat is her presence.  Recently we've been sitting in the yard for our lengthly conversations.  We talk about everything under the sun but no petty gossip and complaining.

This past Saturday her chair was facing the corner and she was noticing how many cars don't stop for the stop sign at this corner.  This is a frequent experience.  It's a very quiet street so I get it.  If you click on the photo you can barely see the back of the stop sign.

When we discussed this it made me remember this story.  Years ago my husband, Ken, and I were watching on television the preparations for a space launch about to blast off from Cape Canaveral.  At that time there was a place in the middle of this street where you could look to the east and see the blast off go straight up and arc over the sky.  Spectacular and amazing since the Cape is about 50 miles away.

So Ken, who was struggling with his health, both physically and cognitively, decided he would go out to the spot to watch the blast off.  I though I would go with him but when I saw what was happening at the stop sign I thought, "You're on your own Ken."

At that particular time there was a police officer pulling over a neighbor to give her a ticket for running the sign.  She was not happy and she was loudly sharing her fury with the officer who, by this time, was equally unhappy.

So I let Ken hobble out there all by himself.  He confronted the lady and the cop and let them know what was about to happen.  I don't know how he managed it but he even got the woman to get out of her car (it was facing the wrong direction) and she, the cop and Ken stood in the middle of the street and watched in awe at the spectacular rocket launch.  By the time it was over the lady and the cop were speaking kindly to each other.

So the lesson for me today is, keep looking UP!


***