Water'd heaven with their tears

I do not understand much of anything in this world. And I can't even begin to understand the madness and evil that led the despicable act in Connecticut today. It's clear this world so unsafe and dreadful at times. I don't get it. I know there is hope. I believe in the hope found in Christ. I still can't make sense of this insanity, though.

For some reason it all made me think of the mad man, poet, philosopher, prophet, artist, and visionary, William Blake. He seemed to see paradoxes in the world pretty clearly. Some would say he was nuts. Maybe that's the same thing.

At any rate, here are a few of his poems that echo some of my feelings on the event.

Holy Thursday

Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns. It is eternal winter there. For where-e’er the sun does shine, And where-e’er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. The Lamb Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee! The Tyger Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Explanation

So this is my first blog post since November 20. I'll be honest, I'm on hiatus. At least I hope it's a hiatus. I have no plans for this silence to be permanent. I'm just, well, mentally tired. And a bit overwhelmed. I enjoyed writing every day, but it was not easy. It was hard to think of something to write about every day for forty days. It's one thing to write something whenever you feel like, but writing every day is a bit like exercise. Well, it's a lot like exercise. So, right now I'm reading, thinking, praying listening to new music and playing games. Seriously, I got some gift money and gift cards for my birthday, so I downloaded some new iPad games and some music as well.

I will be back. Really. I will. Don't give me that look.

I saw that.

What She Said

Great author and blogger, Rachel Held Evans, wrote an excellent post about the same issue I discussed in my "I Told You So" post. I highly recommend you read this article, especially before you sit down with family and friends for Thanksgiving meals that could involve political discussions.

Here are a few quotes from the post:

This, I believe, is the real evangelical disaster—not that Barack Obama is president and Mitt Romney is not, but that evangelicalism has gotten so enmeshed with politics, its success or failure can be gauged by an election.

Beautifully written:

And no matter what happens in the halls of power, we will never be part of a disaster. Instead, we will be part of a stubborn and relentless movement of hope—the kind of hope that can heal the world.

Check out the rest of the article here. She has a great blog I don't read often enough.

40

Somehow I made it to 40. I suppose it's not really that big of a deal. But then again, considering a few of my near misses, well, I am immeasurably grateful. And those are just the near misses I'm aware of. Who knows how many times God has saved my hide while I was just daydreaming.

I guess that's part of my first forty years. Daydreaming. Sure, I feel like I've done a fair bit of things, but I felt like I was biding my time, waiting for the arrival of some one or some thing. If you read books on being single, a lot of them tell you to not spend too much time trying to find someone. Enjoy life. Live life. Use the time wisely. These books tell you not just to sit around and wait for someone.

That's relatively easy to do from around 21 to 30ish, but after that, you are as anxious about finding someone as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Sure, you may lick your paws and butt, fall asleep, and pretend nothing is bothering you, but somewhere in your mind and heart you know the score.

But there is wisdom in not waiting. By that I mean, do life. Get involved in your church or religious community. Travel. Enjoy your friendships. Enjoy your family. Be a great uncle or aunt. Just don't sit and watch the clock. Another benefit of getting involved is that you have more opportunities to meet people at said volunteer events. That tip is free of charge.

And one thing I've learned or at least I'm still learning is that most of life is not lived in the huge or dramatic events. There's a lot of sitting and waiting. There are a lot of mundane things that are just a part of life. At least it's a part of our lives in prosperity. I have read books and essays about my favorite writers, poets, film makers, and others, and you never read the boring bits. You never read about them cleaning gutters, raking leaves, or getting the oil changed. Between the major events in your life, there's usually quite a bit of time. It's all about what do you do with that time. 

I used to keep this framed letter from the Lloyd's Bank of London about my favorite poet, T.S. Eliot. While I was visiting London, I tried to visit some of the T.S. Eliot sites. He worked at Lloyd's Bank for around 8 years before becoming an editor at Faber and Faber. 

A nice lady at the bank took time to meet and talk with me about Eliot's time at the bank. She then gave me a letter that had information about his time at the bank as well. I had it framed. I used to keep it up in my cube at work. It was intended to be an inspiration to get out of my career as a tech writer. That I wasn't going to be "stuck" there forever in software. 

And later, as my first year as a writer turned into five years, it became a source of pain. It was like a magnifying mirror that brought out all the areas where I felt I had failed so far. The poems I couldn't get published. The Master's thesis I never completed. My endless attempts to reboot my writing life. I started to dislike the letter and what it represented. 

Over a decade later, I stopped putting the letter up in my cube. I had taken a position with another company. I started getting involved in my local church. I started volunteering for care giving ministries. And I started to develop meaningful relationships with people again.  I kept journalling infrequently, but it was something. Writing began to be about more than honing my skills for a career. I wanted to keep a record of life events, things I'd read, lines of poetry, books, scripture and dialogue from movies. It was a way to keep that poetic spirit alive in my soul. 

I don't know if it's accurate to say I abandoned my dream of being a poet or novelist. In fact, if I were entirely honest, I would have to admit I still hold onto that hope. And yeah, I still daydream. 

So, what's my point? Well, my point is not really about my writing career. 

My point is that I really began to live life when I stopped focusing on where I wasn't and focused on where I am. I put down the telescope and focused on what is in front of me. I'm learning to live in the now. And it feels so good. Most of the time. Sure, there are disappointments. I do still feel the sting of dreams or hopes never achieved. Those original hopes and dreams fade away like precious silver coins dropped in the ocean. I mourn for them as they disappear into the murky blue. But then I remember I'm not tethered to that coin like a millstone. In fact, most of the time I drop the coin because I'm delightfully distracted by a new hope or dream that floats to the surface. And sometimes they are the same dreams I dropped before, but they come back with greater clarity and resplendence.

At least most days I feel like that. There are evenings when my wife and I are sitting on the couch and I will tell her this amazing idea for a story or novel. She will sit patiently and listen and encourage me. And there are days when I don't feel like a good fit for my job at all. And I think, what am I doing here? Am I living too safely? Should I be daring, quit my job and start writing a novel? 

And then I think of the Quaker proverb: Proceed as the way opens. It means to undertake a service or course of action without prior clarity about all the details but with confidence that divine guidance will make these apparent and assure an appropriate outcome. To me this implies that we don't need all the details about our future to make those steps forward, but we can move in a certain direction with confidence that the way will open if God intends for it to.  

So I will proceed as the way opens. I try to hold onto my hopes and dreams lightly. I try to keep daydreaming because it's just so much fun. But I also know I have to wake up and go to work. 

Ramblin' Rose Part 1

I am going to try and write about this topic in one post, but I don't know if I will finish it. Or if it will end up being a two parter. I will try to add comedy that will not only hopefully make you laugh but also help me laugh and alleviate some of the sadness I feel. And maybe it says something about me or my emotional state that simply writing about this will probably illicit strong emotions. At least stronger emotions than I've allowed myself to fully feel and/or embrace. This also has potential to be incredibly sentimental.

My Aunt Rose is in the hospital with pneumonia and a urinary tract infection. She wouldn't really want me to share her age, but I will say she was born in the late 20s. Before the hospital, she was in a nursing home. And as far as nursing homes go, it's a fairly decent one. While we had no intention of her staying in the nursing home longer than a few weeks, she has been there for over a year now. And it's been sad to watch her decline.

And her first name is not really Rose. But I won't tell you what it is because she wouldn't like that either. She never really liked it that much, and that's why she goes by Rose. It is a cool first name, though. It begins with a Z. That's all I'm going to say. 

Rose grew up as the only girl in a poor tenant farming family with four older brothers. She told me that she would often have to wear hand-me-down overalls to school. And because of that she got made fun of.  That is, until her older brothers beat the tar out of who ever made fun of her. They were pretty protective of their little sister.

Later in high school I think she was pretty popular at school and had a good amount of friends. About the time she was ready to graduate high school, all of her brothers were already married and had kids.

And also, her family wasn't really that anymore. My Grandpa owned a plot of land north of St. Elmo. He and his sons built a house and farm on a plot of hilly land north of St. Elmo. Much to their good fortune, Exxon Oil arrived in area in search of oil. And they found it. Lots of it. More importantly, they found oil on my Grandpa's land. With the permission of my grandpa, they built oil rigs and started drilling for oil. Grandpa reaped the financial benefits of having the oil rigs on his land. Grandpa saved quite a bit of the money, but he also used some to help Rose as well as my dad (who hadn't been born yet). Later they replaced the rigs with pumpjacks (see below). See-sawing pumpjacks peppered the country north of St. Elmo for many years. And many of them are still pumping. And my family still gets checks. But they are much, much smaller.

At any rate, just as my Aunt Rose was leaving the homestead, my Grandma developed a tumor. Well, they thought it was a tumor. It turned out to be my dad. So now my Aunt had a little brother to fawn over and spoil. Since my dad pretty much grew up as an only child, my aunt came home often to visit, and I believe she always brought gifts.

While my dad was growing up in the "house on the hill" north of St. Elmo, Illinois, my aunt worked for Western Union's telegraph service. I believe her first job was wiring money and messages from a Western Union shop in a hardware store in downtown St. Elmo. At the time, St. Elmo had a lot of oil money coming in and had a pretty lively downtown with a movie theater, department stores and street dances on the weekends. It wasn't Times Square, but it was lively for a little burg. 

Rose quickly...um...rose in the ranks at Western Union. She was eventually asked to travel and fill in for other operators that were on vacation, sick or let go. It was through these travels that she meant many people that she would visit later on in life. When working for Western Union, she often stayed in a mother-in-law apartment or some small room with a local family. At some point during her travels she met the man who would be her husband many moons later, Robert McGuire. Bob was a salesman and traveled quite a bit as well.

Due to the increased popularity of the telephones and computers, Western Union changed its focus to primary wire transfers and Fax transmissions. I never really fully understood this when she talked about it, but she was a part of the beginning of Fax machines being used to send messages and important documents. In fact, she was eventually promoted to a position that involved closing some Western Union offices and training others on how to use the new Fax technology. She was always pretty proud that she was involved with that. 

I found out recently she worked in Western Union offices close to where I live now in Skokie. I believe it was while she was working at Rockford that she started taking Arthur Murray dance classes.  While I never saw her dance, I know she loved dancing. Before she entered the nursing home, she watched Dancing with the Stars religiously. She was pretty much the only reason I knew who the contestants were. 

While Rose was doing well at Western Union, she saw the writing on the wall. She knew it wasn't going to last much longer, so she made a plan to go to a Beauty Salon School. I think that's what they called them then. I don't recall where she attended the salon school, but I know she used the money she saved up from working Western Union to pay for her schooling. When she was finished, she asked her father if she could borrow money to start her own shop in Springfield, Illinois. He agreed and soon after that she started "My Fair Lady" on South Grand. It was right across from a Sears store. A really great place to be situated at the time. At the beginning she had no other stylists working with her. She would often go to the Sears parking lot and put flyers in the car windows, or she hired a young kid to hand them out in the neighborhood. It was tough getting started, but she made it. 

Over the years she was able to bring on other stylists. Her salon did pretty well. She also paid her dad back every bit of the money she borrowed. She would want you to know that. 

When I was around five or six, I visited her a few times at the salon. I remember she had an office in the back with a safe. She was once held up by a drug addict looking for some cash. I remember her telling me the thief shot his gun into the floor and herded her and her stylists, and their customers into the tiny wood-paneled office. She said he told them to stay in the office and not come out or he would shoot them. I also remember Rosie telling me the thief asked for everyone's money, but she didn't tell him about the money in the safe.  They eventually caught the guy a few days later.

I think it was then she was driving one of her many Cadillacs  I believe this one was gold-colored. It was a boat of a car that required a large berth anywhere it went.  It fitted how she thought of herself, I think. A Ramblin' Rose.  

It was during this time she also traveled the world with Bob McGuire, the man who she had met while working for Western Union. He was an incredibly wealthy man at this time. He had owned some Christmas stores in Indiana. He also owned some restaurants. I believe he sold most of these businesses and invested in some property in Monterey, California. Specifically, the famous Monterey Bay Canning Company building (seen in two images below) in Monterey, California. It was the cannery featured in John Steinbeck's Cannery Row.

My Uncle Bob owned the lease on that building. He also had a lot of money in Swiss Bank Accounts. He was a shrewd business man.   

They used their wealth to travel to Egypt, Australia, China, Japan, Ireland, Great Britain, France, Spain, Italy, and other places. She always brought us gifts back from these far away places. And pictures. Pictures of her on camels. Pictures of her holding a koala. Pictures of her near the Straits of Gibraltar. Pictures of her in front of of the green valleys in Ireland. I lived in a town of 700 people, so these places she visited might have been on Mars as far as I was concerned. They were so exotic and otherworldly.

Well, I hope to continue this post later. It has turned out to take longer than expected.