Looking Up And Finding Clouds

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depression, inspiration, Iowa, life, life in the meadow, Memorial Day

I find myself strangely depressed the last few days, and it seems incongruous to me, given the beautiful weather we’ve been having. I’m very driven by weather I’ve learned. So it’s been puzzling to find myself fairly lethargic lately.

In trying to figure out why, I’ve come to the conclusion that two things are wearing heavy on my heart: the Gulf coast tragedy and the ongoing sadness of those in our parish family who are struggling with major health issues. Our deacon’s daughter is struggling with a deep brain injury, from an accident several weeks ago, and the road to recovery will be a long one. The Gulf coast, as we all know, will be effected by the oil spill for decades probably.

I think mostly, I feel helpless in the face of these two events. There is nothing much I can do. I pray. Everyday. At least against the oil spill, I can vent my anger, since there is a lot of blame to go around.

But, countering that, I’ve been nudged by a couple of other folks. Fran, from There Will be Bread, in a post I recall reading on FB, indicated that she wanted to move into a more positive mode, celebrating where we could join together, rather than emphasizing differences. I’m always superbly uplifted by Jan of Yearning for God for the same reason. It’s always about good stuff there, ways to connect with the divine and happy references to happy dogs.

Of course there is always Tim at Straight-Friendly for honest and beautiful inspiration. And there is for sure a smile whenever Jim at OkJimm’s Eggroll Emporium decides to set down his beer and take up his pen.

Another blog was pointed out to me by the folks at WordPress the other day. A “blogging success story” that I guess gives all of us who really love this writing business, hope. Like Ree Drummond, who has gone from family blogging to national recognition and a new cookbook, with stops at GMA and The View, via Pioneer Woman, Neal Pasricha has zoomed to the top of the heap with his blog 1000 Awesome Things. There is now a book out, and no doubt more to come. Neal claims that he started his blog to find something good and uplifting to help him keep a positive outlook.

I’ve been realizing lately that I’ve been slowly but surely gravitating more to blogs that have something solid I can hang onto, something that tells me more about life and living it well. It’s not to say that I am off the political spectrum. For indeed I find the likes of Tom at Politics Plus, and Dcap at distributorcap NY forever funny, informative, and witty.

Please also note, that in featuring these particular blogs, I don’t mean to slight dozens of others that I follow daily or near daily and appreciate for their inspiration and/or political acumen. These are just the first that came to mind.

What does all this mean? Oh, nothing in particular. I’m not thinking to alter this blog much if that is what you were thinking. I just realized that perhaps when I seem in a rut of rant, or in constant self-analysis in which I usually come up short in my own estimation, it may be time to turn the tables to stuff that is a bit lighter.

I was caught up yesterday in watching the news. The entire weekend has been filled with tributes, and remembrances of veterans, and well it should. However in this household, those thoughts are close at hand most all year, and the constant reference to death and dying is especially wearing. But a woman, spending her Memorial Day with her son at Arlington Cemetery, remarked that she and her family had always “celebrated” the holiday, but now it was celebrated in a very different way.

I realized that that happened to me, without much recognition when I married the Contrarian nearly eleven years ago. It is somber, not a day for play. We do fix a good deal of food and enjoy that, but the day itself is quiet. For us, the constant though understandable references to veterans is tiresome and painful. It recalls for my husband memories he has struggled a near lifetime to forget.

Perhaps that is why I am at odds with myself and the world today. Too much weekend. And the damnable turkeys are still attacking our garden, nipping a pepper plant here and there. And the mosquitoes have radar tuned to me, making it hard to be outside. I am constrained to live with tons of OFF which no doubt is not healthy, but at 60, I figure to die of something else before that cancer matures.

So, here’s to sun and light breezes, and waking up to a cacophony of music in the trees as a dozen varieties of bird greet the day. Here’s to good food, good beds, good movies, and happy pets. Here’s to yawns and fresh coffee brewing. To not having to wear sweaters and socks and caps to keep your ears warm. Here’s to barbecue and pasta salads, and good friends. Here’s to equality and justice and compassion and empathy. Here’s to fresh water and rain forests, and sunrises and sunsets. Here’s to love, and forgiveness, and curiosity. Here’s to companionship, and passion. Here’s to life, good, bad or otherwise, for it changes tomorrow, never give up hope in that. This Bud’s for you! (Frankly I hate Bud, being a Dos Equis person myself-but you get the point.)

Peace and God Bless

How to Celebrate Solemnity

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American History, celebrations, Memorial Day, Veterans, War

Americans may truly be the only nation of people who can find it somehow right and proper to combine a solemn honoring of our war dead day, with picnics, the beach, camping and barbecue.

I don’t know how we do it,  but we do. And we don’t seem to see anything odd about it.

Now, before you get your knickers in a twist or whatever other bodily wear the image brings up for you personally, I’m not here to wag the finger. No such thing at all. I was happily munching on a brat-dog yesterday and shoveling down my world famous potato salad. (I can say world famous because I published the recipe a while back–and it is undeniable that I have an “international” following of sorts. “Famous” might be quibbled with, but it’s my blog, so you know what that means.)

But the thought did wander through the fog of my brain after having consumed such fare, that well, it was all a bit strange after all. We are not supposed to be celebrating at all, rather we are to be properly solemn. I’ve used that word three times now, so you know it figures prominently here.

We are supposed to be “reflective” and meditative aren’t we? This is called MEMORIAL day after all. We have a lot of memorials to remember doncha think? I mean, starting with the Revolutionary war, various internecine “wars” against Native Americans, such that we nearly wiped out whole tribes. They there is the French and Indian, (the Indians again), the war of 1812, the parties of who escape me now. (So many it’s hard to remember all of them.) San Juan Hill had us in Cuba or some place, and we fought Mexicans over Texas and probably Arizona and New Mexico and California some.

Then there are the biggies, the Civil War when we did our best to annihilate each other, the two World Wars, one of which was wrongly claimed to be the “war to end all wars,” then Korea, Vietnam, a couple of Gulfs, Eastern Europe over those “not real wars but just police actions”. There are two going on now, and plenty dead and maimed from those. There are undoubtedly one’s we don’t know about, sneaky CIA type operations where people die and we never know. They are war dead too I guess.

My point is not to make judgments about all these, although most of you might assume correctly that I’m pretty much agin’ such things. My point is to well, point out, that we have a lot of dead to reflect upon. A lot of lives lost, millions, in causes deemed righteous and not so much. A lot of lives ruined that aren’t all that susceptible to figures and grafts and totals.

I’d say there is more than enough for a body to spend the day in quiet reflection on; war, and how we get in them, and more importantly how we can avoid them. To say nothing of those poor folks who are dealing with it firsthand, visiting graves still warm from shovels of dirt not yet packed down, embracing boxes filled with dreams now dead. 

We have somehow found it right and good to turn this day into the “kick-off to summer” and parades where we wave flags and look about us in self-satisfied wonder at all America has wrought. Kids running and ice cream, and baseball, and pretty teen girls flirting with bare chested boys trying to look manly.  A lot of aging men, and increasing more and more women, dress in semi-formal military fare, and sport caps identifying them as VFW, and their particular part in the ongoing mayhem that has been with us since our birth as a nation.

We dutifully watch the TV during the day, or later in the evening, and see the solemn (now four times) placing of wreaths at various monuments, watching the documentation of this going on here and there throughout the country. We feel vaguely embarrassed or guilty that we don’t attend those events, but after all, we have no war dead to mourn ourselves. And it is warm and sunny, and there is a chance to wear shorts and wiggle our toes in the sand and laugh because we have the day off.

I found it ironic that the television schedule during the weekend was filled with old war movies, and war footage. Yes, a perfect legacy of war is to watch pretend war or film of real war. Fitting to remember the dead that way. Glorious, in fact. I’m sure that’s the way they felt about it, before. . . . before they were dead before they hit the ground. How much they were willing to “give that last measure.” Yeah, sure they were.

Nobody is talking of peace. I can’t figure out why. Haven’t we seen a belly full of death and destruction yet? Are we still in love with John Wayne, and “lace ’em up tight boys.” Are we still in Rambo mode?

I wonder all these things as I eat my Klondike Bar in celebration of Memorial Day. Damned if I know why I feel so phony.

For Those Who Gave the Last Full Measure

Tags

Memorial Day, Poetry, Veterans, War

Memorial Day

Death makes brothers of all soldiers.

Those who lay down their weapons.

Beside their own caskets.

Should be allowed peace from the/

nationalistic/militarists attitudes.

That placed them there.

Shouted prayers for peace/

Would be a more fitting tribute

To those who have fallen,

Than beats of drum,

Or blare of bugle.

What better sign of homage could be given,

Than for all living,

To join hands and say as one–

“You have taught us

VIOLENCE IS WRONG.”

I sob with frustration

When I think of my own failure as a warrior.

The insufficiency is not

That my mates and I did not win.

Individuals can neither win nor lose wars.

They only survive or die.

Our inadequacy is/

We are unable to create an attitude/

That insures peace.

More than cheers of welcome,

I wanted an end to violence

When I returned home from Vietnam.

As a young man, I narrowly wanted/

Only for the savagery/

Of my time in combat to end.

As I age, I wish more and more,

For the surcease of all brutality/

For all people.
One need not don a uniform,

Or learn to drill,

To be a warrior.

My dictionary defines the word as–

“one engaged or experienced in combat.”

Combat is–

“Strife or turmoil.”

I count as comrades all who despair,

Because of conflict or defilement.

The small children who suffer hideous crimes/

From those who mistreated by neglect.

And all in between who have experienced/

Anguish.

I no longer choose to appraise misery.

There are no commonly valued units of ache.

Agony can only be rated by those who endure.

If I can find meaning/

To the chaos I participated in,

It can only be that it contributed/

To the termination of the desecration

of the human soul.

Sadly. . .

No amount of optimism,

Can allow me to believe,

That will transpire during my life.

I see too much flag waving,

And read of too much misery,

To imagine the malignancy/

Of enmity will soon end.

Memorial day is a day of sadness for me.

Not so much for those I have lost,

Their pain is over.

I weep for those who still stuffer,

The pain of immoral wrongs.

Those whose scars are visible,

And those whose affliction,

Can be detected by the gaze of melancholy;

That can only be seen by fellow travelers,

Through the labyrinth of woe.

                                                            ~~The Contrarian~~

(written many years ago) and offered here with his permission. Peace this day to everyone.