A few weeks have passed since my last blog entry. I think I have forgotten how to write poetry. The images appear in my head and disappear before a blank screen. Winter is lingering on here with the occasional glimpses of spring. I am no better a person and being worse is possible. The wind is strong today, the fields are muddy and the sky is full of rain. Streaks of sunlight intermittently break free of the grey Wednesday landscape. I have a stack of books in the process of being read but they are all lacking a certain quality. The familiarity of a known face or the clarity of a peaceful place. Music though is everywhere, Ray LaMontagne's Gossip in the Grain playing in this room. Peter Bradley Adams Leavetaking playing in another room and Wilco's Sky Blue Sky in my bedroom. Earlier today I heard When I Dream of Michelangelo by Counting Crows on one of the digital television music channels and it made me smile.
I used to think, if I didn't write down my feelings I couldn't feel them. Of course I knew this was wrong but still believed it. Now since words have escaped me like many things have in my life, I seem to feel more. I suppose without a stage to drag my thoughts across they are fighting like armies in a war already written.
My grandfather has been diagnosed with throat cancer and requires surgery to remove the tumour. I have spent a lot of time visiting with my grandmother and him over the last couple of years, so there is a closeness I am not ready to let go of. There is a chance of recovery and this is what we are all praying for. Like most people in their 80's my grandfather has been through a lot in his life and hopefully this is one more challenge he will overcome. I am looking forward to many more dinner visits and summer afternoon's spent in the cool shade of a splendid garden waiting for the tasty treasures on the barbeque.
Once again today gun violence is in the news. In Germany a 17 year old has killed 16 people at a high school he used to attend before being killed himself. In America a man has killed 11 people in Alabama including members of his own family before his own death. I think we are immune to the news of these rampages, we should be scared but I think we are only vaguely sad. Most of us just shake our heads and say "what a world" and not wonderful like the one of green trees, red roses, blue skies and friends saying I love you.
On the weekend during a coversation with some friends about what we would do should we learn that our unborn child is an invalid we all agreed terminating the pregnancy would be best for everyone. After this discussion I came upon this passage in Mary Karr's memoir The Liar's Club: "I've heard it said that caring for an invalid is like caring for a baby. And I suppose it's the same basic deal, but a baby rewards you each day with change, sprouting a tooth or discovering that the object randomingly waggling before its eyes is, in fact, its own hand. But an invalid is a hole you pour yourself into. Every day he fixes you with a glance more gnawed-out than yours, more hurt. If life is suffering (as the Buddha says), some endless shit-eating contest, then the invalid always wins, hands down."
Also on Saturday I got a few seconds of fame while watching the Canada and U.S. baseball game at the Rogers Centre. Just before the final out, there was a crowd shot and 3 of the 7 of us got on Sportsnet, standing and cheering like fools. It was a good game and very intense but Canada couldn't pull off the upset. So we drove home in the pouring rain, went out to country bar and got really drunk, then played poker and video game hockey until seven or so.
Hopefully soon the daylight will be worth saving because right now it is just an hour of sleep I would rather have had.
john.
The Longer I Run by Peter Bradley Adams
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIl8OufGf64
You can buy Peter's music at the link below.
http://tinyurl.com/Leavetaking-Amazon-Music-Store
(Thanks to Kara McGraw @ Sarathan Records for the link)
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