The Beginning Place

I have a continuing dialogue with one of the check out clerks at the local Safeway store. Kevin is a somewhat stout young man with curly hair, dorky glasses, and lots of beard. I go to the Safeway once a week to buy a copy of Star magazine. Sometimes I get The National Enquirer or The Globe or some other Hollywood gossip rag, but usually it's the Star. Kevin frequently sells me my trashy magazine, and almost always comments on some of the headlines, or asks me if I really believed the articles. So one day I told him that I read lots of other things in addition to Star - that I had just completed a fasinating biography of Alexander Hamilton, and was almost finished reading Collapse by Jared Diamond which is a historical perspective of why some advanced civilizations just collapsed (briefly - they cut down all the trees). Kevin seemed amazed at my reading habits. He couldn't understand why someone who could read and understand intellectually challenging histories and biographies would read celebrity gossip. I told him I was multi-talented; but that started a discussion from week to week of what I'm reading, and what he likes to read. His favorite author is Kurt Vonnegut Jr. I recommended he read The Beginning Place by Ursula K. LeGuin. (It's about a grocery store clerk.)

That got me thinking about what my favorite books have been, and what books I would recommend to anyone to read. Here's my list:

The Complete Works of Jane Austin. She wrote 6 major novels, and they are all wonderful. My favorite is whichever one I've just finished reading. There is nothing irrelevant about choosing a life-long mate, I don't care what century you live in.

The Once and Future King by Theodore H. White. Read the first chapter of book 2. It's a discussion between Merlin and Arthur about why people go to war, and when it might be justified. The whole book is a Greek Tragedy. And it's a wonderful romance.

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. War at its most insane.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. This is one of the funniest books I ever read, but it's sad, too. It's set in New Orleans, and the characters are brilliantly written.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter Thompson. Another very funny book. OK. Maybe it's funnier when you are stoned.

The Killing Doll by Ruth Rendall. She writes some very good, but conventional, British mysteries, and also some really strange novels like The Killing Doll, which is about a boy who sells his soul to the devil so he will grow taller. Anything she writes is worth reading.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin. She is one of my favorite authors, and this is one of her best books. It's science fiction, but it's also about friendship, politics, gender identity and truth.

Personal History by Katharine Graham, who for many years owned the Washington Post.

Lost Moon by Jim Lovell and Jeffrey Kluger, the true story of the Apollo 13 mission. It's amazing what the U.S. was able to do in space in the 1960's, with less computing power than I have on my laptop. This is also a story of human bravery, endurance and ingenuity.

Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer, a true accounting of an Everest expedition that went wrong. This book is chilling. You will really feel like you are there on the mountain with him.

Into the Heart of Borneo by Redmon O'Hanlon. Two British guys trek into Borneo with native guides. A true story, entertaining and amusing.

The Last Farmer by Howard Kohn. He's a local writer, who goes back to visit his farmer father in Michigan. His Dad could be my Dad: cheerful, honest, hardworking and intelligent.

Appetite for Life, The Biography of Julia Child by Noel Riley Fitch. Did you know Julia Child worked for the OSS in Ceylon and India during World War 2. She didn't even start to cook until she was nearly 40.

Citizen Soldiers by Stephen E. Ambrose. Another war book, only this one is not fiction.

Kon Tiki by Thor Hyerdahl. The man floated across the Pacific Ocean on a raft with a group of friends, and some how managed to make a living doing it. How cool is that?

The poetry for the day:

He said:


Lending Out Books

Hal Sirowitz

You’re always giving, my therapist said.
you have to learn how to take. Whenever
you meet a woman, the first thing you do
is lend her your books. You think she’ll
have to see you again in order to return them.
But what happens is, she doesn’t have the time
to read them, & she’s afraid if she sees you again
you’ll expect her to talk about them, & will
want to lend her even more. So she
cancels the date. You end up losing
a lot of books. You should borrow hers.


She said:


THERE is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.

This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

Emily Dickinson

Request Night at the Baptist Church

My mother was raised in the Church of England. (Her parents were Protestant Irish.) My father was raised as a Missouri Synod Lutheran, but after marrying, my parents joined the Evangelical Lutheran Church. The Missouri Synod people are so conservative, and are firmly convinced they are the only ones going to heaven. (Won't they be surprised?)

At any rate, some years ago, after I left home, my mother had a religious experience. God spoke to her, and she joined the Baptist Church - had herself dunked and all. My father, brother and two sisters followed her through the baptismal pool. My mother did not agree entirely with the Baptist teachings. She was still a believer in the Theory of Evolution for example, and thought the Adam and Eve creation story was just a metaphor. She says God led her to the Baptist Church, but didn't tell her to quit using the brains he'd given her. The Baptists embraced her and prayed for her, and with her, in spite of their disagreements.

A couple years after my mother's death, we were home visiting and ended up one Sunday evening at "Request Night" at Union Park Baptist. The idea was that anyone in the congregation could request that anyone else get up and perform for the glory of God. Requests were done in advance to allow for practice time. I think my father secretly hoped that someone would request his saxophone playing, but no one ever did.

I don't remember all the performers. Two little girls played the violin, with their mother accompanying them on the piano. Their performance ended rather suddenly when they discovered they had lost the last page of their sheet music. A teenage boy did a dramatic monologue about his relationship with God, shouting and posing all over the altar. At this point the younger members of the audience started to giggle. Next up was a trombone player. We were all trying to guess what tune he was playing when my husband leaned over and whispered, "It sounds like Tiny Bubbles to me". The younsters had to hide under the pews at that, trying to keep quiet, while the adults were biting their lips to stifle their laughter.

Then a middle-aged, recovering alchoholic, who had been "requested" by her AA sponser, got up to sing For the Beauty of the Earth. Her hands were shaking, and her voice had that raspy tone that voices get when too much alchohol has passed over the vocal cords. She could not carry a tune. Not even close. The kids were rolling on the floor by this time. I was able to keep a straight face by following the words in the hymnal. It really is a beautiful hymn, regardless of how it is sung. That woman had a lot to be thankful for, as do we all. And God surely has a sense of humor.

That was the last time they did "Request Night" at the Baptist Chuch. It's a shame. They could have sold tickets.




She sang:


For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.


For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
for the heart and mind's delight,
for the mystic harmony,
linking sense to sound and sight;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.


For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.


Lyrics by: Folliot S. Pierpoint


He said:


Personal

In an envelope marked:
Personal
God addressed me a letter.
In an envelope marked:
Personal
I have given my answer.

Langston Hughes

How Do They Know?

Cars are psychic. They always know when you have extra money, and find a way to eat it up.

Last month I paid the balance due on my car note. After a brief hassle with the bank, who wanted to charge a $75 "pre-payment" fee that was not part of the contract I had signed 4-1/2 years ago, and a follow up visit to make the bank understand that I was NOT going to pay the $75 fee, I received the title in the mail last week.

Yesterday on the way home from work, I ran over some road debris. Whatever it was made a rattling noise for about a block, and then fell off. When I got home, the car looked fine. This morning I had a flat tire. AAA came at my bidding, and were very nice about it, too, I might add. The guy changed the tire for the spare "donut" tire, and pointed out a small slash in the sidewall of the tire he removed. "Yep, going to need a new tire, for sure." Then he pointed out that all the tires were looking pretty tired, with small cracks along the side walls. "Looks like dry rot - how old are these tires? Forty thousand miles? You might want to go ahead and get a new set."

Of course the guys at NTB saw the same cracks, and happily sold me a new set. I refused the most expensive tires, and refused the extended warranty, of course. I'll take my chances. The whole incident only cost me $425, which is just $25 more than my previous car payment.

How do cars know?

The Funeral

The funeral was Thursday, and by all accounts it was a beautiful one. His girl friend came and brought his baby. His cousin sang a song that reduced everyone to tears, even the minister. His friends from the streets came and talked about how he loved everyone and was never mean. His grandfather attended, and survived it with the same optimism that has kept him alive for 91 years. God has taken James to a better place.

He said:
As Befits a Man

I don’t mind dying—
But I’d hate to die all alone!
I want a dozen pretty women
To holler, cry, and moan.

I don’t mind dying
But I want my funeral to be fine:
A row of long tall mamas
Fainting, fanning and crying.

I want a fish-tail hearse
And sixteen fish-tail cars,
A big brass band
And a whole truck load of flowers.

When they let me down,
Down into the clay,
I want the women to holler:
Please don’t take him away!
Ow-ooo-oo-o!
Don’t take daddy away!

Langston Hughes

She said:

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Not when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell

James

My nephew James was found dead Monday morning of an apparent drug overdose. It looked like an accident. There was no sign of struggle, and no note. There was only a tourniquet around his arm and an empty syringe next to his bed. He was 25 years old.

His first drugs were legal - Ritalin and then Lithium - to try to tame the demons that kept him from sitting still, from learning, from "fitting in". For the past 10 years he preferred to medicate himself with alchohol, street drugs of various sorts and finally heroin. His parents tried everything: love, tough love, special schools, family counseling. He spent time in rehab. He tried methadone. He spent time in jail. He qualified for disability. He had a girlfriend, a sweet, naive young woman, who got pregnant thinking a baby might make him grow up. James loved his daughter, but his girlfriend left with the baby after she realized that fatherhood hadn't changed him.

One of my best memories of James was when he was about 6 years old. He found a squirrel in the road, still living, but half paralyzed, and carried it home. He wasn't frightened at all, just caring. He wanted his Dad to fix it. I remember his father took the squirrel out back and put it out of its misery, and James cried.

There are some things you just can't fix.

He said:

Farewell, my friend, until we meet
Again, I hold you in my heart.
Our long appointed separation
Foretells reunion over there.

No word, no handshake, till we’re met;
Don’t grieve, my friend, or look so black—
In life it’s nothing new to die,
And living is, of course, not newer.

Sergey Yesenin

She said:

Beyond Recall

Nothing matters
to the dead,
that’s what’s so hard

for the rest of us
to take in—
their complete indifference

to our enticements,
our attempts to get in touch—
they aren’t observing us

from a discreet distance,
they aren’t listening
to a word we say—

you know that,
but you don’t believe it,
even deep in a cave

you don’t believe
in total darkness,
you keep waiting


Sharon Bryan