Thoughts in These Times of COVID

Thoughts on Henri Nouwen: “Healing means moving from your pain to the pain.”

My pain, my grief, and my fear are not just my pain, grief, and fear; it is my portion of the pain, the grief, and the fear of my shared humanity. Healing comes with the realization that it is the pain of humanity in which I am participating. For the vast majority of us, our individual portion of humanity’s pain is only a relatively small and seemingly disproportionate share. I can hold up my end. It would not be decent of me to expect someone else to bear my portion.

The following is a thought inspired by my most recent read: A Lowcountry Heart, by Pat Conroy.

It isn't that I've forgotten. 

I choose not to think about it anymore.

Some days I am able to make better choices than I am at other times.

"On the old highway maps of America, the main routes were red and the back roads blue. Now even the colors are changing. But in those brevities just before dawn and a little after dusk...the old roads return to the sky some of its color. Then, in truth, they carry a mysterious cast of blue, and it's just that time when the pull of the blue highway is the strongest, when the open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself."
From: Blue Highways, A Journey Into America,                                                                                                  by William Least Heat Moon                                                                                                                    [William Trogdon]

This past weekend I took a road trip in northern Wisconsin and made a conscious choice to travel blue highways. I did not seek strangeness nor the opportunity to lose myself; I sought familiarity and the opportunity to revisit an earlier time. Today's blue highways or back roads may well have been the main routes of an earlier day. Some have been relegated to back road status by the development of the interstate system and choices made to upgrade select parallel routes as the expense of others. The blue highways of my weekend included: 8, 13, 47, 45, and 64.

The criteria I use to identify a blue highway include: (1)no more than two lanes, one in either direction, with occasional passing lanes accepted, and (2)a maximum speed limit of 55 mph. I would also like to include the absence of bypasses, but there are exceptions: Highway 67 bypasses Antigo and Highway 10 bypasses Stevens Point. There are other Wisconsin blue highways that I have driven in the past and will continue to drive in the future. These include: 2, 27, 40, 63, and 70. Highways 29 and 10 (east of Stevens Point) have lost their blue highway status in recent decades. I suspect there will be others who suffer much the same fate.

What is it about blue highways? A primary characteristic is the individualization of place. There is the uniqueness of the Wisconsin countryside and its use dictated in large part by the local geography. Building and fencing materials often reflect their immediate environments. The lay of the land dictates the layout of fields and tillage practices, road routes, and population density or the lack thereof. Land use is reflective of a broad range of agricultural activities specific to the immediate area and the villages and towns that have evolved to serve the surrounding rural area. It is clearly obvious that some villages and towns have not survived during this period of evolution bracketed on one end by the 1950's and the other by today. There is a marked absence of suburban/rural exclusively residential developments serving adjoining and even distant urban areas. This is also a space where national chains and brands don't hold absolute dominance. There are opportunities for such places as Koni K's Kafe in Elcho where the pies are made in house. There is also the Bruce Café; when one orders oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins, only the brown sugar is served as a "side." The raisins are added at the same time as the other ingredients.

Maybe it is possible for travel itself to be served up and enjoyed as comfort food for the spirit.

Sometimes We May Not Know That of Which We Speak

My hometown library recently hosted a reading and book signing by a regional author. The work was described as a collection of short stories chosen from this author’s collections of short stories published earlier. The short story chosen to be the “read” for the evening struck me as more of a memoir than a short story. It was not strictly fiction; it recounted a somewhat brief classroom incident when the author as a college professor in his mid-40’s taught a class titled “English as a Second Language.” This was also the title of the piece. The author acknowledged that no details were altered, not even the names of the students. The students included: a Vietnamese woman, two Japanese men, a man from Hong Kong, and a Laotian man. The author’s classroom interaction with the Vietnamese woman formed the central focus of the “story” with frequent references by way of triggered memories back to the author’s Vietnam experience as a U.S. Marine some 25 years previous.

I was confused by the short story descriptor and its memoir flavor. I’ll leave it to the literature folks to sort out that matter. What I found troubling was the disparity between the autobiographical message which I heard in the reading of the story and the author’s denial that this underlying message applied to him. If not to him, then to whom? Or was the message that I heard hidden from the author? Was I projecting my own experience into the story? I think not.

In setting the story up, the author described his voluntary enlistment in the Marine Corps at 19 years of age in early 1964 before the Gulf of Tonkin incident and before the massive build-up of the U.S. presence in Vietnam which followed. The author recounted his intention behind his enlistment as a desire “to see the world,” among others. He also somewhat casually noted, but with a certain edge to his words, that his Vietnam experience had not affected him “physically, but. . .” And he did not finish that statement and simply moved on after chuckling under his breath. The author also flat out stated: “We lost that war.” There is no nuance, no equivocation. It is unclear if he is referring to: (1) the common soldier and marine stationed in Vietnam, (2) the U.S. military brass, (3) the U.S. political leadership, or (4) some combination of these. I found such a blanket statement unusual for a veteran.

In his story the author was looking over the student’s shoulder as he read a piece of writing that he had given as an in-class assignment. As he read the student’s first few paragraphs, he would make specific suggestions with respect to missing words, stilted use of English, and so forth. At this same time, the author’s choice of words to describe the woman’s clothing and appearance are drawn from his Vietnam experience. The color and patterns in her clothing recall for the author the colors and patterns he observed in the jungle environment during his tour in Vietnam. Her long hair hanging loosely and hiding his view of her face is described as very similar to the dark and heavy foliage of the jungle capable of shielding an enemy soldier.

Interspersed with the author’s description of his instructions to the student as to the changes or corrections to be made in her prose, the author described his experiences as a teenage Marine in Vietnam and, more specifically, his interaction with an alleged Vietcong prisoner. The author/marine was tasked with moving prisoners brought to the Marine base by helicopter from the landing zone to the motor pool. The prisoners were bound and blindfolded. One particular prisoner was calling out or shouting (“raising a ruckus,” I think was the author’s exact words.). In order to quiet the prisoner, the author, as a young marine, “kicked him in the ear and stuck a rag in his mouth.” It was not stated how the prisoner ended up in such a position that the author was able to kick him in the side of his head. As the story proceeded in the present, the author realized that his attempts to get the student to edit her writing were futile; he eventually gave up and directed his attention to the other students in the classroom.

The assignment given by the author/professor was to write about the best thing that ever happened to you. The Vietnamese woman had written about her mother and all that she had done for her daughter. The student was sobbing silently and during much of the incident unbeknown to the author, since he was not able to see her face. It is not known if the student’s mother was alive or dead, in the U.S. or Vietnam. Clearly, she was distraught at this time. We never learn why. The author/professor gave up on any attempt to communicate with the student on either a verbal or an emotional level and moved on. The author then elicited the participation of the other students, and they exchanged the various words for mother, mom, and ma in their respective languages. The story concluded with a reflective comment on motherhood. In making a leap from the particular to the universal, the author facilitated his escape from a troubling emotional engagement either present or past; the latter might well be described as a “memory-as-present,” that is, a flashback. Any emotional distress experienced by the author could now be self-identified with the loss of his own mother during the time the author was stationed in Vietnam—a much more understandable and tolerable emotional state.

The Vietnamese woman is the only woman in the class. The other students, all men, are from Hong Kong, Laos, and Japan. The author commented that he was able to understand these students more easily than the woman and at the same time attributing that “ease” to having spent time in other Asian countries during his Marine Corps enlistment. If he has spent the standard 13-month Marine Corps tour of duty in Vietnam, how is that he didn’t pick up a comparable ability with respect to a Vietnamese person?

The juxtaposition of the interaction with this student and the interaction, including mistreatment, with the prisoner creates an eerie paradox. The student chose not to speak or was unable to speak to the author/professor in response to his questions and suggestions; the author/marine refused or was unable to communicate with a pleading prisoner. The author acknowledged that the prisoner could well be an innocent farmer as much as a Vietcong soldier. It is also likely that some prisoners were women and the mothers of daughters now the age of this Vietnamese student. The author is clearly frustrated in the present as he was in the past, which may be the core linkage between the memory and the contemporary experience.

A couple of times during the story, the author indicated that he would look out the window of his classroom and observe construction taking place on campus. He notes it was as if the entire campus was a construction zone. Military bases and outposts in Vietnam looked very much like perennial construction sites: dust or mud depending upon the season, earth berms, buildings clad in raw lumber, mounds of construction materials and waste, and crappers (military) or port-a-potties (civilian). Military hardware and equipment are not so unlike their civilian counterparts. There may even be much the same machines and vehicles, just a different color. Olive drab to reduce visibility; safety orange to increase visibility. The former in a place where being seen poses the greater risk to one’s safety; the latter in a place where not being seen poses the greater risk to one’s safety. The view from an upper floor of a building out onto a campus under construction appears not unlike the view of a military outpost from a guard tower.

My take-a-way from this evening: I don’t know how this author was able to draft a “story” such as this and, at the same time, suggest that the war had no effect upon him. Self-awareness in such matters is twofold: (1) an awareness that such an experience may or may not have had an effect, and (2) the specific operative impact of such an experience.  One’s awareness of the former does not include or preclude the awareness of the latter. This observation may be summarized by the statement: “I know I have been affected by such an experience; it is just that I am not aware of the impact that it has had on my day-to-day life or even its ability to creep into my day-to-day life without warning and, at times, with an ability to be present in such a way that I am not able to see any evidence of that presence.” One may know the why and the how or just the why or the how. This knowledge can be full or partial, accurate or in error.

I read with the expectation that a writer knows that of which he or she speaks and then knowingly shares that with the reader. I came away from the evening program ill at ease. I did not ask this author to address my befuddlement during the time allotted for questions.

Musings

I am not so sure I believe in past lives. If there are such, I would think that I wouldn't have to make so many mistakes in the present do-over.

I have to warn you, when I am out and about alone, I am not likely in the presence of a responsible adult.

I am currently reading a collection of short stories. I am enjoying it so much that I have now written my own short story which I will share with you.

       Two men enter a restaurant. The taller of the two immediately goes to the rest room. His shorter companion promptly exits the restaurant through the kitchen. Neither leaves a tip.

At this time, I have only a working title: Spy Craft.

Pope Francis often uses the term "ideological colonialism" to describe what he sees as the wrongs being forced upon developing countries and indigenous populations by the governments of the more developed countries and those persons and organizations representing these governments. The efforts criticized are most often being introduced under the guise of development. The topics and specific efforts most offensive to the pope (and the only ones that are sufficiently offensive in so far that they merit his repeated criticism) are matters related to human sexuality, sexual ethics, reproductive health care, and gender identity.

It is my sense that ideological colonialism speaks to a much broader sphere of influence and socio-cultural conflict. It refers to any institution and the mores which underpin such an institution, being forcibly or voluntarily introduced into a novel setting, that is, a context wherein alternate structures already exist and thrive. This includes such things as: the concept of private property, hierarchical and patriarchal structures of social organization, language and the conceptualization of the real and the imagined in terms specific to an individual language. This is in no way an exhaustive list.

A January 10, 2018 article by Deborah Jian Lee in the on-line publication Religion Dispatches titled "Christians of Color Are Rejecting 'Colonial Christianity' and Reclaiming Ancestral Spiritualies" speaks so eloquently to that which up to now has been for me only a troubling and poorly formed thought.

It is the tenet of this author that Christianity as it has developed over the course of the past 1,500 years has itself become a vehicle for and an essential component of ideological colonialization. What is even more troubling is that this has occurred only after Christianity itself had been the object of cultural appropriation. It then became and continues to be one of many tools utilized by Christian Euro-American nations in order to colonize the balance of the globe--imposing even Christianity now revised back upon many of those from whom it had been previously appropriated.

The article supports this view of second millennium Christianity with the following quotes:

“...[Christianity is] a tradition founded by people of color, [a] scriptural guidance for activism, and a retethering to history…”

“…[Christianity, as it] filtered through predominantly white communities and erased a crucial detail from Christian mysticism’s history: that its forebears were men and women of color.”

 “Across the wide sweep of colonial history, the systematic demonization and erasure of local religion served as a key strategy to empire building.”

“...belief is over-emphasized in the Euro-American religious reality, where doctrine supersedes correct action or practice.”

The task at hand for persons and communities of color is one of "...decolonizing their Christian faith from white patriarchy and capitalism." The article describes how that has been done and might continue to be pursued by faith communities and also by individuals--as a more singular activity. The section titled "Dogma vs. Dream Time" is particularly insightful. I can only hope that the former bishop of the local Catholic diocese reads this article. He may then no longer feel okay with disparaging liturgical dance within the context of his homilies.

Here is a link to the cited article for your enjoyment and thoughtful consideration.

 http://religiondispatches.org/christians-of-color-are-rejecting-colonial-christianity-and-reclaiming-ancestral-spiritualities/

Old-Man-Living-Alone Homemaking Hint #1

     Faced with the prospect of and driven by the desire for pea soup for lunch, I approached the cupboard, which also holds various dinnerware despite the paucity of its name, for a bowl. As I made my move, my eye caught the image of the breakfast cereal bowl and spoon sitting in the sink. I had dutifully rinsed it out and placed it in the appropriate location so that it would get washed with lunch and possibly even supper dishes. Why reach for new and clean when reasonably clean and readily available will do? The pea soup itself (Homemade, I can proudly affirm.) was leftover from a previous meal, so why not use a leftover bowl? You know, it worked. Single occupancy households can utilize convenience in a way not permissible in larger households unless one resorts to some degree of subterfuge.

     Stay tuned. Homemaking Hint #2 may expound on a tried and true recipe for microwave flat-bread pizza. More trials need to be completed, before the truth be told.

I'm thinking of developing a new and particularly contemporary literary form. It is to be called redaction. I will use the term consistent with its secondary meaning related to censorship and not relative to its primary meaning of edited or abridged.

The idea is to intersperse a standard text with blacked out portions. These black-outs would be of varying lengths and placed randomly in the test. One may argue that this supposedly novel literary form is already in vogue as seen in so many documents released by governmental authorities. I plan to take it one or more steps further. I am proposing that the text actually makes readable sense even with the blacked out areas. Readers will also be encouraged to edit the text by adding words and phrases that they determine to be a likely versions of that which has been blacked out.

I will try to draft an example to show folks just how this might work.

Original with redactions [.................]:

"Following several [..................] weeks of bitter and unseasonably [............] cold weather, we [.................] have now enjoyed a few [...........] days of more moderate [..............] and even seasonal [...............] temperatures [............................................................................................] accompanied [.............] by the usual [......] snow flurries."

Becomes:

"Following several [death defying] weeks of bitter and unseasonably [--while living in an unclothed state--] cold weather, we [find ourselves still alive only to] have now enjoyed a few [memorable and carefree, yet hunger-filled dark nights of] days of more moderate [speech with little or no meaningful emotional expression] and even seasonal [yet only to be frequently called in question] temperatures [quite indicative of a bout of Australian flu in season, which finds itself ] accompanied [by the unusual ringing in one's ears and a craving for scrimp on the barby and] by the usual [rainbow colored] snow flurries."

The latter sort of reads like a government document. Does it not?

I fully realize that the question I am about to pose may easily become the poster child for the esoteric question of the month, but I shall proceed even in face of that threat.

Is "pro multis" the new "filioque?"

For several years now, the phrase "pro multis," which is found in the liturgy of the Roman Catholic Church, was translated into English and several other European languages as "for all." This translation dates to the 1960's with the introduction of the vernacular following the Second Vatican Council. During the past decade, there has been an increasingly assertive effort to translate this phrase as "for many." This later translation has become the sanctioned version as the Church hierarchy struggles to standardize the translation into European languages including English.

As this discussion is played out on the stage of the Roman Catholic Church and within the Catholic press, I am reminded of an earlier dispute over a phrase and a thousand years of irreconcilable differences. The First Council of Nicaea in 325AD established the form for the Profession of Faith, which became known as the Nicene Creed. It was later amended by the First Council of Constantinople in 381 AD. Late in the sixth century, the phrase "filioque" or "from the son" was added by Latin speaking churches. In 1054, it was formally incorporated into the Creed to be used within the Latin Rite or Roman Catholic Church. The dispute, which resulted from this unilateral revision by one branch of Christendom, resulted in the Schism of 1054. This is essentially a revision of text and not a revision of theology. This division between the Western and Orthodox churches persists to this day. Ingrained in almost 1,000 years of history, it appears that it will persist another 1,000 years.

I find it difficult to understand how a sound theological basis can be offered in defense of the correctness of the "for many" and the error of the "for all." The four gospels have difference versions of these words. Scholars are of the opinion that the Latin language does not differentiate between the phrase "for all" and "for many." One also needs to remember that Latin is the third or more translation of the original allegedly spoken by Christ. If the Christian message has any universality, then "for all" would certainly seem to be preferred.

I realize this is but one example of the dynamic equivalent vs. literal interpretation dispute within the Catholic Church which is approaching something akin to a Fifty Year War and which promises little more than mutually assured destruction or an arms' race which consumes precious resources much in demand elsewhere.

I recently finished reading Christopher Hitchens' last book, Mortality, which was written during the nineteen months between his diagnosis with esophageal cancer and his death.

I found several quotes well worth the effort of jotting down.

"...body turns from being a friend to being a foe:..." (p. 40)

"...I don't have a body, I am a body." (p. 41)

"...in this year of living dyingly..." (p. 54)

"...every passing day represents more and more relentlessly subtracted from less and less." (p. 71)

"Body turns from a reliable friend to more neutral treacherous foe..." (p. 91)

I read this book as a family member/caregiver of one, as Christopher is wont to say, "living dyingly" and engaged in "a long and brave struggle with mortality," rather than as more commonly stated "living with cancer" and "battling cancer." I prefer Christopher's choice of words.

When is a promise not a promise?

When it is a statement of intent cloaked as a promise.

The appearance of a promise don't always communicate that which it may appear to communicate.

Appearances can be deceiving or misconstrued.

Exercise caution.

Take care.

Promises made yesterday may be kept tomorrow or in the days after tomorrow.
An optimistic stance may best be coupled with a ready proactive component.

Some days the only take home is an honest effort.
And that effort isn't always mine.

A friend gave me a copy of Jon Meacham's book entitled Thomas Jefferson, The Art of Power. I am finding it a slow read as it is taking more and more self-encouragement to keep moving through it. I am some 350 pages into 514 pages of text. A friend pointed out that the book includes 215 pages of notes and bibliography--clear evidence that it is a scholarly piece. There are ever so frequent citations of letters and other works written by Jefferson and his contemporaries. I am beginning to think I could use a Dictionary and Grammar of Colonial English to more fully understand the text. It reminds me of reading Shakespeare, where the text would be annotated with definitions and translations into contemporary English.

I will return to T.J., but for now I am tackling Wendell Berry's The Art of the Common Place, which is a collection of his agrarian essays edited by Norman Wirbza.  The Big Question in much of the conservation literature is "Why wilderness?" Aldo Leopold, Sig Olson, and Edwin Dahlberg have all answered this question in their own way. Wendell Berry offers a perspective I have not seen any where else.

Here is an excerpt from Berry's essay entitled "A Native Hill."
"I come into a wild place. ... Sometimes I can no longer think in the house or in the garden or in the cleared fields. They bear too much resemblance to our failed human history—failed, because it has led to this human present that is such bitterness and a trial. And so I go to the woods. … I enter an order that does not exist outside, in human spaces. … I am less important than I thought, the human race is less important than I thought. I rejoice in that."

These words made me think of why it might be that I take comfort in sitting on the edge of really big water. There is water all the way to the horizon except where it is interrupted by heights of land on islands at varying distances. My field of vision excludes any and all visible evidence of human activity. My field of vision encompasses only "a wild place." In the hours of the early morning there are few if any sounds of human activity to my rear that encroach in and upon this scene and its impact on my senses. It is in this place that I realize that I am not all that important. The lake has done and will continue to do very well without me. Should the lake rise up on its own accord as it is wont to do, I have had and will continue to have clear evidence of my powerlessness. The lake is peaceful and caring, as well as violent and deadly. These descriptors in all their breadth and width and physical manifestations enjoy absolute moral impunity. Qualifiers, such as "good," "bad," and "no-never-mind," simply do not apply and can not be made to apply. It is in such a wild place that I learn who I am and have the occasion to rejoice modeling the example of Wendell Berry.

Victory may not be a possibility.

Honor is always possibility,

even in the face of abject failure.

And then, it is no longer abject failure. 

Dear Senator Ron Johnson,

Earlier today you asked a reporter, "What should he have said?" when the reporter asked about the appropriateness of President Trump's recent comments on the tragedy in Charlottesville, VA. I suspect that you posed the question as a rhetorical question, not wanting an answer, and as an attempt to cut off further discussion, that is, to give the appearance of a response to the question without answering the question.

I will answer your question, rhetorical or not. What the president should have said and what YOU NEED TO SAY, "There is absolutely no moral equivalency between those who advocate for the supremacy of one race, ethnic group, or religion over another and those who advocate for universal civil rights, equal standing before the law, and equal treatment by all agents and agencies within civil society. Any claim to the contrary must be challenged directly and forthrightly."

By the way, you have my permission to use my suggested statement without crediting me in any way.

J. Keye

Anger 

is not my Friend,

nor is

Bitterness.

I've been thinking about cancer a lot lately. I was recently reminded of the alternative conceptualization of the relationship between the human body and cancer. The following link served as one more and the latest reminder.

http://www.cnn.com/2017/07/21/opinions/cancer-is-not-a-war-jardin-opinion/index.html

Most often the model described is one of an invasion, an assault, a battle, or a series of battles, a war. There is much about that model which doesn't quite fit with everyone's experienced reality of cancer or even the technology employed to reduce or eliminate its growth within and spread throughout the body. Most cancers are not the result of a external cause usually associated with an illness or disease, such as a bacteria, virus, or some other micro-organism. It appears to me that the language of "disease" and "illness" does not apply in this context.

So what does apply? Maybe condition is the best word, as in, the conditional nature of some of the body's cells.

Most cancers are a result of the body's cells going rogue--an aberration in cell division/replication. The cause or correlation may be no more than physical aging out, the impact of a teratogen, or a genetic anomaly. Once in place, that characteristic rogueness is passed on in the process of cell division. The various forms of cancer treatment--cytotoxins, immuno-therapies, and radiation therapy--focus on cells with certain characteristics of cell division/replication and/or the very process of cell division/replication in attempt to arrest, in whole or in part, the continuation of that process.

So what does this all mean? Cancer has much in common with other conditions which may prove to be life threatening or even terminal--not unlike diabetes. Such conditions are more properly managed than treated with "cure" as an intended and stated goal. Cancer is not my enemy. It is part of me, of someone I love, of a friend or acquaintance, or a fellow earthly traveler. It may not be all that different from eye or hair color, the presence or absence of hair when one is my age, height, or the abundance of or the lack of prowess for the game of basketball.

I am not here to fashion the most effective ad campaign for the American Cancer Society or draft the most viable rationale for a cancer research grant. I am here trying to make my own sense of the past seven years and the times that lie ahead.

Note: My apologies, in advance, to the microbiologists out there.

The popularity of the bagel has clearly gone mainstream. It wasn't always so. Here is an account of my history with the bagel.

In the mid-70's, my first job out of graduate school was as medical social worker at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Milwaukee, WI. Those were the days before it transitioned to Mt. Sinai Medical Center only later to evolve through a series of restructurings and retitlings. One benefit of being a hospital employee is access to the employee cafeteria. This meant good hospital food at a reasonable price along with ready availability should some type of code be called during one's scheduled lunch. (I do not intend "good hospital food" to be read as an oxymoron.)

This was my introduction to bagels and bialys; it is the only place where I have experienced that distinction and where the two were served side by side. The two share a similar appearance and origin (Both are of Polish origin. Thanks, Wikipedia.), but are quite different, when one moves beyond appearance. The bagel is boiled before it is baked. The bialy is only baked. I always preferred the latter with butter and jam. It was several years before I eased into my current preference of cream cheese and jam. I am still very much a novice; I have not had a bagel or a bialy with "lox und schmear." I would certainly be willing to give it a go, that would entail a trip to a Jewish deli. And I'm okay with that as well. Road trip?

A brief on-line search reveals there is a third option, that is, the commercially prepared bagel. Commercial production does not involve the two-step process of boil and bake. What is sold commercially as a bagel is baked in an oven equipped with a steam injection system reducing the two-step process to a single step. In texture, consistency, taste, etc. I would place this commercial product somewhere between a traditional bagel and a bialy.  Why was bagel chosen for its nomenclature? Thus far, my search provides no answer.

For now I am at home with this young upset brought on by commercialization. Bagels Forever is part of any trip to Madison, WI. A still warm sesame seed bagel topped with a flavored cream cheese is my favorite. The frozen product from the same point of origin and available in the local market is a tease, at best. For now, I will allow myself to be teased.

On a recent Saturday morning as a friend and I were enjoying a breakfast of oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins in the company of a toasted English muffin, we were briefly joined by a friend of my breakfast companion and a bit of an acquaintance of mine. TG had to update his friend on his recent sailing adventure. The update focused on an episode within the larger adventure; we were privy only to the episode and not the larger adventure. It is not clear what that says about the larger adventure in which this episode was embedded.

Captain TG was shuttling a sailboat back to its home port. The sail took several days. On the first day out and after the boat had been docked for the night, the steward went ashore and proceeded to get very drunk. Details of the captain's evening and that of the remainder of the crew were not shared with us. We can only speculate as to their activities or the lack thereof. The steward returned to the boat and proceeded to spend the next day and a half in her berth. This left the crew without a proper mess for a time. Captain TG was eventually able to adequately motivate the steward so that, once she was sufficiently sober, she was able to set a proper mess. A proper mess was served for the balance of the voyage.

As sailors are want to do, shore leave, alcohol and tattoos often come together in some sort of package deal.This steward was special; reportedly she travels with her own tattoo gun. She is working on a pair of sleeves. Now, it is customary that when one is working on either a single sleeve or a pair, the tattoo recipient and the tattoo artist are not one and the same person. The steward was in the process of doing her own sleeves. This is not quite the same as making your clothes versus buying off the rack. Captain TG described how the artwork on the left arm was quite professionally done, whereas the artwork on the right arm was barely amateurish. It was clear that the steward, despite being a reasonably good cook, was not ambidextrous.

Captain TG, being his usual kinetic self, slipped away into and through the crowd of the other diners in the restaurant, before either of us could ask for clarification or further detail. Therefore, I was not able to ask the question that came to mind. I wanted to ask Captain TG if he got any sleep on this trip. I thought he may have been afraid to close both eyes as long as there was a hung-over and cussed out steward with a tattoo gun on board ship. My question will have to wait. Captain TG kept his shirt on during our brief encounter. It is really any one's guess what he might see the next time he is standing in front of a mirror with his shirt off.

What would be the proper subject matter for a hung-over and cussed out tattoo artist's work on a sleeping captain? A ship in a bottle? A portrait of six of the cutest little kittens ever? Twelve women's names with X's through eleven? Whatever it is, I certainly hoped she held the gun in her right hand.

sometimes

there is 

that thing inside

demanding

its own voice 

rock 'n' roll

be that voice 

heralded with

an opening

power chord

windmilled

Special Thanks,

Link Wray

and

Pete Townshend.