Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.
I've got a great movie idea to pitch. The main character has held a position of national significance for years. However, his position was secondary for decades, allowing him to, for the most part, stay out of the limelight.
Suddenly, due to the abdication of power by those ahead of him in line to seat of power, he is no longer the heir to the power, he holds the power. He is thrust into leadership, and consequently into the public eye.
The problem is, he suffers from a disorder that people don't talk about, that people don't understand. His opponents question his stability. His allies defend him yet insist that he must get over it and do better. The public doesn't know what to think.
When the microphones appear and the cameras turn on . . .
He weeps.
"The King Weeps". Making room on the mantle for the little gold statue. Not really. I don't feel like dusting.
(The above part of this post is a clever analogy based on the Academy Award Nominated Movie "The King's Speech." If you have not yet seen the movie or read of its plot I apologize, for the above will not make sense nor seem so very clever. If you have not seen the movie, you should. It will make you cry.)
So John Boehner cries. I thought this was another one of those things that get exaggerated that the politicos, pundits and public enjoy talking about, but, actually, it is true. He has done it for quite a while, apparently. Only now he is sitting at the front of the room facing everybody.
That is a difficult position. It is like singing in a church choir when you have a cold, especially if the anthem is a particularly moving piece of music. The tears and snot (sorry, I just couldn't think of a more appropriate word) begin to flow. There is a spectrum of available remedies, assuming you decide to stay and stick it out. My first reaction when I feel the onset is to ignore it. The problem is that when one is in the spotlight of choir lights, tears and snot begin to glisten as they make little trails down your face. If it is really bad it might drip onto the sheet music you are holding, which makes the pages stick together the next time it is used which is frowned upon by the next user of the music.
And tears can affect your vision, making the words and notes of the music hard to see, so sometimes it is necessary to free one hand and wipe your face. I never have a Kleenex or handkerchief at such times so I have to use my hand, which creates other problems. One dare not use the sleeve of the choir robe for such clean-up. That would probably be grounds for dismissal from the choir. And if you know anything about church choirs, it takes a lot to get dismissed.
But the flow of fluids is a result, not just of a virus, but of the emotion of the music, an emotion that is real, that comes from deep within the soul somewhere. Most of the time I do not understand it. That's one of the mysteries of music. A language spoken so deeply in the soul that we don't know where it comes from nor have words to express it. But it is real. Probably more real than the audible words we speak or sing.
So, it doesn't bother me that John Boehner cries. He is dealing with "big things". It gives me hope that it affects him so deeply.
If he wants lessons on not crying, I can think of many in Congress who seem to have no feelings and would be willing to help, but in a spirit of a more civil discourse I won't suggest who.
But I think brown suits and a box of Kleenex would serve him better.
.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A duck walks into a bar . . .
I watch the state of union with the same anticipation as I have for a good televised sporting event. I like to watch the pregame prognostications and predictions. The parade of commentators who never played the game and those who don't play anymore. The snacks are placed within easy reach. (Actually the snacks, tv, and comfortable chair were provided by Terri and Tommy, much appreciated). And I don't like a lot of chit chat or socializing while the clock is running. Then I enjoy the post game analysis and interviews. Last night was good.
The president covered a lot of ground, the kind of stuff I have posted about in the past and will again in the very near future.
But first an observation that had little to do with all of the policy and politics.
The President can be funny. Whether or not you questioned his timing on delivering on his legislative promises, it is hard to argue with his timing when he is delivering a punch line. Who can forget his routine at the White House Correspondents Dinner last year. Several powerful people would like to.
"John Boehner is, after all, a person of colour. It's just a color that does not occur naturally in nature." I liked that one. It was good stuff.
Last night the President got a few subdued laughs when he observed that he had heard that there were a few people in the room who had some concerns about health care reform. He is gifted in making such disarming comments.
But the State of the Union speech is serious. To have them rolling on both sides of the aisle has never been an appropriate goal and generally not achievable by many elected to that high office.
But the salmon joke was a winner. In making the point that the federal government needed some reorganization, the president observed that when salmon are in fresh water they are under the authority of the Interior Department, when they are in saltwater they are under the authority of the Commerce Department, and it gets even more complicated when they are smoked.
It was funny. Folks laughed. And for a moment everyone felt better.
I had already laughed during one of the state of the union game day shows earlier in the evening on MSNBC. Chris Matthews of Hardball was insensed over a speech given by Tea Party Repulican Congresswoman Michele Bachmann. Rep. Bachmann said, among other things, that the writers of the U. S. Constitution, the founding fathers, including John Quincy Adams, worked tirelessly to abolish slavery, seeming to deny that slavery existed after the founding of the nation eighty years before the War of Northern Aggression (Civil War to some). While sad, and it truly is sad, that a U. S. Congresswoman could be so woefully ignorant about basic American History, it was so absurd that I couldn't help but chuckle a little. Matthews heard about the speech shortly before the state of the union of address. A political history buff, he was completely flummoxed, and could not stop talking about Bachmann's historical gaffes, even as the state of the union address was about to commence, and wedged a full segment featuring the speech into the already crowded pre-game line-up. He constantly called her a "balloon head." Bachmann made me sadly chuckle. Mathews made me guffaw.
Laughing is a good thing. Side-splitting, pee in the pants, soda through the nose guffawing is even better. I have read that a couple of belly laughs a day are highly beneficial in improving overall health by reducing stress, increasing blood flow, and releasing hormones that do something good. You know it's true.
I laughed at lunch today. It was the laughter at the kind of irreverent and inappropriate discussion that co-workers often share to preserve their sanity. We laughed with each other and at each other and even more at other people, which I know sounds bad, but it made us feel so good. It was so loud that a stranger from the next table joined in. He had some good stuff. The names and subject matter involved shall remain confidential to avoid legal repercussions.
We face serious problems as a country. We face serious problems as communities, families and individuals. But take heart. Like Jesus said in Luke, chapter 6, " Blessed are you who weep now, for you soon will laugh."
We need to laugh. It doesn't mean we aren't serious or thoughtful.
It means we are human. It has always been part of our makeup. Wise King Solomon around the 10th century B.C, and later Pete Seeger in 1962 and the Byrds in 1965 told us that there is a time to laugh.
It's like the man who sat up all night waiting for the sun to rise. Finally it dawned on him . . .
It's time to laugh now . .. .
.
The president covered a lot of ground, the kind of stuff I have posted about in the past and will again in the very near future.
But first an observation that had little to do with all of the policy and politics.
The President can be funny. Whether or not you questioned his timing on delivering on his legislative promises, it is hard to argue with his timing when he is delivering a punch line. Who can forget his routine at the White House Correspondents Dinner last year. Several powerful people would like to.
"John Boehner is, after all, a person of colour. It's just a color that does not occur naturally in nature." I liked that one. It was good stuff.
Last night the President got a few subdued laughs when he observed that he had heard that there were a few people in the room who had some concerns about health care reform. He is gifted in making such disarming comments.
But the State of the Union speech is serious. To have them rolling on both sides of the aisle has never been an appropriate goal and generally not achievable by many elected to that high office.
But the salmon joke was a winner. In making the point that the federal government needed some reorganization, the president observed that when salmon are in fresh water they are under the authority of the Interior Department, when they are in saltwater they are under the authority of the Commerce Department, and it gets even more complicated when they are smoked.
It was funny. Folks laughed. And for a moment everyone felt better.
I had already laughed during one of the state of the union game day shows earlier in the evening on MSNBC. Chris Matthews of Hardball was insensed over a speech given by Tea Party Repulican Congresswoman Michele Bachmann. Rep. Bachmann said, among other things, that the writers of the U. S. Constitution, the founding fathers, including John Quincy Adams, worked tirelessly to abolish slavery, seeming to deny that slavery existed after the founding of the nation eighty years before the War of Northern Aggression (Civil War to some). While sad, and it truly is sad, that a U. S. Congresswoman could be so woefully ignorant about basic American History, it was so absurd that I couldn't help but chuckle a little. Matthews heard about the speech shortly before the state of the union of address. A political history buff, he was completely flummoxed, and could not stop talking about Bachmann's historical gaffes, even as the state of the union address was about to commence, and wedged a full segment featuring the speech into the already crowded pre-game line-up. He constantly called her a "balloon head." Bachmann made me sadly chuckle. Mathews made me guffaw.
Laughing is a good thing. Side-splitting, pee in the pants, soda through the nose guffawing is even better. I have read that a couple of belly laughs a day are highly beneficial in improving overall health by reducing stress, increasing blood flow, and releasing hormones that do something good. You know it's true.
I laughed at lunch today. It was the laughter at the kind of irreverent and inappropriate discussion that co-workers often share to preserve their sanity. We laughed with each other and at each other and even more at other people, which I know sounds bad, but it made us feel so good. It was so loud that a stranger from the next table joined in. He had some good stuff. The names and subject matter involved shall remain confidential to avoid legal repercussions.
We face serious problems as a country. We face serious problems as communities, families and individuals. But take heart. Like Jesus said in Luke, chapter 6, " Blessed are you who weep now, for you soon will laugh."
We need to laugh. It doesn't mean we aren't serious or thoughtful.
It means we are human. It has always been part of our makeup. Wise King Solomon around the 10th century B.C, and later Pete Seeger in 1962 and the Byrds in 1965 told us that there is a time to laugh.
It's like the man who sat up all night waiting for the sun to rise. Finally it dawned on him . . .
It's time to laugh now . .. .
.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Moles, Polls, and Souls . . .(it's about the Governor)
When I was a student at the University of Alabama I suffered a minor injury in an intramural football game. An opposing player was flailing at me for some reason, as if I were a threat, and raked his fingernails across my chest. One of his nails caught on a mole, not the animal but the skin growth variety, and partially removed it for me. Who knew it would bleed like that?
Anyway, he did not offer to remove it the rest of the way, and I didn't want to do it myself. At the time moles were sort of mysterious to me, as were many things in those days, so I went to the yellow pages to find a doctor, a dermatologist. I did not think that this particular problem could be solved with the sample Sucrets Sore Throat Lozenges they always dispensed when you went to the University Infirmary.
As I looked down at the listings I was quite surprised to see that one of the few dermatologists in Tuscaloosa was Robert Bentley, M.D. With a name like that, I thought, he must be a prince of a fellow and a fine physician, so I called his office and got an appointment.
Dr. Bentley did a fine job removing the rest of the mole and patching me up. Apparently there wasn't nearly so much mystery as I had imagined. We exchanged laughs about having the same name and I went on my way. Our paths did not cross again while Iwas a student except for a couple of wrong numbers and junk mail.
That is how I met the Governor. Before he was governor. Before he was even in politics at all. It was a good experience.
I became aware that Dr. Bentley was getting into politics when a couple of youth from the church brought me a yard sign that they somehow obtained after attending a Bama game which said "Robert Bentley for Senate." Under that in smaller letters it said he was a Republican. That was back in the day when the candidate's name was more important than whether he was a Republican. These days in Alabama it is clearly more important to put "Republican" in large letters. The candidate's name is secondary. But I digress. Back to Dr. Bentley.
So it was fun when Robert Bentley decided to run for governor. Fun for me, I mean. I had my picture taken in front of his campaign tent on the quad before a football game. It turned out rather well I thought, with all my paraphernalia with my name on it in the background. Long lost acquaintances got in touch to see if I was the one running for governor. I said sure, send the donation on in. With my name on all those signs along the rights of way I felt like every trip I made anywhere in the state was a homecoming. On election day I received several phone calls at the office seeking information about what my plans were after the polls closed. Some were prank calls from friends, but still fun, nonetheless.
For those of you who are familiar with this blog and familiar with Governor Bentley, you probably recognize some differences in the political views held by the governor and me. Very few similarities. Mostly differences. Sort of like Bizzaro World Bob. This was borne out more as the campaign heated up, especially during the debates. I winced as Governor Bentley answered. But to be fair I winced at Democrat Ron Sparks as well. The answer to every question cannot be gambling. At least that's what I thought before I heard Sparks. I was wrong. But again I digress, back to Governor Bentley.
I, like many, was surprised that Robert Bentley was nominated, and then elected. During the campaign he presented the image of a decent, concerned, competent, albeit extremely conservative candidate ready to heal what ailed us.
I believe he is truly decent, concerned, competent, and extremely conservative. I hope that he is a great governor, even though I disagree with him on so many things.
So I guess I am going to cut him a bit of slack. For those of you who don't know, Governor Bentley committed what many consider to be a gaffe at best, and a sin at worst, in a speech during the inauguration festivities. Briefly, he noted that as a Christian he had many brothers and sisters in Alabama who were also Christian. But he was not the brother of non-Christians though he would like to be. He used a lot more words. Probably shouldn't have used any of them.
It was bad. Very offensive. At best it was horrible speech writing. At worst it was a distortion of Jesus message, according to many. I agree.
Lots of folks spoke out against him. You know how brothers and sisters can go after each other. I am one of them.
Then I read a letter from Rabbi Jonathan Miller to the governor. Do a search on his name and you'll find it. It was strong in expressing his concerns, but so very, very gracious. Grace from one who could only assume he was not part of the Governor's family. I'm pretty sure Rabbi Miller knows he is part of God's family.
So, I'm off the bandwagon. I am once again embarassed by something we have done here in Alabama, and I am sad the Governor said what he said.
But Rabbi Miller suggests the higher road. He acknowledged the hurt, but provided a means for restoration and reconciliation.
Sounds like something I learned in Sunday School.
Shalom.
.
Anyway, he did not offer to remove it the rest of the way, and I didn't want to do it myself. At the time moles were sort of mysterious to me, as were many things in those days, so I went to the yellow pages to find a doctor, a dermatologist. I did not think that this particular problem could be solved with the sample Sucrets Sore Throat Lozenges they always dispensed when you went to the University Infirmary.
As I looked down at the listings I was quite surprised to see that one of the few dermatologists in Tuscaloosa was Robert Bentley, M.D. With a name like that, I thought, he must be a prince of a fellow and a fine physician, so I called his office and got an appointment.
Dr. Bentley did a fine job removing the rest of the mole and patching me up. Apparently there wasn't nearly so much mystery as I had imagined. We exchanged laughs about having the same name and I went on my way. Our paths did not cross again while Iwas a student except for a couple of wrong numbers and junk mail.
That is how I met the Governor. Before he was governor. Before he was even in politics at all. It was a good experience.
I became aware that Dr. Bentley was getting into politics when a couple of youth from the church brought me a yard sign that they somehow obtained after attending a Bama game which said "Robert Bentley for Senate." Under that in smaller letters it said he was a Republican. That was back in the day when the candidate's name was more important than whether he was a Republican. These days in Alabama it is clearly more important to put "Republican" in large letters. The candidate's name is secondary. But I digress. Back to Dr. Bentley.
So it was fun when Robert Bentley decided to run for governor. Fun for me, I mean. I had my picture taken in front of his campaign tent on the quad before a football game. It turned out rather well I thought, with all my paraphernalia with my name on it in the background. Long lost acquaintances got in touch to see if I was the one running for governor. I said sure, send the donation on in. With my name on all those signs along the rights of way I felt like every trip I made anywhere in the state was a homecoming. On election day I received several phone calls at the office seeking information about what my plans were after the polls closed. Some were prank calls from friends, but still fun, nonetheless.
For those of you who are familiar with this blog and familiar with Governor Bentley, you probably recognize some differences in the political views held by the governor and me. Very few similarities. Mostly differences. Sort of like Bizzaro World Bob. This was borne out more as the campaign heated up, especially during the debates. I winced as Governor Bentley answered. But to be fair I winced at Democrat Ron Sparks as well. The answer to every question cannot be gambling. At least that's what I thought before I heard Sparks. I was wrong. But again I digress, back to Governor Bentley.
I, like many, was surprised that Robert Bentley was nominated, and then elected. During the campaign he presented the image of a decent, concerned, competent, albeit extremely conservative candidate ready to heal what ailed us.
I believe he is truly decent, concerned, competent, and extremely conservative. I hope that he is a great governor, even though I disagree with him on so many things.
So I guess I am going to cut him a bit of slack. For those of you who don't know, Governor Bentley committed what many consider to be a gaffe at best, and a sin at worst, in a speech during the inauguration festivities. Briefly, he noted that as a Christian he had many brothers and sisters in Alabama who were also Christian. But he was not the brother of non-Christians though he would like to be. He used a lot more words. Probably shouldn't have used any of them.
It was bad. Very offensive. At best it was horrible speech writing. At worst it was a distortion of Jesus message, according to many. I agree.
Lots of folks spoke out against him. You know how brothers and sisters can go after each other. I am one of them.
Then I read a letter from Rabbi Jonathan Miller to the governor. Do a search on his name and you'll find it. It was strong in expressing his concerns, but so very, very gracious. Grace from one who could only assume he was not part of the Governor's family. I'm pretty sure Rabbi Miller knows he is part of God's family.
So, I'm off the bandwagon. I am once again embarassed by something we have done here in Alabama, and I am sad the Governor said what he said.
But Rabbi Miller suggests the higher road. He acknowledged the hurt, but provided a means for restoration and reconciliation.
Sounds like something I learned in Sunday School.
Shalom.
.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
A running start . . .
Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.
I have skipped posting a few Saturdays lately. I still have the drafts. They start out "Saturday. Sofa. Coffee." As a writer it is usually helpful to have that first sentence already written, something to get one started, like a sprinter's starting blocks. But the only blocks I have experienced on recent Saturdays would be of the writer's variety.
Oh I have written a few lines, sometimes a few paragraphs. But as I rest on the sofa sipping my coffee in the quiet stillness of Saturday mornings the words and thoughts just don't seem to work.
What you have just read is me attempting to build a ramp, a steep slope, to get me started today, sort of like finding a steep place to start a sledding run, something I did in a literal way a few times this week. But that's another story.
Take last Saturday for instance. (Back to writing, not sledding or sprinting) I started a pleasant enough post in the morning, but had to quit to do a few necessary Saturday kind of maintenance activities. Before I had returned to the key board (laptop not musical instrument) I had spent a few hours riveted to the news channels learning of the now infamous shooting in Arizona.
Suddenly the pleasant musings of my earlier efforts seemed stupid. They were quickly deleted, from the laptop and from my psyche, as a weird feeling of what can best be described as shame came over me. How could I have been writing such inane palp as this tragedy was unfolding?
That is the struggle. We live multiple lives as we move along the timeline. There is our own life, that life that is lived completely within each of us, that life that is guided by our conversations with our own self. Think I am crazy? Well of course I am ("we're all bozos on this bus", one of my favorite comforting phrases courtesy of Firesign Theater, 1971), but that doesn't mean I can't occasionally have a lucid thought. The trick is picking out the wheat from the chaff.
Saturday mornings I enjoy this part of life the most. Do I want to get up now? What kind of coffee will I make? Which of my favorite mugs will I use? What do I want to do today? Sometimes the conversation with myself is actually verbal, even audible, though no one else is around, I hope.
After the stresses of the week, I generally try to avoid stressful thoughts on Saturday mornings. So when I open the laptop on the sofa on Saturdays, the words tend to reflect that easy-going conversation.
But there's another life that each of us live. An "It's a Wonderful Life" kind of life; a life within a small community of family, friends, and others that we share daily existence with face to face, or at least email, text, facebook or tweet to email, text, facebook or tweet. (I am sure there are more social networks by the time I finish this post, but you get the idea).
And there's another life that this generation is realizing more than any previously. We each live in a larger world, a much larger world, the whole world, which sometimes seems to have been placed in our hands before we are ready. A world that we know more and more about as horrific events occur in Birmingham, or Arizona, or Tunisia, or Australia (about as far away as one can get from me on this globe). And we know about them immediately. Sometimes quicker than we learn of events in the life of a friend or family member across town.
It's not really three different lives. I know that. But it sure gets complicated. It's all part of the same life. Like politics, religion, culture, war and peace, and fried foods, its all part of one life.
Sorry about this post.
But maybe it'll be enough to get me going next time.
.
I have skipped posting a few Saturdays lately. I still have the drafts. They start out "Saturday. Sofa. Coffee." As a writer it is usually helpful to have that first sentence already written, something to get one started, like a sprinter's starting blocks. But the only blocks I have experienced on recent Saturdays would be of the writer's variety.
Oh I have written a few lines, sometimes a few paragraphs. But as I rest on the sofa sipping my coffee in the quiet stillness of Saturday mornings the words and thoughts just don't seem to work.
What you have just read is me attempting to build a ramp, a steep slope, to get me started today, sort of like finding a steep place to start a sledding run, something I did in a literal way a few times this week. But that's another story.
Take last Saturday for instance. (Back to writing, not sledding or sprinting) I started a pleasant enough post in the morning, but had to quit to do a few necessary Saturday kind of maintenance activities. Before I had returned to the key board (laptop not musical instrument) I had spent a few hours riveted to the news channels learning of the now infamous shooting in Arizona.
Suddenly the pleasant musings of my earlier efforts seemed stupid. They were quickly deleted, from the laptop and from my psyche, as a weird feeling of what can best be described as shame came over me. How could I have been writing such inane palp as this tragedy was unfolding?
That is the struggle. We live multiple lives as we move along the timeline. There is our own life, that life that is lived completely within each of us, that life that is guided by our conversations with our own self. Think I am crazy? Well of course I am ("we're all bozos on this bus", one of my favorite comforting phrases courtesy of Firesign Theater, 1971), but that doesn't mean I can't occasionally have a lucid thought. The trick is picking out the wheat from the chaff.
Saturday mornings I enjoy this part of life the most. Do I want to get up now? What kind of coffee will I make? Which of my favorite mugs will I use? What do I want to do today? Sometimes the conversation with myself is actually verbal, even audible, though no one else is around, I hope.
After the stresses of the week, I generally try to avoid stressful thoughts on Saturday mornings. So when I open the laptop on the sofa on Saturdays, the words tend to reflect that easy-going conversation.
But there's another life that each of us live. An "It's a Wonderful Life" kind of life; a life within a small community of family, friends, and others that we share daily existence with face to face, or at least email, text, facebook or tweet to email, text, facebook or tweet. (I am sure there are more social networks by the time I finish this post, but you get the idea).
And there's another life that this generation is realizing more than any previously. We each live in a larger world, a much larger world, the whole world, which sometimes seems to have been placed in our hands before we are ready. A world that we know more and more about as horrific events occur in Birmingham, or Arizona, or Tunisia, or Australia (about as far away as one can get from me on this globe). And we know about them immediately. Sometimes quicker than we learn of events in the life of a friend or family member across town.
It's not really three different lives. I know that. But it sure gets complicated. It's all part of the same life. Like politics, religion, culture, war and peace, and fried foods, its all part of one life.
Sorry about this post.
But maybe it'll be enough to get me going next time.
.
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