As I drive along the icy/slushy roads and freeways
I am appalled at fast, reckless drivers that are
oblivious to their own safety . . . let alone that of
others.
You just didn't go fast
back then
when I was growing up.
Snowfall in the Red River Valley
meant blowing and drifting snow.
Snow fences and windbreaks in the country.
Trucks carried chains to wrap around tires.
Slow traveling -
but you got there.
Cars had chains too.
Made irritable clanking sounds.
A pain to put on,
but their necessity didn't stop us.
Some cars had snow tires, with deep treads.
Then there were studded tires.
Roads had sand too,
a real premium in the Valley.
Go fast?
One just didn't.
But you got there - usually.
And stayed on the road - mostly.
Seldom crashed or ran into anyone.
Didn't need to.
We went slow.
More time to pay attention.
And we did.
And we got there.
Now, there are
strange ice-melting chemical mixes
platoons of militant 24/7 plows
polluted waterways and soil
splattering splashing chemical-soup baths
hitting anything or anyone near a road
salt-dust-chemical swirls
coat our lungs, nasal passages, and eyes
corroded cars on the ways to rusting out
pitted and spalled road surfaces
smeared wind-shields obscuring vision and
requiring gallons of washer fluid
potholes galore, eaten-away garage floors
high-speed crashes and spin-outs
multi-car pile ups, jack-knifed semis, and . . .
loads of dead or injured people -
people who never
get there.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Elegy For My Poor Deceased Printer
I had a long relationship with my now defunct printer. She was a temperamental character, unique in her ways. When her ink pump failed and she began leaking black ink, I knew she was slipping from this world and into another dimension. CPR failed to resuscitate her - and I grieved.
I was reluctant to let her go. After she breathed her last print job, she sat in her place for a week, her plug pulled from the wall. And I dreamt about her passing.
My dear deceased printer. She gave me excellent photographic prints, suitable for exhibition. Printed copies of manuscripts and poetry that were "in process" and in need of a sharp editing eye. Small photos used for writing classes. Copies of articles to pass on to students and writer-colleagues.
Some days I took her for granted. I turned to acknowledge her only when I reached for finished pages from her printer tray. But there were other days when she asserted herself. In one way or another, she placed obstructions in my way as if to remind me of the importance of her existence.
One of her ink levels would run out while printing a photograph - ejecting an unusable mess and then refusing to print anything at all. Wasting expensive photo paper and colored inks.
And the paper jams that were the bane of my writing life. When she sat idle for several days, it was inevitable that the first printing job of the day would jam up the works in her belly. Necessitating removal of the "whatchamacallit" in the back and carefully extracting mangled paper - sometimes needing a tweezers and flashlight to extract the last little bits of chewed-up paper.
At some point a year or two ago, she managed to break off one of the little plastic tabs that guided the paper. When I fished it out of her innards, I thought it was the end of her. But she was a tough one, and behaved exactly as she had when I welcomed her into my study. That plastic tab is all I have now to remind me of her.
Her timing was impeccable when she chose to create some problem. When I wanted something printed to take with me as I was about to rush out of the door, she would thumb her nose at me. Then she would engage in some original act that would make me late for wherever I was going.
Sometimes I threatened her when she was too recalcitrant. I would tell her I was going to put the magenta ink container in the yellow slot. But I never did - because I knew that I would suffer more than she would.
My relationship with her taught me a lot of things. Patience was at the top of the list. Followed by recognition and respect of other's unique identities. I learned to praise her excellent performance and not to take her for granted. She clearly was her own distinct self - not simply some mechanical extension of me, indentured to do my bidding. Good lessons to extend into my human relationships.
Now her replacement sits in her place. Black and hulking and unattractive. The new beast reminds me of perched vultures, scanning for carrion. And it can just sit there as far as I am concerned. I refuse to plug it in or install it on my computer.
I know I will have to make my peace with this upstart. A writer without a printer is a bit like losing a writing hand.
But one must observe a decent interval for grieving the loss of a dear friend.
I was reluctant to let her go. After she breathed her last print job, she sat in her place for a week, her plug pulled from the wall. And I dreamt about her passing.
My dear deceased printer. She gave me excellent photographic prints, suitable for exhibition. Printed copies of manuscripts and poetry that were "in process" and in need of a sharp editing eye. Small photos used for writing classes. Copies of articles to pass on to students and writer-colleagues.
Some days I took her for granted. I turned to acknowledge her only when I reached for finished pages from her printer tray. But there were other days when she asserted herself. In one way or another, she placed obstructions in my way as if to remind me of the importance of her existence.
One of her ink levels would run out while printing a photograph - ejecting an unusable mess and then refusing to print anything at all. Wasting expensive photo paper and colored inks.
And the paper jams that were the bane of my writing life. When she sat idle for several days, it was inevitable that the first printing job of the day would jam up the works in her belly. Necessitating removal of the "whatchamacallit" in the back and carefully extracting mangled paper - sometimes needing a tweezers and flashlight to extract the last little bits of chewed-up paper.
At some point a year or two ago, she managed to break off one of the little plastic tabs that guided the paper. When I fished it out of her innards, I thought it was the end of her. But she was a tough one, and behaved exactly as she had when I welcomed her into my study. That plastic tab is all I have now to remind me of her.
Her timing was impeccable when she chose to create some problem. When I wanted something printed to take with me as I was about to rush out of the door, she would thumb her nose at me. Then she would engage in some original act that would make me late for wherever I was going.
Sometimes I threatened her when she was too recalcitrant. I would tell her I was going to put the magenta ink container in the yellow slot. But I never did - because I knew that I would suffer more than she would.
My relationship with her taught me a lot of things. Patience was at the top of the list. Followed by recognition and respect of other's unique identities. I learned to praise her excellent performance and not to take her for granted. She clearly was her own distinct self - not simply some mechanical extension of me, indentured to do my bidding. Good lessons to extend into my human relationships.
Now her replacement sits in her place. Black and hulking and unattractive. The new beast reminds me of perched vultures, scanning for carrion. And it can just sit there as far as I am concerned. I refuse to plug it in or install it on my computer.
I know I will have to make my peace with this upstart. A writer without a printer is a bit like losing a writing hand.
But one must observe a decent interval for grieving the loss of a dear friend.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Moment in Time
The cold surrounds the house. Folks complain. But it is nothing like what I remember when I was growing up. Then, the house would creak and moan - and wind would howl.
One weekend, Clem and I had come home from college just before a blizzard struck. When we went to return, we drove out of town - only to be stopped by a huge drift ten feet tall. I kid you not! We got out of the car and stood there, craning our necks to look up at the monstrous drift. Guess we won't be going back for a while! Knowing the muscle of a cadre of snowplows would be out soon to carve the snow away from the highway. The good old days!
Today, as a cold Arctic front temporarily gives us temperatures around zero Fahrenheit, we contemplate our next move - shall we hunker down another day. Warm inside, our two cats curl up together on my desk under the heat of the desk lamp (Do they think they have gone off to the beach or to the tanning parlour) Maggie stretches out on her back with a sigh of contentment, gathering up the warmth . Shall we - or shall we not - venture out for lunch at a favorite place. Someone else's warm soup and a salad.
I read in the paper that northern Europe is canceling plane flights due to ice and snow. The same old, same old new normal - floods and droughts. Here, the concern is the sparse snow cover with the cold. I wonder how our perennials will fare with this temporary drop in temperature. My favorite garden catalogs wait for me to brouse - and order.
I have traveled to places where the weather is constant. San Jose' in Costa Rica, where it is perpetual spring comes to mind. Or closer to home with time I have spent in San Diego.If I lived in a place like these two cities, there would be no need to contemplate lunch. I'd slip on my sandals and be out the door.
Last night, Jupiter and the moon were dramatically close to each other. The next moment in time that this event occurs will be in twenty-six years. The odds of me being able to witness this illusion of such perceptual closeness in the future are slim - a reminder that always today is all I have.
Moments in time - some are present moments. Others moments live in myr memories. My entire life is just a moment in time. How I use it is of my own choosing. I try to chose well.
Now for that soup and salad. I'm not old enough yet to get soft about a bit of winter cold.
One weekend, Clem and I had come home from college just before a blizzard struck. When we went to return, we drove out of town - only to be stopped by a huge drift ten feet tall. I kid you not! We got out of the car and stood there, craning our necks to look up at the monstrous drift. Guess we won't be going back for a while! Knowing the muscle of a cadre of snowplows would be out soon to carve the snow away from the highway. The good old days!
Today, as a cold Arctic front temporarily gives us temperatures around zero Fahrenheit, we contemplate our next move - shall we hunker down another day. Warm inside, our two cats curl up together on my desk under the heat of the desk lamp (Do they think they have gone off to the beach or to the tanning parlour) Maggie stretches out on her back with a sigh of contentment, gathering up the warmth . Shall we - or shall we not - venture out for lunch at a favorite place. Someone else's warm soup and a salad.
I read in the paper that northern Europe is canceling plane flights due to ice and snow. The same old, same old new normal - floods and droughts. Here, the concern is the sparse snow cover with the cold. I wonder how our perennials will fare with this temporary drop in temperature. My favorite garden catalogs wait for me to brouse - and order.
I have traveled to places where the weather is constant. San Jose' in Costa Rica, where it is perpetual spring comes to mind. Or closer to home with time I have spent in San Diego.If I lived in a place like these two cities, there would be no need to contemplate lunch. I'd slip on my sandals and be out the door.
Last night, Jupiter and the moon were dramatically close to each other. The next moment in time that this event occurs will be in twenty-six years. The odds of me being able to witness this illusion of such perceptual closeness in the future are slim - a reminder that always today is all I have.
Moments in time - some are present moments. Others moments live in myr memories. My entire life is just a moment in time. How I use it is of my own choosing. I try to chose well.
Now for that soup and salad. I'm not old enough yet to get soft about a bit of winter cold.
Monday, January 21, 2013
I REMEMBER THE MARCH
Doesn't take much
to remember . . .
the day when I walked
the March on Washington.
Today, memories pour forth,
much as a desert flash flood
engulfing anything in its path.
Perhaps today,
the best thing to do
is to simply let the memories
of that Wednesday in August
rise to the surface.
Yes —
it was a Wednesday,
not convenient on a weekend.
One had to want to be there.
Take time off of work or school.
As a young seminary student,
I was trying to make sense
of what people were doing
to each other across our country,
keeping some folks
as second-class citizens.
I so wanted to make a difference!
There was no trouble locating
the gathering that would eventually
numbered 250,000 strong,
milling around the Mall
between the monuments.
I worked my way to be
near the front, finding my place,
there I walked just four steps behind
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Yes —
Twenty-three years old,
fifty years ago on a sky-blue August day,
I found where I needed to be.
Yes —
I stood at the base
the Lincoln Memorial steps.
Yes —
This March on Washington
marked the 100th Anniversary
after Abraham Lincoln signed
the Emancipation Proclamation.
Yes —
I heard John Lewis, Roy Wilkins
and many other speakers.
Yes —
I joined myriads of others
and sang "We Shall Overcome"
led by Joan Baez.
Yes —
Peter, Paul, and Mary,
Bob Dylan, Mahalia Jackson,
Marian Anderson right there
in front of me, singing their hearts out
into a bank of microphones.
Yes —
I heard King deliver
his now famous
"I Have a Dream" speech,
the power of his words and his presence
mesmerizing this huge crowd.
How could I have been
so privileged as to have been
part of a movement
that refused to be thwarted!
Today, so much more still needs doing . . .
to remember . . .
the day when I walked
the March on Washington.
Today, memories pour forth,
much as a desert flash flood
engulfing anything in its path.
Perhaps today,
the best thing to do
is to simply let the memories
of that Wednesday in August
rise to the surface.
Yes —
it was a Wednesday,
not convenient on a weekend.
One had to want to be there.
Take time off of work or school.
As a young seminary student,
I was trying to make sense
of what people were doing
to each other across our country,
keeping some folks
as second-class citizens.
I so wanted to make a difference!
There was no trouble locating
the gathering that would eventually
numbered 250,000 strong,
milling around the Mall
between the monuments.
I worked my way to be
near the front, finding my place,
there I walked just four steps behind
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Yes —
Twenty-three years old,
fifty years ago on a sky-blue August day,
I found where I needed to be.
Yes —
I stood at the base
the Lincoln Memorial steps.
Yes —
This March on Washington
marked the 100th Anniversary
after Abraham Lincoln signed
the Emancipation Proclamation.
Yes —
I heard John Lewis, Roy Wilkins
and many other speakers.
Yes —
I joined myriads of others
and sang "We Shall Overcome"
led by Joan Baez.
Yes —
Peter, Paul, and Mary,
Bob Dylan, Mahalia Jackson,
Marian Anderson right there
in front of me, singing their hearts out
into a bank of microphones.
Yes —
I heard King deliver
his now famous
"I Have a Dream" speech,
the power of his words and his presence
mesmerizing this huge crowd.
How could I have been
so privileged as to have been
part of a movement
that refused to be thwarted!
Today, so much more still needs doing . . .
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Universe Continues to Malfunction
The rule is that things break in threes - and then you are home free for a while. Well, the universe is ignoring its own rule!
The latest - our two printers both died within an hour from each other. Like two old married folk still madly in love. Life without the other must have been simply not worth it.
Now, have you bought anything electronic lately? The helpful clerk in the store asks questions you can't begin to answer. Is your whatchmadingy wired to your thingamagig?
And yes, we want two printers. We tried to be a one-printer household for a while and it was like owning one car with two people wanting to go separate places. It might have been economical, but with two people writing up a storm, we do know that our marriage requires two printers. Even if we can follow all the specs on the printer boxes.
This printer death-event came only a few weeks after our 7 year old refrigerator tried to burn up its own motor. Have you bought a fridge lately? They are certainly an investment item. But keeping the food in the garage would have solved things only temporarily. That is if spring does happen in the next couple months. With the new normal, predicting the weather lately has a success rate lower than coming up with the winning lottery ticket. After all it did rain, in January just a week or so ago.
Speaking of weather, there was the freak hailstorm. Pretty much took care of our roof. Fortunately, we got the new one done just in time. Then it snowed and we haven't seen the roof since. So don't ask me if it looks nice.
All this things-breaking behavior started last summer. We figured it was like being married ten years or so when all at once the sheets get holes and the towels fray, requiring visits to Targe' for replacements. I believe that's another rule of the universe. Stay married long enough and you'll be needing some new stuff to replace wedding gifts. Then the wearing-out-stuff moderates into a continual progression. At least it's not the all at once phenomena.
But this series of things breaking down has gone far to long. Melted-down computer, sprinkling system malfunctioning, cordless phone only viable for 2 minutes, hole in the car bumper from someone backing into it . . . it's a long list and I shan't bore you with its recitation.
Now I am eyeing the water heater - and the washer and dryer. They are the same age and have been around awhile. Just like the two of us and our two cats . . .
So far we haven't broken and that's the good news! Knock on wood.
When I take a breath and stop complaining, I look at the rest of our broken world. Our breakage list is insignificant - nothing terminal, just annoyances that divert valuable ttime and money from more significant uses. From the many "small" wars, terrorist plotting and actions, the rope and domination of women as objects here in this country and elsewhere, the threats of floods and drought, political corruption, the rich growing richer and the rest of us having a harder time making ends meet - that's another long list of brokenness.
So much that needs fixing.
The latest - our two printers both died within an hour from each other. Like two old married folk still madly in love. Life without the other must have been simply not worth it.
Now, have you bought anything electronic lately? The helpful clerk in the store asks questions you can't begin to answer. Is your whatchmadingy wired to your thingamagig?
And yes, we want two printers. We tried to be a one-printer household for a while and it was like owning one car with two people wanting to go separate places. It might have been economical, but with two people writing up a storm, we do know that our marriage requires two printers. Even if we can follow all the specs on the printer boxes.
This printer death-event came only a few weeks after our 7 year old refrigerator tried to burn up its own motor. Have you bought a fridge lately? They are certainly an investment item. But keeping the food in the garage would have solved things only temporarily. That is if spring does happen in the next couple months. With the new normal, predicting the weather lately has a success rate lower than coming up with the winning lottery ticket. After all it did rain, in January just a week or so ago.
Speaking of weather, there was the freak hailstorm. Pretty much took care of our roof. Fortunately, we got the new one done just in time. Then it snowed and we haven't seen the roof since. So don't ask me if it looks nice.
All this things-breaking behavior started last summer. We figured it was like being married ten years or so when all at once the sheets get holes and the towels fray, requiring visits to Targe' for replacements. I believe that's another rule of the universe. Stay married long enough and you'll be needing some new stuff to replace wedding gifts. Then the wearing-out-stuff moderates into a continual progression. At least it's not the all at once phenomena.
But this series of things breaking down has gone far to long. Melted-down computer, sprinkling system malfunctioning, cordless phone only viable for 2 minutes, hole in the car bumper from someone backing into it . . . it's a long list and I shan't bore you with its recitation.
Now I am eyeing the water heater - and the washer and dryer. They are the same age and have been around awhile. Just like the two of us and our two cats . . .
So far we haven't broken and that's the good news! Knock on wood.
When I take a breath and stop complaining, I look at the rest of our broken world. Our breakage list is insignificant - nothing terminal, just annoyances that divert valuable ttime and money from more significant uses. From the many "small" wars, terrorist plotting and actions, the rope and domination of women as objects here in this country and elsewhere, the threats of floods and drought, political corruption, the rich growing richer and the rest of us having a harder time making ends meet - that's another long list of brokenness.
So much that needs fixing.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Andre' and Audrey
Andre' pushed a small mound of dirt out of his hole. Audrey, Audrey, don't push. Don't so impatient. I know you are tired of the dark. No Audrey, you do not want to come out.
Andre' stuck his head up, sniffing the air. He turned himself around in the hole. Still that white stuff all over the ground - and on all sides. Audrey, back off. I need to have some room to maneuver.
Shivering he backed down the hole, sighing and muttering. If he could have wished the snow and cold away, he would have. I thought the television said we have a new normal. Instead, it's more time confined to Gopherville. And no, Audrey, I am NOT going to dig a tunnel southward to some place warm.
Even gophers prefer it to be a bit warmer. Better digging that way. After all, a gopher's calling was to dig, dig, dig.
Back below ground, Andre' pulled out his cell phone. I'm calling Cousin Billy in Asheville. Maybe we could go and visit them.
Andre' waited and waited for Billy to pick up. When he finally did, Billy's voice was muffled.
We are OK here. But just barely. It's been raining cats and dogs - no, not literally - that's just a phrase. There is water everywhere. Some lawns have six inches of standing water. I got several of our holes plugged just in time or we'd have been flooded out of house and home. Some of my friends have not been so lucky - landslides have taken them away and we still haven't heard if they are alive.
Andre' crossed himself and offered up a prayer to Mary, then crossed himself again for good measure. Maybe he and Audrey didn't have it so bad. After all, the snow hadn't come trickling down their holes.
He turned to Audrey to convey Billy's news to her. Looks like a visit is out of the question.
It's tough being a gopher. Some folks think they live the life of Riley. But they are hardworking little creatures, just carving a place for themselves in the world.
After all, the world was a mighty big place with enough room for everyone! Everyone of every stripe and color.
Andre' stuck his head up, sniffing the air. He turned himself around in the hole. Still that white stuff all over the ground - and on all sides. Audrey, back off. I need to have some room to maneuver.
Shivering he backed down the hole, sighing and muttering. If he could have wished the snow and cold away, he would have. I thought the television said we have a new normal. Instead, it's more time confined to Gopherville. And no, Audrey, I am NOT going to dig a tunnel southward to some place warm.
Even gophers prefer it to be a bit warmer. Better digging that way. After all, a gopher's calling was to dig, dig, dig.
Back below ground, Andre' pulled out his cell phone. I'm calling Cousin Billy in Asheville. Maybe we could go and visit them.
Andre' waited and waited for Billy to pick up. When he finally did, Billy's voice was muffled.
We are OK here. But just barely. It's been raining cats and dogs - no, not literally - that's just a phrase. There is water everywhere. Some lawns have six inches of standing water. I got several of our holes plugged just in time or we'd have been flooded out of house and home. Some of my friends have not been so lucky - landslides have taken them away and we still haven't heard if they are alive.
Andre' crossed himself and offered up a prayer to Mary, then crossed himself again for good measure. Maybe he and Audrey didn't have it so bad. After all, the snow hadn't come trickling down their holes.
He turned to Audrey to convey Billy's news to her. Looks like a visit is out of the question.
It's tough being a gopher. Some folks think they live the life of Riley. But they are hardworking little creatures, just carving a place for themselves in the world.
After all, the world was a mighty big place with enough room for everyone! Everyone of every stripe and color.
Monday, January 7, 2013
SNOWBIRDS
The morning after a prairie winter storm,
an old, frost-heaved, white house stood
alone with its uninsulated walls and floors.
Its roof, icicle-laden.
Wavy windows lace-frosted and
edge with ice.
"They are here!" the mother said
as her warm hand melts a little clearing
in a low pane of one of the windows.
A child peers through to a stark white field.
Tiny birds flit and
alight just outside.
Their little wings send puffs of
snow into the frigid air.
Clean white breasts,
dark gray backs.
White flashes as they
leave the child watching.
"They are snowbirds"
she said.
-Clem J. Nagel
an old, frost-heaved, white house stood
alone with its uninsulated walls and floors.
Its roof, icicle-laden.
Wavy windows lace-frosted and
edge with ice.
"They are here!" the mother said
as her warm hand melts a little clearing
in a low pane of one of the windows.
A child peers through to a stark white field.
Tiny birds flit and
alight just outside.
Their little wings send puffs of
snow into the frigid air.
Clean white breasts,
dark gray backs.
White flashes as they
leave the child watching.
"They are snowbirds"
she said.
-Clem J. Nagel
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
This Fresh New Year
This year, I will plant potatoes
when oak leaves are the size of mouse ears
as my grandfather did long ago
I will still plant pea pods on the first of April
as there is something ironic about planting peas
that make no little round peas
which I detest. April Fools!
I will read the garden catalogs
with great care
they come earlier now - as if climate change
somehow has altered all of life.
I will circle my choices for this coming year
praying they can bear heat and drought
or maybe torrential rain to fill rivers and lakes.
I will watch for magnolia's buds to swell
the ones that almost bloomed this belated fall
and watch apricot blossoms float downward
frustrated squirrels wait to plunder
the small green apricots before they are ripe.
I will write more
for it grows my soul
never knowing what words
will emerge upon the page.
I will read more, other writers
teaching me their skills
so I can discover more rules to break
And I shan't make
a single New Year's resolution
for all these are promises
as I kiss this new year awake.
when oak leaves are the size of mouse ears
as my grandfather did long ago
I will still plant pea pods on the first of April
as there is something ironic about planting peas
that make no little round peas
which I detest. April Fools!
I will read the garden catalogs
with great care
they come earlier now - as if climate change
somehow has altered all of life.
I will circle my choices for this coming year
praying they can bear heat and drought
or maybe torrential rain to fill rivers and lakes.
I will watch for magnolia's buds to swell
the ones that almost bloomed this belated fall
and watch apricot blossoms float downward
frustrated squirrels wait to plunder
the small green apricots before they are ripe.
I will write more
for it grows my soul
never knowing what words
will emerge upon the page.
I will read more, other writers
teaching me their skills
so I can discover more rules to break
And I shan't make
a single New Year's resolution
for all these are promises
as I kiss this new year awake.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
CHANGE
~ Written on New Year's Eve, 2012
150 years after Lincoln signed the
Emancipation Proclamation.
I PrecipitousGlacier ice fields
rapid melt worldwide.
Unprecedented.
Major populations
depend on glacial water.
II Released
Small blue flowers
wave in the wind
on a remote western Irish isle.
There on Inishbofin
I first saw Scabiosa.
Now it graces my garden
perseveres to early winter.
III Emancipation
I planted a maple
ten years ago to honor
Paul Wellstone's family.
Each autumn it cradles
a nest of young goldfinches.
Soon to fledge . . .
launched into life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)