Roll along

Neil Young:

I think my greatest strength is the ability to let myself be washed along on the top of the water. Just absolutely no control over my destination. That’s my biggest strength. There is no other strength than that. Just being able to roll along.

The Waking

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

--Theodore Roethke

Prufrock rocks

Craig Raine on T.S. Eliot:

It is important to realise that, for writers, the fully lived life also means the interior life, the mental life. Grey matter acting on rereading matter is a matter of passion, too.

Or so we like to tell ourselves...

Christmas cheer

This morning I went to the Post Office. I was prepared for a long, frustrating wait. In addition to my bag of packages to send I brought a magazine and a Russian novel— based on past experiences, I was prepared for a siege. But as soon as I walked in the door, a postal worker greeted me and helped me send all my boxes with an automated kiosk— no muss, no fuss, no wait at all!

Driving home I saw two Scotty dogs walking in their matching sweaters. I suspect that Scotties don’t need sweaters any more than other dogs, but that they wear them to honor their heritage.

Cold snap

Today winter started. A week of unseasonal warmth gave way to all-day rain, then icy drizzle. The joys of the Midwest.

Each morning I walk to the end of the drive to collect a paper I will not read. I always stop to admire the whisky-barrel planter full of snapdragons. I put them in two years ago, when much was different. I was working, could travel, and generally got by OK. I have always loved the massed opulence of snapdragons—tall spikes of watered silk.

Last year, the self-seeded snapdragons got a slow start, and finally managed a few late blossoms. They were basically an act of faith, a work in progress. To see them, you had to know that they were there.

This year they made a more promising start, a more definite statement. In early spring, I spent a few minutes one afternoon at the planter, in the cold but welcome sun, weeding out all the plants that did not seem to be incipient snapdragons. “Go for it, guys,” I told the survivors. That was all I did, and I was rewarded with a barrel of glorious flowers all season.

When less hardy summer flowers shrank and disappeared from neighbors’ gardens, gone before October, my snapdragons continued unfazed. They staggered a bit as the cold started to bite, but offered a few blooms right through November.

Chicago winter may delay, but she don’t play. We had a nice warm week, but nice is done. This morning there was one magenta bud, ‘fronting the ice storm. As I bent near it to pick up the paper I said “Good job,” and “Thanks,” and “See you in the spring.” Which, come to think of it, was the same thing I said to the Cubs as they left the field at Wrigley, heading into their last week. Your basic baseball benediction, good year or bad, season in, season out.

Brain-teaser

Here’s what I am doing right now. I am typing with one finger of my left hand. I am right-handed. My right hand, and arm, and leg and foot are vibrating, in a way that is both useless and annoying.

I am so absorbed in managing this that the dog has to remind me to feed her. She gives a throat-clearing sort of woof from the other side of the office door. She’s right, she always is, it’s her suppertime.

I zombie-walk down to the kitchen. I realize the flat of 24 cans of dog food is still in the trunk, in the garage. I put dry kibble in a bowl, figuring it will have to do for now. I clump outside and set the bowl down as a freezing mist starts to fall. “Just a minute,” I say to the dog.

I bring the bowl back inside, and put it in the oven so the cats won’t get into it, then head outside to get a single can of dogfood out of the trunk. A single can I can manage. Brilliant.

By manage, I mean a sort of spazzy comedy of pulling a ring to get the lid off, setting the lid in the sink as a sop to the cats, forking out half a can of “country stew with gravy”, yeah right, but the dog enjoys it, truly. I have to use my right hand for the fork, I don’t know why, but it’s a delicate operation, unlike English composition.

Mix it up, more or less, fork in the sink where the designated cat is waiting for it, snap lid on can, eventually, put can in fridge, then back out to the waiting dog who receives the confection, I like to think, gratefully.

My life is a brain-teaser. Like those nerdy puzzles of wolves and sheep and bags of oats that have to be ferried across some made-up river. The answer always takes like six trips, back and forth, setting things down and picking them up, in a sequence that’s as maddening as it is boring.

The dog barks to come back in. Now her thick coat will be wet and we will dance around the living room with a bath towel, solving another brain-teaser.

Pay attention

Thunderstorms move in tonight, odd for November. The unsettled atmosphere plays havoc with the TV. On one of the few channels that comes in, a preacher is saying, “When you get down to nothing, you’re in a place where God can do anything. Throw your hands in the air and give thanks for nothing.”

His text is “Fill the earthen vessels”, a reference to the first miracle, the marriage feast at Cana, where Jesus turns water to wine. I have started praying the rosary each day. It is amazing how much it connects to.

I turn off the TV and lie down. “This American Life” comes on the radio. Ira is talking about people who demand attention, “She hits me,” he says of his wife, “She actually says ‘Pay attention to me.’ ” At this moment radio cuts out. Thunder rolls, like the voice of God.

I try to pay attention. My arm and leg are shaking uncontrollably, which is distracting. I breathe, and concentrate on relaxing. I try to offer thanks: I am not cold, though it is a cold night. I am not hungry. I am not lonely or sad. One of the cats is resting on my arm, and my dog has stretched out against my leg. They don’t seem to notice the shaking.

I breath in, out. My mind wanders and I bring it back. I pay attention, waiting to discover the gift God will give me. I finally see that attention IS the gift. It is the gift of my life, to be cherished, to be savored, in each imperfect moment.