Jim Putnam - Thinking Through My Fingers

Strangers

"Strangers" is actually not a good title for this post, but it is a good beginning point.  I'll leave it there and wander around it a bit.

It's said that some people never met a stranger.  I take that to mean that their personality immediately warms to everyone and they become friends, if only for the moment.  At times I wish I had that ability, but don't.

Over several days I've been considering how to engage strangers in conversation.  Quite regularly I see some person and there's something about him or her that strikes a chord in me, and I would sincerely like to initiate a conversation with this person.  I'd like to know more about why there's this urge to talk with them.

I simply cannot do that.  While I may feel like talking to this person, I cannot bring myself to do it.  Conversely, if somehow the opportunity does arise to begin a conversation, for some reason people almost immediately begin to tell me details of their life that amaze me, and that I would, could, not reveal.  There must be something about me that allows them to feel comfortable confiding. That something doesn't have to be me at all.  A more logical explanation is that they probably know full well that he or she will never see me again and therefore can say almost anything without major consequences or embarrassment.

Often a person just looks interesting.  It could be their dress, or something they are carrying.  I'd like to know the story behind that "whatever-it-is".  I'd like to know what he does for a living, or how she likes the book she is carrying.  I suppose I am overly curious.  There are very few people who don't interest me.  It doesn't matter their race, gender, or nationality.  I'd like for the young college students to tell me how they are coping with school or family.  I'd like to know what I can say to the many people who seem so serious, as if my smile is an barrier to their achieving a goal for the day.  I'd like the grocery check-out clerk to know I see an interesting person.

I used to regularly see a man of indeterminate age, probably late 50's, in a local fast-food restaurant.  He drove a beautifully restored antique automobile, dressed conservatively, and looked good.  He would read the paper wearing a pair of glasses that only had one temple piece, having to hold them up with one hand as he read.  I wanted to talk to him to discover the story of both the car and the glasses, but never did.  I haven't seen him for a few months now.

I suppose we live within our own circles, but it seems to me that enlarging the circles to include more people is an excellent way to improve quality of life for all of us.  Years ago, when I was still working, we often day traveled to a small town east of Raleigh.  There was a restaurant there that served good, inexpensive home cooked lunches and they were always crowded.  Their tables were large, seating ten to twelve people, and the custom was that you sat wherever there was room.  It was interesting.  There is something about eating next to a person that opens up conversation, and I got into several good ones there.  Maybe that's the answer to losing the label of strangers, maybe restaurants should have a section of large tables where people could eat with people unlike themselves.

Musing Randomly

Among the presents I received for my birthday were two books.  One, "The Mysterious Life of the Heart: Writing from The Sun About Passion, Longing, and Love" [2009, Edited by Sy Safransky, Tim McKee & Andrew Snee, The Sun Publishing Company] is 90 percent read.  I like most of the poetry and many of the stories and essays, but some don't appeal to me.  They have all appeared in the magazine over the years.

The editors have placed the phrase "A short story by..." for each short story, and "Poetry by..." before each author in the Table of Contents.  Essays just have the author's name.  I've been most impressed with the essays; some are very good.  I'm aware enough that even essays can be completely fiction, but I enjoy thinking of them as the writer's accurate expression of his or her self.

As I've read all of them, I try to note particular phrases and word use that I like, hoping to learn more of the craft of writing.  As the title says, the book is about many phases and forms of love.  In a couple of the stories, I could feel nothing for the narrator, whether in short story or essay.  But some really spoke to me, making me stop and consider my own life and love.

I'm not sure whether it is a function of The Sun itself, the character of the magazine and its publisher, Sy Safransky, but many of the stories and essays speak of drugs and drug use.  Sometimes it's as innocuous as marijuana, but in others it is much more.  It makes me wonder how prevalent some drugs are within the writing community. 

I know a writer who was afraid to take some depression medications because of fear that they would dull the creative instinct.  I don't know any artist or writer that admits to using a drug to heighten the creative spirit, but I think there are probably those too.

Perhaps because of when, where, how, and by whom I was raised, coupled with my military career, I have never used any illicit drug.  I was trained in the AF to recognize pot, but never tasted or used it.  I've never smoked, anything, legal or illegal.  And I'm not interested in beginning at the age of 70.  I did drink alcohol entirely too much, but that certainly never heightened my creative spirit, the opposite in fact.  But I do wonder whether there could have been a time when something could have put an edge on creativity and I'd have written more and better.

It seems so common in these short stories and essays that I wonder how prevalent it really is.  Of all writers, how many have experimented with some drug or another?  Is it possible the Sun sample is not representative?  Is there something about a writer's psyche that tends to lead toward experimentation?  And is that what makes them a writer, experimenting with thoughts, emotions, words, and scenes?

I really don't know, and am not sure I want to know.  My instinct tells me the Sun sample is skewed, but there is no way to tell. 

Left Handedness

I am left-handed.  Actually, I am closer to being ambidextrous than pure left handed.  It seems that anything done in an underhanded manner, golf, bowling, batting for instance, I do right handed.  For anything else, my left hand is dominant.  I write, throw, eat, and do most other everything left handed.  My right eye is my master eye, and I shoot both hand and shoulder weapons with my right hand.  I am also right footed, preferring to kick a ball with my right foot.

I know that hand preference is at least partially an inherited trait.  So, I was surprised this morning to read on my left handed calendar that one of the Dionne quints is left handed.  Today, May 28, is the 75th anniversary of their birth.  In following up on their story, I read several articles, and learned more about their life than I wanted to know. [Here, here, and here].  Information about their handedness doesn't seem to be in any of these, so I haven't been able to determine whether the calendar's assertion that Marie Dionne was left-handed is fact.

I Googled "genetic left-handedness" and read several articles.  This was my favorite.  Actually, it was the one I best understood.  Some others only had the abstract available with the full article behind a pay or subscription wall, and others were beyond my technical comprehension.

It seems from these that hand preference has a genetic characteristic.  Some are cultural.  I remember my mother telling me a story about my left-handedness.  My first grade teacher tried to have me become right handed.  My mother went straight to the principal and told him that if God made me left handed, they had no right to make me right handed.

Anecdotally, it seems to me that left handedness is becoming more prevalent.  Our last three Presidents are left handed.  I know several artists who are also, and it seems that many artists are.  I don't understand my particular combination of left and right handed, but it seems that isn't uncommon either.

I remain puzzled about one Dionne daughter being left handed.  They are identical quintuplets, and their genes should be identical.  Their culture and social pressure was the same, and yet one is left handed and four right, a percentage just above that of the population as a whole.

Reading articles and following links gave me something to do.  I learned a few things, and know that I need to learn more.  All in all, a productive morning.

Focus

Marrianna and I have both mentioned today that we feel as if we are at "loose ends", without purpose, drifting along without a destination.  We think it's because we have been so busy planning the party, and now that it is over we've lost focus.

This evening, trying to decide upon a subject for this blog entry, a loss of focus is very real.  Approaching an event, there's always a heightened sense of anticipation.  Carly Simon had a hit song "Anticipation" in 1971.  The lyrics are different from what I remembered, but the feeling of anticipation making me late, keeping me waiting is real enough.  The realization was great, and there is a slight letdown just knowing it's past.

Someone once told me that dogs don't have a sense of time, that when you leave them in the house to go shopping they have no sense of how long you will be gone.  Personally, I find that difficult to believe, but if it's true then are dogs able to anticipate?  Or, do they just live in the minute, sleeping on the floor, waiting?  Are they are equally happy when you return after ten minutes as ten hours?  Is that why it doesn't help to tell the dog that he will get his walk immediately after the evening news is over, he just keeps nagging to go out.

The birthday party anticipation is over.  Anticipating the next Supreme Court Justice nomination is, similarly, over.  The post-party blahs are slow, blurry, and comfortable.  The post-nomination frenzy has begun.  While Marrianna and I have temporarily lost focus, the politics will begin to focus on increasingly senseless points to attempt to discredit what, I believe, is a very fine, an excellent nominee.

Already in examining her qualifications, conservatives are murmuring silliness like this:

According to Hill reporter Alexander Bolton, "This has prompted some Republicans to muse privately about whether Sotomayor is suggesting that distinctive Puerto Rican cuisine such as patitas de cerdo con garbanzo -- pigs' tongue and ears -- would somehow, in some small way influence her verdicts from the bench."

 

By the way, patitas de cerdo con garbanzo, is pigs' feet with chick peas (a.k.a. garbanzo beans), according to TPM.  I've never eaten the Puerto Rican version, but I have certainly eaten both pigs' feet and garbanzo beans, and like them very much.

On the other hand, if that is the best, or worst, that Republicans can find to discredit Judge Sotomayor, then she is going to have an easy Senate confirmation.

As for me, I am looking forward to returning to a routine after the excitement of the birthday celebration.  Reading, writing, quilting, and family will bring, and be, focus.  There will be some changes as the summer progresses, but from the perspective of right now, they are likely going to be positive.  I'm getting back in the Anticipation mode.

One Helluva Celebration

I'm a full week into my eighth decade, the celebrations have ended, and the house is quiet.  But it was a fantastic week-end party. 

It all began last Wednesday, the actual day of my 70th birthday.  We went to a very nice restaurant in Chapel Hill, and enjoyed and indulged ourselves completely.

 

Friday daytime was consumed with last minute errands getting ready for the party to come.  Truthfully, Marrianna had done such a wonderful job of organization that there wasn't much to do but get some of the party supplies.

 

Two couples from out of town arrived late Friday afternoon.  They called from their hotel, and we arranged to meet at another restaurant for dinner.  We sat in the restaurant until almost closing time, talking and having a good time.

 

One of the couples were the folk we had driven to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan last July to help him celebrate his 69th birthday.  It was just good fun talking with them.  They flew here rather than drive because he had knee surgery two weeks ago.  It's an honor that he felt he could come at all with surgery so recently.

 

Saturday morning we set the party venue up.  Marrianna had reserved the "Gathering Place", which is a meeting house for Fearrington Village, and we set up tables and chairs and put up some decorations.  Then I showered and napped so that I'd be ready for the evening.  At just after five we were back at the Gathering Place.  The disk jockey and caterer showed up and got ready for the fun to start.

 

People began to arrive just before 6:00 PM and by the time everyone got there we had just over 90 people.  We had a wonderful time.  There were a few surprises, and I'll get to them.  I was too busy enjoying the people to take many photos of my own, but people are emailing me photos they took.  The food was really good, the music was just right for this crowd of mostly older folk, and we all had a really good time.  That isn't just my opinion; everyone I've talked to since has told me how much they enjoyed it, how relaxed and fun it was, and how good the food and disk jockey were.

 

My Fearrington Village Quilters provided the major surprise of the evening.  They had made a beautiful wall hanging quilt for me, and the husband of one of them had written a very nice poem to go with it.  The top photo was taken of these wonderful ladies presenting the quilt.   It is absolutely beautiful, and I damn near cried that they would do something like that.

 

We had contracted with the disk jockey to play until 11:00, but by about 10:30 most folk had departed.  A few helped us take the tables down and put the chairs up.  Marrianna and I were home and asleep before 11:30.  I suppose us old folk can't party like we could a few years ago.

 

Sunday morning about 10:00 AM all the folk who had come from out of town came to our house for a brunch.  Some stayed most of the day, our best friends from Maryland until 10:00 PM.  It was a continuation of the party, and great fun.

 

Monday morning my quilt group met.  I took their quilt with me and they gave me some additional background on how they each made a block for it.

 

That was the weekend, a three day party that will be a part of me for a long, long time.  It's humbling to realize that more than 90 people were here, and more sent very, very nice cards, gifts, and messages.  I love you all. 

I haven't done anything at all today, and am as tired as if I had worked eight hours.  Marrianna tells me that its an emotional letdown after so many days of events.

Beginning The Eighth Decade

Yesterday was very nice.  More than very nice, it was fun, fulfilling, even relaxing.  As birthdays go, this was among my most memorable days.  And when I consider that the real celebration is coming Saturday, the birthday event becomes a four or five day celebration.  It truly makes me feel grateful that so many people are joining us for the celebration.

This morning, however, Anastasia, our daughter, put a different cast to the glow of celebrating.  With a slight grin, she asked me how my eighth decade was going so far.  The question brought me up short.  I had thought more of ending my seventh decade than beginning the eighth.  But, one day into my eighth, I can say that, so far, it is doing well.  It has possibilities of becoming my best decade.

Last evening we went out to dinner at what I consider the absolute best restaurant in Chapel Hill, Elaine's On Franklin.  If any reader is ever in Chapel Hill, do yourself a favor and eat there.  They take care of their customers.  Marrianna always gets personalized service because of her allergies. Last night, I got my very own menu with 70th birthday congrats on top.  The food was, as always, superb.

As we were talking, somehow the subject of driver's license came up.  I looked at my license, and sure enough, it expired at midnight last night.  This morning, against the warning of my wife, I drove to the DMV License office.  She wanted me to have someone drive me, but I felt reasonably positive that even though technically I was driving without a valid license, there wouldn't be a fine or other problem.  I was, of course, correct.  For $20, I now have a renewed license, one that expires on my 75th birthday.  For some reason, 2014 seems so far away, but if time slips by as fast as the past five have, I'll be late renewing it then also.  Note: the "of course" above is meant with a grin, because I really wasn't as positive as this sounds.

Marrianna has bought a T-shirt that takes a humorous look at at aging.  Its front reads:

Old Fart's Daily Agenda

Get Up
Eat
Take My Pills
Bitch and Moan
Take My Nap
Eat
Take My Other Pills
Crab and Complain
Take My Other Nap
Eat
Go To Bed

This is definitely NOT how I intend my eighth, or if I'm fortunate enough, ninth or tenth decades to be.  I'm hoping that activity such as blogging, reading, and exercise will keep me this agenda away from me, though I sure do enjoy a good nap.  That has nothing to do with number of decades though.  That is in my soul.  Usually, one a day will suffice.  I recommend them.

Seventy

Tomorrow, May 20th, I will turn seventy.  I'm going to use that as excuse for writing about memory this evening because with every thing that's likely to be occurring tomorrow I may not have time to write.

Seventy isn't such a momentous birthday as it might have once been, but for me it seems a major milestone.  As I gaze around me, it's easy to see that my life has been very good.  I am in reasonably good health, have a very good family and friends, and a financial security that I never expected to have; neither rich nor extravagant, but certainly comfortable.

I seldom look back, but when I do I wonder how I got here.  What did I do, as opposed to some close family members, that got me here.  Answer: I have no reasonable idea.  I don't believe in luck, but I've sure been lucky.  It isn't hard work either, or at least not enough of it to account for much of anything.

Memory is fickle, and what I remember isn't necessarily what was.  Usually, what I remember is people, those who formed me and those with whom life has been lived.  It seems to me that when memories are filled with people rather than places or events, you've probably been more fortunate than most, and I have.

Many of those people will never know that I think of them regularly.  Some will gather around this next Saturday in a good celebration.  Some I only know through the magic of this medium.  But, all are valuable to me, and I consider it a personal pleasure to have had them a part of this life, and am very grateful that they have allowed me to be a part of theirs.  Thanks to you all.

Sunday

As I said I would last night, I went to church this morning.  Marrianna had too many things going on for her to go, so I went alone.  I am glad I did.  The music was especially good, and the sermon did what good sermons are supposed to do, make me think.

There was a visitor attending this morning, three actually.  As is my habit, I was standing in the narthex watching people arrive.  Two ladies came in and were greeted.  One said that they were waiting for her brother who was parking their car.  She said that they had been raised in this church but hadn't been in it for over thirty years.  Her brother was now a retired Presbyterian minister.  They were visiting other family in Raleigh and came over to Chapel Hill for the service.

Later, I got a chance to briefly speak with the retired pastor.  He had served most of his life in Virginia.  He told me he had been raised in Chapel Hill and the family had attended this sanctuary, but had not been in it since before seminary in 1965.  His voice choked as if he was near tears.

I learned something more of him simply by listening after the service.  I was just in front of them as the sanctuary emptied, and the line was slow.  Someone mentioned that fact, and the retired pastor said that he would always let the people pile up, let them be slow, because if people wanted to talk to him after a service he needed to hear it.  I liked that, because that's essentially what Bob does.

I'm +very glad that I was there this morning.  I feel that I was where I was supposed to be.  Driving to church I passed several other churches, including the (mostly) black Baptist church. 

I thought very seriously about stopping there and attending their service.  Someone has said that Sunday mornings is when the US is most segregated.  I I know that some white churches say "We want to be more diverse.  What can we do to attract blacks and other minorities to our congregation?"  They are asking the wrong question it seems to me.  Black churches' doors are as open as while ones.  Why don't white people make an effort to attend black churches?  It seems to me many congregations desire diversity, but want it to come to them.  Maybe there's a reason for the segregated churches - no one wants to make it work.

I certainly didn't do anything toward diversity today.  Maybe next time.

More Scattered Saturday Evening Thoughts

President Obama has nominated Utah Governor Jon Huntsman Jr. to be Ambassador to China.    From everything I read, this is an excellent choice, and I was certainly impressed with the very brief news of him accepting the appointment.  Here's the bit the TV news showed.

“When the president of the United States asks you to step up and serve in a capacity like this, that to me is the end of the conversation and the beginning of the obligation to rise to the challenge, ...”

This is one of the very few Republicans who, in my opinion, know the difference between statesmanship and partisanship.  Admittedly, there aren't a lot of Democrats who know either.  President Obama certainly seems to be among those who do.

We all watched the Preakness this evening.  I thought it was a wonderful race, and the filly Rachel Alexandra showed that she can beat the boys with no problem.  If I had to guess though, she may have more problems winning the Belmont.  It's longer, and unless she runs her very best, there may be time for the stallions to catch her.

For much of this afternoon I was reading an old issue of Parabola.  As I said May 4th, writing about the "Water" issue, I've dropped my subscription.  Today, I was browsing through the Summer, 2008 issue, with its central theme of "God".  I had pulled it from my shelves May 4th to verify that the subtitle of Parabola had really changed, and never replaced it.  I read several of the articles, and thought of how I've approached this subject several times over years. 

The articles approached the subject from different perspectives.  The first, "the Godding Process" by David A. Cooper, wrote from the perspective of a kabbalistic understanding of Creation, the Zohar.

"The Zohar teaches for all to see that the initial Hebrew words of the Bible, Bereshit bara Elohim, have in fact, two contradictory translations.  One way... is to treat the word Elohim, ... as the subject of the sentence, thus rendering the translation as the familiar phrase: "In the beginning, God created ..."

The other grammatically correct way to translate these words, however, is to treat Elohim as an object, thus rendering the translation: "In the beginning ____ created God ..."  The blank in the sentence has an assumed "It, which compels us to read the opening "In the beginning, [It] created God, heaven and earth."

Another article, God In Love, by Diane Wolkstein, is a Jewish midrash. A midrash is a story, passed down through generations.  According to midrash, whenever God manifests on earth, God takes on the feminine aspects of the Shechinah.  In Hebrew, Shechinah means "to dwell".  I found this version interesting because Christianity so seldom recognizes the feminine aspects of God.

I'll be going to church in the morning and for me it will be a meaningful time.  I don't have to understand, or even to believe in, the rituals, but for me there is a reverence that quiets my mind.  Occasionally I wish I understood, but usually simply knowing that it quiets me is sufficient.

My study is a mess.  Truthfully, it should embarrass me with stacks here and there, printouts of articles and stuff i want to keep, dust -- it's just messy.  By the middle of next week, I need to get it clean and neat because there are going to be several visitors in town for the birthday celebration at the end of the week.

Whenever I begin a large project, I usually start by clearing the desk and area around it.  As i work, papers get stacked haphazardly, books get pulled out and not replaced, and the whole place becomes cluttered.  Marrianna is always pushing me to clean it, and I have let it slip entirely too long.  So , the project for next week is going to be clean the study.  I figure if I write it here the pressure to do it will be greater.

Speaking of the birthday celebration, this is beginning to sound like it's going to be real fun.  Marrianna tells me that over 80 people have replied that they will be at the party.  There is some level of secrecy because she wont give me a list or tell me who is coming.  Of course I know most, but there are a few that I have no idea about.

This has wandered from subject to banality too long.  It's time to close.

Conserving and The Blog

For various reasons I am considering changing the home of the blog.  Typepad, the current home, has been good to me, and I've liked their product.  However, Typepad isn't free, and while it is powerful, many of its features don't interest me.  And, it has one drawback.  Whenever I write something in Word and copy it into the blog, any place I have place names, such as Chapel Hill, North Carolina, it gets transposed as (copied from a Word document):

This is a test of using place names, like

Chapel Hill

,

North Carolina

.

Most frustrating about this is that it copies in correctly and it isn't until you actually post or preview that the change occurs.  This is frustrating to me because I would like to be able to write some blog posts outside of Typepad.  But, it hasn't been important enough to change either, so I guess it isn't, or hasn't been, a deal breaker.  Maybe it is time that it is.

I visited Blogger and Wordpress this evening.  They are the hosts of three separate blogs I read regularly.  Wordpress seems to have features very similar to Typepad, and their intro page tells me I can import the blog posts from Typepad into Wordpress.

The most important advantage of both these hosts is that they are free.  While Typepad isn't expensive, there is a small monthly fee.  This is a time that we are considering every subscription renewal and cost that we can.

Just now, I am only thinking of switching.  Any input would be appreciated.