Mortality

It has been a crazy couple of weeks for a 51 year old American. The idols of my formative years are dropping like flies. Even people my own age are dying. It really makes you take stock.

I grew up in the 60's and 70's. I watched a kid my age become a pop star (Michael Jackson). I watched a beautiful girl from south Texas (only 11 years older than me) become a sex symbol and actress (Farrah Fawcett). These people were my age and probably kept me thinking about the things I do with my life. They accomplished a lot in their lives and I was striving to hit the goals that I had set for myself.

I also grew up watching Johnny Carson and because of that I was exposed to Ed McMahon and Fred Travalena. I also saw Fred Travalena when I lived in Lake Tahoe in the late 70's, early 80's. And I guess, from watching late night television I was also exposed to Gale Storm and, more recently, Billy Mays.

So, the past couple of weeks have affected me in that I must now look at my own mortality. I have always known that life is temporary. I believe we all do. It is the perception of younger people that the expanse of years are all ahead of us. But as we age we learn the truth. Time is fleeting. We learn to make the best of our time. We chose our activities and do not waste our chances.

When I was a teenager my girlfriend was all gaga over the teen idols. She followed Michael Jackson and all of the other heartthrobs. I, and my friends, heard all about these guys. Consequentially, we did not follow them. We hated references to them. We did not like them. We were jealous of them. Fine. My music choices and likes were far different than hers. I had knowledge of MJ and I had followed his career. How could you not? He was in all the papers.

My brother had a Farrah Fawcett poster on the wall of his bedroom. I saw the first episode of "Charlie's Angels". I was not impressed with the story. But I enjoyed looking at the angels. Hey, I was 15/16 years old, who wouldn't?

And now, 35 years later, we are met with the news that three pop culture icons from our youth have passed away. This certainly gives you pause for thought. One of these icons was the same age as me. (Well, two - Billy Mays and Michael Jackson you could consider roughly the same age.) One can't help but be affected by that.

Take care of yourselves. Be healthy, be happy, be good, be safe.

D.

Items From My Desk...

This from several years ago:

While driving the other day, my wife and I spotted a sign for an upcoming meeting.

"A thimble club?" my wife asked.

And I deadpanned, "Sew."

"Long As I Can See The Light" by John Fogerty

That song is still one of my favorites. I think it is beautifully written and tells a great story about the endurance of love; the flame burning bright until the lovers return. This particular John Fogerty song came on my iPod today at work. I was trying to work and had to drown out some background noise (blathering of co-workers). I find that this song relaxes me. I am overcome at times by the inherent spirituality in the song. I find it supremely satisfying.

Now most of my readers know me as a poet and the above John Fogerty song inspired me. I was lulled into some thoughtfulness for a moment. John Fogerty was immediately followed by Greg Brown's "The Poet Game". This is a haunting song about the regret over lost loves, lost friends. I have lived 51 years on this earth and I suffer the regret of lost lovers and friends. It is a fact of life that we cannot change. Indeed, it is probably that regret that has made me the poet that I am. And, yes, I play "The Poet Game". I believe all, no most, poets do.

The game is that love affair with regret and loss. They can, regret and loss, become our muses. We tend to cherish those memories that got away. We hang on to them. We can't forget. We know what they could have been but we can't let them go. They become the regrets of our lives. They become our sadness. The friendships we lose. The loves lost. The regrets...

These songs then become my soundtrack for my thoughts. And all of this reminded me of a quote I read in a magazine while flying to a business trip ten years ago. I remember the article. It mentioned a book -- "Songlines", by Bruce Chatwin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruce_Chatwin &

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Songlines). Chatwin's premise was that language began with song. Interesting theory. I can certainly see song as an expression of love. The theory kind of makes sense. This certainly plays into my instincts as a poet. My poems are songlike. My poems are sometimes the narrative of my emotional life. My "Songlines" if you will. When I am happy I sing. When I am sad, I write poetry.

My wife says my poetry is sad. Perhaps. But I will leave you with this poem from A.E. Housman:

They say my verse is sad: no wonder.
Its narrow measure spans
Rue for eternity, and sorrow
Not mine, but man's.

This is for all ill-treated fellows
Unborn and unbegot,
For them to read when they're in trouble
And I am not.

Speaking of Hurricanes...

Yes, another hurricane story. Growing up in New Orleans, hurricane country. Yep, I got hurricane stories.

Camille, 1969. 190 mph winds, 25 foot storm surge and a pressure of 26.84 inches. Incredible. The bad thing is that 225 people lost their lives and 50 to 75 were never found.

I remember Camille. It was my mom's birthday, August 17th. We have pictures of our dinner party in the family room. The patio window is boarded up. We were having cake. It was fun. We had the map on the wall where we tracked the hurricane's progress. That was the smart thing to do. Track the hurricane. We were new in New Orleans, having arrived in February from Buffalo, NY. We had no place to evacuate to.

We spent the night in the living room, sleeping on the floor in our sleeping bags. Shortly after dark, the wind started blowing. Later in the evening my older brother and sister went with my dad upstairs. My dad wanted to check on the windows. Screens and tiles were blowing around on the street outside. My dad wanted to know which of our screens were gone. My brother and sister came downstairs and said the house was moving with the wind. They said I should go and check it out. I didn't want to.

I was a quiet, shy, 11 year old kid. Feeling my house move in a storm was not a feeling I really wanted to experience with all the rain and wind blowing around outside. It was a fear that I really didn't want to know. I had too much fear going on already that night. Didn't need anymore. But we all went to sleep later and woke up safe and sound.

My friend and I hopped on our bikes the next morning to inspect the damage to the neighborhood. All we saw were blown down fences, shingles in the street, and broken trees. We got off lucky. We survived. 50 miles to the east 255 people lost their lives. We had friends who lived in the area of most destruction. They had eight feet of water in their house. We helped them clean up after the hurricane.

I remember Camille. More info here - http://www.geocities.com/hurricanene/hurricanecamille.htm.

D.

Carmen

I remembered this story today. I think it was Carmen. Hurricane Carmen, 1977 . I was an 18 year old kid sent to fill up the family cars prior to the big wind. Carmen was headed straight to New Orleans, much like Katrina did a few years ago. The city was bracing itself for a big storm. My chore was to make sure all the cars were gassed up. I had one left.

The convenience store/gas station was packed.

I paid for the gas and went to the gas pumps to fill up the car with gas in the blowing rain. I put the nozzle in the tank of the car. Pulled the handle. Nothing.

Rain coming down. Wind blowing. I had a rain coat on, of course. But the wind blew the rain in. I had no hat.

I tried the handle again. Nothing.

I was cold, wet and angry. I went into the store, stood at the entrance and yelled at the top of my lungs to the clerk, who was extremely busy. "TURN THE GAS PUMP ON." As soon as he looked at me, sopping wet, he realized he forgot. I went to pump my gas. I am sure that everyone in the store had a good laugh at the sad sack, shy kid standing there waiting for his gas.
D.

Air and Water (based on a true story)

The Diver

Water and air.
Water of life.
He entered the water with air on his back
To explore the unexplored. Cheating death.
By breathing.
He loved the quiet, the solitude, the peace.

He found a kelp forest, dancing with the waves.
The choreography enthralled him and he swam in
To join the dance.
The joy of unity overwhelmed him.
The kelp reached out
For their new member.
He became one with the sea…entangled.

The Pilot

Air and water.
Air, the unseen giver of life. Essential from a baby’s first pat.
He entered the air surrounded by machine.
His soaring gave him power and strength over gravity.
He flew for the solitude, the peace.

He saw the beauty, every time he flew.
He loved taking off over the ocean. From this height he could
See the fish and the kelp and the color of the water.
This night he flew he glanced down at the water below.

What was the glowing light?
He looked…dot…dot…dot…dash…dash…dash
Dot…dot…dot….
This can’t be good… he called it in.
And flew circles until the harbor patrol arrived.

Two men seeking solitude in their own way.
That day air and water came together.
Joined forever in a life.

The diver who escaped for solitude,
Now forever joined.
With the Pilot
Who saved his life.


D.
C. 2007, David R. Normand.

Signs

The last few days I have spent pondering, really pondering, my future as a blogger, as a writer. I have been looking at all things. I have found several signs. My blog of June 9, 2009 set the tone
(http://ponderingdave.blogspot.com/2009/06/pressure.html). What does my future hold? I am still pondering. And today, during my lunch break reading, I come across a little advice from one of my favorite columnists (Jay Nordlinger of National Review).

People have always asked him, "What can I do to break into journalism?" Jay's advice can be found here ( http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=NjczMjc3OTM2MzI1YWQ5MzMxMjMzYTViM2ZiOWQwMzg=).

Jay told his readers, "... And let me suggest that you find topics off the beaten path: topics that have not been trodden by hundreds of others. Maybe something that only you can write about. Maybe something that you have noticed, uniquely, or quasi-uniquely...Do you have some quirky area of expertise?....Cast your net as wide as possible: Seek out every publication, every editor, every contact. Work for free or for pay, it matters not, at first. Do some blogging on your own, or some other self-publishing."

Wow. Thanks Jay. I have been following your advice even before you gave it. I am on my way.

D.

PS: Just my luck. I decide to become a journalist and columnist just when almost all of the newspapers in the country are starting to, or thinking about, cutting back or go under. Just when I decide to do something, that something goes away. Maybe I shouldn't invest in the stock market.

Pressure

The intention of this blog has been, for me, to write some interesting insights (ponderings) into everyday life. I hope that I have come close to offering some insight. I know that, at times, I just write about nothing, just to give you something to read. I have felt bad about that. But I do not want my readers to think that I have forgotten this blog. The idea behind this blog has been an exercise to make me a better writer and also to train myself to write more often.

This past week I have felt bad about my lack of effort. And today I was reading my favorite magazine and website at lunch time. I came across a bit of second hand advice from one of my intellectual heroes. It spoke right to my mood this past week.

My hero was William F. Buckley. When I was in college (the first time), I was taking history and English courses. I wanted to become an intellectual. I wanted to understand our society. I subscribed to several magazines from across the political spectrum, left to right. I did this for several years and at the end of my college career the only magazine that stuck was Buckley's National Review. I am still a subscriber even today. Buckley was one of the smartest men in America. He stood for the individual, freedom, self-determination, and personal liberty and responsibility.

WFB died last year. And today, his friend, Rick Brookhiser, was interviewed about his new book
http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=YmVhYzk5NGQ4ZjgwYmE1YWVkZWNhZGFhNjE5ZjBlMzE=#more) on Buckley. One of the editors at National Review interviewed Mr. Brookhiser and asked him what Buckley taught him about writing.

"Swing for the fences. Why not? We don’t remember the cautious because we never read them in the first place."

So here I am. Laying out my dreams, desires and aspirations. For that quote to come to me in a week where I am having doubts about what I am doing, it just amazes me. I truly believe that there is a force out there; I believe that someone is looking out for me. And I shall strive to "swing for the fences" in this effort. Please don't forget about me and I will try not to forget about you. I will try to post often enough to keep you interested.

D.