Flux

I used to sleep so well and heal so fast,
and what was then I thought would still be now,
for I’m as much myself as I was last
December 31st. I don’t know how
the hour hand that I cannot see move
yet circumscribes the dial twice a day.
Perceptions miss what new positions prove,
and noting nothing doesn’t make it stay.

The farmer’s son may daily lift a calf
and reason that in time he’ll hoist the bull
that calf will be, but ere the creature’s half-
way to mature, the boy can no more pull
him up than I can see a flower grow,
or calibrate in me the change I know.

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School Films

Most of the movies we were shown in school were not good. Film strips reminded me of ViewMaster experiences, and the reels we screened were in general shot by mediocre camera people and narrated by patronizing voices.

That’s not to say the screenings weren’t memorable. There was something about the turning off of classroom lights that we all found a little exciting, at least compared to the usual environment. And the lucky student who got to run the projector, threading the shiny film around the pinball-like pegs until it caught and self-fed, stopping the machine in a hurry on those occasions when something stuck or snarled or burned or tore: that was a job we all wanted.

And some of the school movies were excellent. Leave it to Walt Disney …

I’m sure I’m not alone in remembering the Disney demonstration of nuclear fission. It took place on a billiard table I think. The surface was covered with mousetraps, and each trap was set with a pingpong ball atop it, when the unseen hand dropped a triggering ball into the system.

And that unseen hand! I get a little thrill even now, remembering how delighted I was when that hand wielded a magic pencil or paintbrush that created illustrations as it swept the screen.

Or what about Mr. Hemo? I loved the Disney film that explained the body as narrated by the blood.

I saw one memorable movie in school that was not created by the Disney studios. They made us watch it in Driver Ed class, and it was as amateur as any other driving class movie. But it was so simple and true that it was compelling.

It was called “Courtesy is Contagious.” It showed people doing regular everyday things around other people, and being polite. They weren’t just refraining from rudeness; they were actively courteous: smiling at passing strangers, holding the door for the person behind, reaching forward with attentive or helpful body language. And of course you saw, when a person experienced the politeness of the held-open door, that person turn, in turn, to see if someone was following for whom the door could still be held.

It was stunningly true. The movie didn’t point out how contagious rudeness is, too. It didn’t need to.

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Prejudice and Discrimination

9.8.08
Talk about a couple of negative words! The nouns in today’s title suggest unfairness, bigotry, racism even. It wasn’t always that way. It isn’t always that way now.

Awhile ago I got sued. It wasn’t fair, but the wheels of the legal system rotate slowly, so it was two years and tens of thousands of dollars before it went away.

The complaint against me and my business was “dismissed with prejudice.” I remember liking the first word but stumbling over the last. Until my lawyer/friend/client explained it to me. “That means old Ed can never bring the case again,” Bruce said. “It’s been judged already, and found wanting.”

Whoa, I remember thinking: cool.

As for discrimination, it isn’t always followed by the word “against.” In fact, discrimination means the ability to make fine distinctions. Dis is from the Latin for “apart,” and crimen meant “verdict.” (Crimen is also “accusation,” from which we get “crime,” all from cernere, which hailed from the Greek krinein: to decide, judge).

So prejudice and discrimination are both about judging – the first beforehand and the second between – and it would be nice, precisely nice, to continue the possibility of using them in the neutral or positive sense.

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Oyster

A trespasser insinuates its grit
through corrugated portals. So it’s gone
and ever will; the sand is infinite
as insects, inexorable as dawn.
The host is irritated and reacts
by isolating, coating, adding size
until that laminate through cataracts
of antibodies grows into a prize.

I would you take the oyster for a guide,
and imitate its wisdom. Awesome pain
invades you now. Attend it well, and curl
your soul about the irritant inside.
Arrange a buffer round its rough terrain,
apply yourself to it and build a pearl.

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Tigridia

The metal railing warm against my hand
where sunlight silvers it, and striping cool
beneath the shade, I fully understand:
Such education doesn’t need a school.

The turn of leaves of birch upon the breeze,
that captures green as sequins prison light,
is vision comprehensible with ease:
I don’t need words from me to see it right.

But yesterday, the garden featured two
that looked like nothing else and lived one day:
A pair with scarlet spots on lemon hue,
that opened butter soft, in an array
of layered satin petals, three on one,
that blazed and then expired, with the sun.

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The Hanukah Bush

The year after the Hanukah tour it was relatively easy to prevail with Christmas-like concepts. I’m not sure my arguments were necessary but I voiced them anyway.

First I suggested to Mom that we save the presents for one day instead of spreading them out over eight. Same number of gifts either way, I stated, but when they’re doled out one-a-day we have time to weary of yesterday’s by the time today comes; if we got to open all eight at once, we’d enjoy that distracting abundance so prevalent in US culture. Mom smiled and had me repeat my words to Dad. They both nodded in serious consideration.

Then I lobbied for morning instead of evening as opening time. After all, I declared, there’s so little time to enjoy the goods when you don’t open them still sunset and have to immediately interrupt play for dinner. Wouldn’t it be more fun to have a full day ahead in which to enjoy new stuff?

They both indicated agreement with that too.

So I brought it all home. I said if we were going to do eight gifts at once, on the last weekend day of Hanukah, and if we were going to open them all in the morning instead of at night, wouldn’t it be nice to have some season-appropriate symbol about which to set and discover and unwrap the packages? And wouldn’t a small fragrant decorated evergreen tree suit that purpose well? I knew places where such trees were readily available …

To tell the truth, I was surprised when they went for it.

The tree was more of a bush: about three feet tall and somewhat sparse. Mom only permitted Israel-blue decorations on it (and silver – but no tinsel). Mom experienced some obvious discomfort about the bush; she was obsessive about picking up individual fallen needles, and she often mumbled “never again.”

I have a dim memory of opening many gifts on a morning, near that bush, but I don’t recall the occasion as particularly satisfying.

As far as any of us could tell, there were no adverse consequences. Our house wasn’t cursed and our family stayed well. But we never did Hanukah like that again.

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New Words

9.8.08
I learned things a month ago. Learning is almost always good, and it was appropriate, since I was at a continuing ed conference. But it wasn’t expected.

I may have been present for the birth of two word variations. They were new to me anyway. For the first time I heard “recordkeep,” and it was a transitive verb. For the first time I took in “overcomeable,” and it was a legal concept.

I’m in the business of record-keeping, so long now that I’ve seen it lose that hyphen, but I didn’t know it had moved out of noun/adjective country until last month. More than once I heard a phrase like “We have to figure out how to recordkeep that.”

As for the other new word, I’m not sure if it should be spelled “overcomeable” or “overcomable” or even “overcomible,” but it’s clearly the legal condition of surmounting/defeating a position. I’m just not sure why it needed coinage.

Hearing the new words was a bit like being in on the discovery of a new star. Or maybe not. Maybe these words are already popular, and I just don’t get out enough.

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Dim

I always thought that as I added years
in life and lumps in limbs and folds in face,
so I would increase wisdom too, and fears
would fade and patience grow and I’d learn grace.
Then anger wouldn’t rule my heart (I thought),
and hurt would be reserved for awful woe,
but otherwise I wouldn’t see me caught
exasperated, insecure, this low.

Now here I stand past middle life, I guess,
approaching old, familiar with my past,
yet fretting why my mood is such a mess,
and wishing just one hold on health would last.
It’s obvious that I don’t have it yet:
Perhaps we’re all born wise and then forget.

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The Hanukah Tour

I remember a year in Chula Vista when Hanukah came so late it ran well past Christmas. On the garbage pickup day that followed December 25th, our neighborhood put out decorative trash. There were clumps of colorful giftwrap, snarls of shining ribbons, garlands and wreaths and some trees with trimmings.

I’d never been satisfied with my parents’ degree of decoration. It was all connected to being Jewish, I figured: we seemed motivated to appear non-ostentatious, non-nouveau, and non-assimilating.

I gathered my brothers and we toured the sidewalks. We collected greenery and color and a fair amount of angel hair and tinsel. This was when tinsel was still made of metal foil instead of silver plastic; it had a crinkliness to it, and it didn’t stick to everything like packing pellets.

We took the trash home and decorated my room. We arrayed the angel hair and tree boughs along my furniture tops, and we nestled the color objects among them. Finally we pulled our parents in for a flashlight tour. I think we even charged admission.

As I recall, Mom and Dad tried to appear impressed. They didn’t punish us, although I’m sure I remember some remarks from Mom about pine needles, and some cautions from Dad about the dirty fiberglass. They toured and smiled and praised, and I think we had my room cleaned out in time for that same garbage pickup.

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Advice Revised

My father tried his best and didn’t fail
at parenthood. He listened and advised,
took time for us and pointed out a trail
for us, and told us lessons he devised.
He missed a trick or two he should have caught,
but then he didn’t have the dad we do.
With him as his own guide he would have taught
him this, and later he would teach us, too:

“Of followers and leaders neither be,
but go your own unique and righteous way.
The vanguard ever lacks its privacy;
the herd knows only boredom and dismay.
I used to say you lead or take the rear,
but now I understand a sideways veer.”

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