I-Thou

 That word, Thou, traveled a long way in my head from another four-letter word with three of the same letters, namely Thug. But enough about his nothingness.

Martin Buber’s 1923 book, I and Thou, sums up what has vanished during these times that try men's souls. The I / Thou relationship elaborated by Buber describes a meeting of intimacy of subject with subject. That word, Thou, takes on a sacred meaning not necessarily in a theological sense, at least in my mind, but in reference to what is in the process of fully tending to the other, the soulfulness of human beings. The Other could be someone close or even a brief encounter with a stranger. It could even be a work of art, a tree or the still-life of a breakfast table … which we relate to in the full presence of our being.

When two people are met there is a third entity born, they have a thing. An alignment, a tacit knowing between them beyond words, a human bond however transient or enduring it may be. When it's there you know it and when it is violated you know that too as when a thug lives on flattery and fealty. When he distances, with insults and ridicule, any who do not bend to his will. 

Let it begin with me, as the song goes. This is what I see as a consciousness with which to go forward. To a certain extent we really are the world, not as it is but as we can repair and remake it. 

If we lived in Gaza or Kiev, daily life would insinuate itself as a matter of survival. By virtue of the cosmic crapshoot which landed us a continent away with an ocean between,

we have only to deal with this assault on decency and dissent. No small thing but not quite existential. 

Life gives us moments, as the poet says, and from these moments we make a life. Many such moments are lost to us in the shadow of perceived walls. More I-Thou ways of being can be perforations of light to get us through the next four years. 

 

1688

If I said to you, 1688, would you immediately think of:

1- The number of cheeseburgers sold in the first hour by a new McDonald's in Beijing?
2- The number of lies a certain candidate has told in his political career.

3- The price of Smirnoff's Vodka at Costco marked down from $20?

Let's not always see the same hands. For all I know, they're all true but I'm thinking of the year when the Dutch invaded England with 400 ships including a new King and Queen and 20,000 of their closest friends. Strong winds sped their journey across the Channel while the British fleet was stuck in the Thames estuary by that same gust. William & Mary deposed James II and that ended the Papist rule in England forever.

One of the first defectors from James to Willliam was John Churchill, great grandfather of Winston. The Churchills have always had a nose for the next best thing.

The Brits don't like to talk about it; in fact, they spin the whole takeover as The Glorious Revolution. To be sure the new monarchs were welcomed by some but not all. Europe has always been noted for disgruntled monarchs eager to have the multitudes give their lives to settle family squabbles

William of Orange brought significant changes into Britain. No, he did not bring orange juice. He invigorated the parliamentary system, initiated new finances (stock market), made innovations in horticulture, science, the arts and philosophy. The reign of William and Mary triggered the Age of Enlightenment which led to our Democracy,

now hanging by a thread.

A case could be made that governments then (as now) are instruments of corporate interests. The British East India Co. swapped with the Dutch East India Co. In one of the great swindles of history the Dutch traded Manhattan for Suriname in South America. This was worse than the trade which brough Babe Ruth from Boston to the Yankees.

Among the club of West European imperialists (Spain, Portugal, France and England), Holland did the least nibbling at the Americas. Their time came and went yet it was not without a trace.

There are currently five million Americans at least partially descended from the Netherlands. They bequeathed to us some heavy hitters including five presidents, Van Buren, the two Roosevelts and the two Bushes. Also of Dutch descent were Walt Whitman, Thomas Edison, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Walter Cronkite, Marlon Brando and Meryl Streep. And let us not forget Old Dutch Cleanser.

We have also kept some of their place names like Brooklyn (Breukelen), Coney Island, Harlem, Staten Island, Schenectady and give my regards to Broadway (Breedeweg).

Look how much more you know now than you did five minutes ago. No need to thank me, just pass a slice of Dutch apple pie and a Heineken.

Words, Those Squishy Things

Yes, I do love words, and I couldn’t have said that without them. I love their sound, their layers of meaning and the long journey they’ve undertaken to get here. One has to admire their elasticity, how they can stretch, bend and bounce. There is nothing more organic, rising into usage from someone’s mouth into the common tongue if it has the legs for it.

I just read an article about a sports team described as exceedingly mediocre. That was worth a sudden smile. Give me an oxymoron and I’m happy. One of my favorites is Dark White. but the most famous is probably from the Bard whose Juliet parted with such sweet sorrow.

This got me thinking about possible names for an ice cream flavor, Transcendental Fudge or Existential Sludge or MAGA Mud. Get Ben and Jerry on line one.

Words of endearment have a life of their own, uttered from some undisclosed location. Peggy and I had so many I can't remember any time we called each other by our given names.

I had names for my three daughters when they were mere tater tots. They are my aviary having each taken flight. Shari, my first-born, was Peanut Annie. Now, the strokes in her paintings move with a kinetic grace, a quiet ferocity.

Janice, my tiny one, now sixty-two, was Chester Apple. As a deaf person she knows the walls of this world and how to climb them. She orchestrates her life through fathoms of silence with fingers like a Dudamel butterfly.

Lauren had to live with Brewster Gazelle. She, in turn, dubbed me Chief Big Toe or Fatheringham. Consigned as she is to the middle of the muddle, she has grown elongated wing spans reaching from porcupine meatballs to Venus in transit.

Those names of endearment were all scrupulously deliberated blurts that somehow stuck, at least in my memory vault.

I must have heard a sort of music or cadence in the syllables of Brewster Gazelle which later morphed to Brewster Gazelleshaft. Maybe I was influenced by the German term Gesellschaft but meaning has little to do with all this. Otherwise, I would have chosen Gemeinshaft. Look it up if you want to impress someone at a cocktail party.

Probably the best string of meaningless words is Fuckingbastardsonofabitch uttered by me only once in my life in a slapping, scratching, punching fight I had with Peter Dalebrook at age 12, I would guess. It was my first and last physical fight and those words flew out of my mouth as my entire repertoire of expletives. I still hear a mellifluous incantation in those sounds though I don’t suppose they would have much success as an ice cream flavor.

The Great Unsaid

There’s a lot of noise out there. My hearing aid makes it even louder. But even without amplification, I hear the noise of exhausted words (some of it, my own), which draws me to the great unsaid.  

I once participated in a Quaker meeting where nothing was said. We shared the silence and felt closer for it.

Theodore Roethke, the poet, wrote how he wanted to make his silences more accurate.

Sherlock Holmes told Dr. Watson he was an invaluable companion because of his gift for silence.

Henry Fonda portrayed men of few words. I can’t say enough about how I admired that.

Gary Cooper always played Gary Cooper but the way he gulped and said, Yup, spoke volumes to me.

Harpo expressed what Groucho couldn’t. The world was a broken piano and he made a harp of it.

Blessed is the man, said George Eliot, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.

I need sunshine and the paving stones of the street without companions or conversation, only the music of my heart for company, said Henry Miller (of all people).

How much better is silence, to sit by myself with this coffee cup, this knife and fork, things in themselves, myself being myself………something invisible to others having shed its attachments.   Virginia Woolf

As happens sometimes, a moment settles and hovers for much more than a moment. John Steinbeck

Lincoln’s ten sentences at Gettysburg followed a notably unremembered two-hour speech.

Silent films lost its wordlessness to talkies with vacuous dialog along with the language of cinema, the artful camera.

Nuts, was the American General’s reply to the German demand to surrender during the Battle of the Bulge in Dec.1944. Short and to the point. 

Vows

I’m getting a jump on my New Year’s resolutions. Interesting how most vows are wishes we want to happen magically. We begin each January with great resolve and generally meet with failure by mid-month. By February it is either consigned to the back burner or, more often, long forgotten. There is nothing heavier than turning over a new leaf.

I wish I smoked so I could stop but I never started, so that's out. Yes, I intend to drink enough water to launch a rubber duck. One doctor told me water is overrated but another says dehydration is the root of all evil. Well, maybe not all evil.

I’ve given much thought to embarking on an exercise program but even that was more exertion than I could handle. Such an idea goes against my staunch belief in creative lassitude. I’ll settle for another year running off at the mouth with occasional leaps of faith.

Unlike most hearty Americans swearing to cut back on carbs and calories and resist junk food, I have taken an oath to gain five or ten pounds. The doctor has me drinking two Ensure each day before I decompose into a clump of dust motes.

My most challenging vow for 2025 and beyond is to cease writing about Donald Trump. Let this be my last mention of his name. I’m not sure I am up to the task since he has colonized my brain and my psyche.  

I see him in my oatmeal, in my burned toast. When I look out the window at the coral tree, once thick with green leaves, I now gaze at skeletal branches over-pruned by a bunch of zealous guys with chainsaws, and there is Donald again. When I am scanned or spammed it’s him. Enough!

Ever-present as he may be, I am resolved not to write his name again, neither his first name or last or his initials or even an objective correlative signifying him.

I’m setting a high bar for myself, I know. If I had a psychiatrist, I’m sure he’d agree. Such a course will prevent my liver from being bilious. It will save my skin from eruptions. It might even extend my life expectancy by a day or two. 

On a positive note, I want to declare my belief in change. We are always in the act of  becoming, acknowledged or not. Let it be in wonderment if not betterment. 

Bring It On

Oh Mama, can this really be the end /

to be stuck down here in Mobile with Memphis blues again?   Bob Dylan

                                                            

I’m girding my loins, prepping for the new regime.

It’s alright Mama, bring it on. The kid who ran with scissors

is cutting out the fat from big government, the waste

like license plates, speed limits and stop signs.

Crime in the streets will be gone if we have fewer streets.

Bring it on, bring it on. Put the axe to silent letters

like the d in Wednesday. In fact, eliminate the whole day;

Six days a week is all we need. We promised

to help the working man and there it is. Drill, baby, drill

not only for oil but for you dentists filling cavities

without that devil, Commie fluoride plot.

And why is two plus two, always four, I ask you?

Depends on who wants to know, the IRS or the bank.

What’s a mandate for? Bring it on.

We’ve brought in the best and brightest to fill the posts:

Falderal, Balderdash, Poppycock, and Hogwash.

As promised, we’ll be getting rid of all side effects

by banishing prescription meds. And remind me,

what’s so bad about a little polio or measles? 

Shucks, worms need love too.

Those were the good old days. We got rid of some elites,

those brainy eggheads, show-offs, know-it-alls.

As Don Corleone never said, Father knows best. Bring me back

to the time when real men didn't flinch from bar room brawls,

no uppity voices and women knew their place.

Can't wait for America to grate again. Bring it on.