No Ordinary Moments

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Theatre of the Absurd

Don't have too much to say today, the weather here is too nice to be sitting inside at a keyboard typing for too long, but this week I have been thinking about the connection between Theatre of the Absurd and fascism. Yes, of all things! Well, what got me started on this was my friend Gary (who doesn't have a website and so I can't "point" you to him) mentioned he had taken a course in college about this and was, for whatever reason, thinking about it one day this past week. Well, I mentioned it to my theatre-wise daughter and sure enough she had some thoughts about it, namely that Luigi Pirandello, one of the playwrights who influenced others who came to be known as absurdists, had given his Nobel medal over to the Italian government "to be melted down" for the sake of helping out with that country's annexation of Abyssinia. Not sure what, if anything, this is worth to you, but there you have it, my contribution for today.

Telling Stories

I do not understand this world at all. One of my friends is in what I view as a horrible situation, faced with poverty unless she does something that will eventually create even more hardship and difficulty, especially for her children. It is complex and complicated and I do not wish to discuss it here, just want to acknowledge it and to wish my friend well, hope she finds a way to "fix" the situation and live in relative comfort with the outcome. Enough on that subject.

I have enjoyed reading true crime stories for many years now and thus when I discovered that Steve Salerno had not only written one but one that took place right here in Texas (crime central), I checked to see whether the book is available in the library where I typically check out such books. Sure enough, they had Deadly Blessing and I brought it home this past Saturday. It's good, real good. And the family dramas that unfold on those pages are ones painfully familiar to me; they remind me of many situations in my own life, like power struggles and influence garnering.

One of the reasons I love crime stories is because they help me put my own life story in perspective. Another reason is they help me see how stories told are not just about the characters that "people" the stories but also about the storyteller. This goes for fictional stories, too. Maybe especially fictional stories, because sometimes the best way to tell one's own story is by projecting emotions and thoughts onto made-up people. This way, we don't slander anybody but at the same time we get whatever point we need made across.

SHAMming

Really glad to see Steve Salerno adding a new posting to his SHAMblog. I discovered his book not too long ago and then went searching for him on the Internet. About that time, he was wondering if he hadn't said all he had to say about the whole SHAM phenomenon. The questions he raises are interesting ones indeed. And SHAM is one of the best self-help books I've read in quite some time! Not the kind of response Steve is looking for, probably, but there you have it. The book helped me see some things more clearly and also opened up some new avenues of thought.

We met on the courthouse steps ...

I once had a friend
relied on this friend
to be there
to care
without judgment
minus condemnation

But something happened

And still to this day
it puzzles and
angers me
(is she afraid of anger)

Amazes me because that
rift didn't have to happen

Its ripple effects have
been devastating

I lost something precious

But

I cast no blame
no judgment
no condemnation
upon her for this

And yet still I wonder.

Containment

Nice to hear from Robin again! And is good to be here today, in this blogspot. Have been visiting Steve Salerno's SHAMblog lately and thinking a lot about the things he says. Even though he is (apparently) closing up shop, there is plenty of good material to read through over there.

Today, however, I share a ... mm, not sure what to call this as it is not really a poem but a word stream. Yes, that it is what it is, a word stream inspired by a conversation about Bo Diddley, may he rest in eternal peace.

sad sounds from a person who lives despite consequences
who chooses those dirty deeds (done dirt cheap) as if there
were some other choice but to waste words on fetid breath
but hell, we all know it's not the words but the dance that matters
scowling at the moon, we dance our gipsy danse, twirling 'round
angry that no words will do but making do with that nasty dance
tastes good feels rotten gets going to become ripe like fruit again
sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, a witness sees
watching melancholy out of eyes colored the same, seeing
fairly clearly, accurately -yes- and this means i recognize
my brother my sister we chose thus and seeing our own
reflection looking back looking up toward that same scowling moon
wind screeching all around and yet today only happens once
in this lifetime and still the cheerful message drones on and on
even though it shows what nobody really wants to see but if i
keep it to myself any longer or any farther down this endless road
then i might just implode into myself, and we know how tragic that can be
yes if it rains the parade will still go by even though we're all wet
the water reminds us the parade is not a charade but a gift like
wild horses running free across the landscape of dreams aplenty
okay so they won't come true i can still dream them can't i
and help myself to a piece of that pie the yummy yummy pie
the grand old pie made with a tasty upper and lower crust
if we all must eventually settle on rock bottom and yes we must
it is from that position we realize up ^ looks utterly best and that
we really do all of us get what we deserve and nothing less
now is not the same as here for now is gone the instant you say
now for now is no more but here is being present despite the fact
the mere fact so mere that it dissipates into the thinnest of airs
that now just passed away in time that might still exist even though
the eternity in which we love and love forever it seems is within reach.

So, ...

What does it really mean when someone is "too controlling." The control freak always gets a bad rap, and yet I wonder how a person exists without being "controlling" to any real extent. I mean, even when "losing" control and throwing a temper tantrum or whatever, a person controls a situation by making a big scene in it.

Something disturbing happened last night at the grocery store with my daughter. We went up to the deli counter to get some sliced meat and cheese for sandwiches. When the woman came to wait on us, I noticed right away that her face was bruised, especially around one of her eyes. My first thought was that a boyfriend or husband had hit her. But of course I didn't know this for sure. In addition to being bruised, her demeanor was also very disturbed; she was literally on the verge of tears and had either been crying or was about to start at any moment.

Bad situation there, her on the job out in public with this private "problem" that made probably everyone she came into contact with that day more than a little uncomfortable, the ones who noticed, anyway. My daughter wasn't paying attention and so didn't notice her. I said, very quietly while the woman was slicing our cheese, that it looks like she's been battered. My daughter thought I spoke too loudly (although I'm pretty sure I didn't) and told me to "not talk about it," that I would make the situation worse by (obviously, she thought) talking behind the woman's back, which is in essence what I was doing.

Later, after thinking about what had happened, I had to agree with her and wished that I had said something directly to the woman instead of just pointing out her injuries to my daughter with a whispered, "Did you notice..." Just a simple, "Is there anything I can do to help?" or "Do you need help? (probably better) would have been more appropriate.

I still wonder, is that woman in danger? But back to control, think about what happens when a person loses control and thus "gains" another kind of control.

Long time no ...

Yes, it has been a very long time since I wrote in this blog.

Today I offer this, a simple story. I hope you like it.

There once was a word who went missing. Not a single conversation anywhere contained this word, although it had been there many times before. Where did the word go? Nobody knew and, of course, no one could say. The children were the first ones to notice the absent word. Something was amiss in the classroom; things just weren't the same. The wise people were the first ones to figure out the missing word, to actually name it. But because they considered knowledge of the word a great and glorious secret, they kept it to themselves. After all, if they actually spoke the word out loud, the mystery would be solved and the drama would be over. It was more fun to watch the people keep guessing about this confounded word. They never told, just kept it to themselves. To this day, the word is still missing from the story, "The Case of the Absent Word."