sounds

Sounds of the neighborhood on a Saturday morning: as always, a mockingbird repeating prhrases and grabbing all of the attention; the peculiar whir-r-r-r of the house sparrows' wings as they return from the patio to their lofty nest in the fan palm with strands of dried Bermuda grass; the futility of our neighbor calling his dog, "Kismet! Come!"; the rising and falling background "shoosh" of breeze through the trailing edges of the of the palm fronds; the barely audible background hum of the moths and bees and flies; the startling sharp buzz of a hummingbird chasing away a territorial intruder; a fan rotating and gathering speed as a nearby a.c. condenser kicks on. So much to notice when I stop for a moment, am patient with myself and life, and simply listen.

impressions of the Holy Land

Rocky hills of craggy limestone and sandstone, with churches, walls, houses uniformly built of the same stone, and uniformly creamy off-white; terraces thousands of years old; hilltop villages and cities; an intense concentration of churches and holy sites: Jewish, Moslem, Christian, with every sect and sub-sect represented; dust -- remember, Oh Man, that dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return. For thousands of years people have been building, leveling, building, destroying, building again. Everything here is in layers, the deeper you dig the farther back in time you go, way back, back to the beginning...

the scar

I have a tiny crescent scar just touching my upper lip. These days it's almost lost in the growing wrinkles and puckers of age but this morning while shaving I noticed it. And I think I know why. The mind is always at work, making connections between random events seemingly unrelated in content, and even in time.

Last night my youngest son called me. Out of the blue, and late for me as I'm traveling and on east coast time. I don't like to talk on the phone. I've had to do so much of it in my professional life. So, a phone ringing to me is an intrusion, and I usually end calls as quickly as possible. He knows this, but wanted to touch base with me anyway. Of course, for my children I'll always make that exception.

I tell people I have four children, when a more strictly accurate accounting would be that I have one child and three step-children. Perhaps because he's the youngest, perhaps because he is my only biological child, I have always felt a passionate attachment to Niles. For this reason, I have struggled with maintaining the proper amount of distance with him, trying to give full expression to this intense love I feel without smothering or overwhelming, disrespecting his space and differentiation. I am a teacher, after all. I have not always succeeded in finding that balance, and at times have felt him pull away to reestablish a comfortable equilibrium in which he could thrive.

So, it's a thrill when he calls and has no question or request but just wants to talk to the old man.

I have a scar on my lip. I earned it as a child when I lay down next to my dog. Bagel the beagle summed up all things admirable to me. He was fearless and adventurous, the terror of the neighborhood, and I loved him passionately. I especially loved the way he smelled, right around his ears, the utter doggyness of him. So, as I lay down next to him and put my arm over him, I pressed my face into his neck, my nose under his ear. And he, startled awake and smothered, reacted with a harsh growl and a snap, nipping my lip with his teeth.

My mind is always at work, making connections between random events seemingly unrelated in content, and even in time, sharing wisdom with me that I otherwise might have forgot, wisdom contained in a little crescent scar by my lip.