Summer Vacation, Day 15: Dead Frog Walkin’

Blogger’s Note: I’m postponing my musings on Slaughterhouse-Five in favor of a “cute kid” story from tonight. And it’s not even about one of my kids!

I’m lying in the lush green grass beside the soccer fields, soaking up the abundant sunshine and watching Emma’s team (the Flames!) warm up, when a little boy and his dad pass behind me.

Says the boy: “Dad, you wanna know how I know God is real?”

“How’s that?” asks his dad.

“Because one time I saw a dead frog in the yard,” says the boy, “and the next day, it was gone!”

They kept walking, so I didn’t hear Dad’s response. I wonder, did the boy assume resurrection, assumption, or both?

Summer Vacation, Day 14: Love’s Lamp

Blogger’s Note: Here’s some sappiness I wrote in summer of 1996, just prior to marrying Jodi. In case you’re wondering, yes, I wrote it for her.

Love’s Lamp
When day breaks red o’er eastern shores
And east-bound clouds hang low and black,
Dark waters swell and Zephyr roars,
And we, too far now to turn back,
Must set our sails and forward go
With storm above and flood below.

Soon all is one grey water-world;
Rains drowns the air ’tween sea and sky.
November’s witch, her wrath unfurled,
With thunder drowns my frightened cries.
Brief lightning grins on my distress;
The gale now blows directionless.

At times like this, when hope is gone,
When ship is battered, spun and tossed –
When light from stars, or moon, or sun,
Cannot be found, so path is lost –
The witch spews forth with earthly might;
You guide me with more heav’nly light.

On far horizon thru the storm
You beckon me to harbor sweet.
Light of the earth, yet heaven-born,
Thru wind and rain my eyes doth greet.
Toward you I turn for strength and aid
And forward press, my fears allayed.

Angelic beacon, guiding light,
Send forth thy beams to me embrace
Like lover’s arms in dark of night!
Smile softly on my weary face
And draw me near, that I may sleep
Dream-free from visions of the deep.

The sun has sunk beneath the sea;
The sky glows scarlet to the west.
The witch had fled, and as for me,
I’ve found safe harbor, food, and rest.
You’ve led me home, to my delight,
I’ll sleep in peace near you tonight.

J. Thorp

Summer Vacation, Day 13: Gatsby

OK, I finished Slaughterhouse-Five this evening and will set sail shortly in pursuit of Moby Dick. I’ve not yet given my Three Things To Love about The Great Gatsby yet, so maybe I’ll do that tonight. Yeah. I think I will.

Three Things To Love about The Great Gatsby:

  1. Beautiful Tragedy: I’ll admit it: I’m a sucker for tragic romance. I loved that, try as she might, Daisy was too honest to say she never loved her jerk of a husband. I love that the dashing Gatsby has it all (well, almost) and doesn’t quite know what to do with it. I love how Daisy and Tom skate, and stay married. I love the description of the “unmistakable air of natural intimacy” about them as they sit quietly, not touching their food. They may not love each other; they may not even like each other, but they still care for each other.
  2. Poetic Description: Fitzgerald has a knack for surprising, poetic description. The book is beautiful, sensuous, violent, but not titillating or gory. The violence blossoms sudden and vivid, but doesn’t overwhelm. And everyday details are sometime given an unexpected twist: “At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment houses.” And how about the moment when Gatsby’s Samson locks are shorn and he becomes her man (though she never really becomes his): “He knew that when he kissed this girl … his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” Magic.*
  3. Geographic Connections: Narrator Nick’s a Yale grad. Gatsby’s a Minnesota boy. Fitzgerald hails from the Twin Cities. And in the end, as Nick heads back to his “middle-west” on the train, he wonders if some “common deficiency” made he and Gatsby and even Daisy unsuited for Eastern life. I spent some time at Yale, and have visited New York a couple times, briefly. I wouldn’t call it a “deficiency,” but I think I know the feeling …

I loved this book. Last thought? The foreword for Mr. Blue suggested that little book was Connelly’s answer to Gatsby. I see now what that means.

* * * * *

*Yeah, I’m a sappy romantic type. So?

Summer Vacation, Day 12: Chilis and Parade

We spent the morning sleeping, eating, and planting tomatoes, cucumbers, and chili peppers (jalapeno, serrano, cayenne and habanero). We caught the Albertville Friendly Days parade in the afternoon. Typical small-town parade, but not especially well-paced, so I brought Slaughterhouse-Five along for the gaps. Nice to be reading a book that fits in your pocket.

Still a stroke of work to do tonight, so I’m gonna hold on the Gatsby observations. I write better in the morning, anyway …

Summer Vacation, Day 11: Engaged

Jodi and I helped to lead a retreat for engaged couples today. If ever you seek to recall what sparked love between you and your mate and what keeps it alive today, surround yourself with young couples who sincerely want to hear your stories, share, and listen.

Oh, and I finished The Great Gatsby today. Beautiful and tragic. More on that tomorrow, Coach.