Letter to the Kids. Sunday, September 10. 2023.

 

Dear kids;

this week has gone by faster than a honey buzzard after a titmouse. i'm happy to report that my chronic exhaustion has somewhat abated this week. i thought i would have to give up our daily early morning temple sessions, since it left me so drained for the rest of the day. but there's been a definite physical change taking place, so that i can now get up at 430 each morning, do the 6 a.m. session with your mother, and then have enough energy left to go out to the kolache place with one of my haiku poems on a sign board for a few hours.

THEN i come home and collapse for the rest of the day. until your mother and i go to the rec center at 5 p.m. to work on the machines. 

this morning i thought i would be making jalapeno cornbread. i bought a fresh jalapeno pepper last night for that purpose. but this sabbath morning finds me unmotivated to mess around in the kitchen. i'd rather let the 25 cent jalapeno pepper rot in the fridge than turn on the oven or mix up a big bowl of batter. am i getting more focused on other things, or am i just getting lazier? maybe neither; maybe i just need to take my 'poet for hire' sign out onto the boulevard for a few hours before we got to church at 1 p.m.  after all, i am a performance artist, so i need to be out performing. right?

this past week has been blessed with a complete lack of annoying nonsense. no nut cases have accosted me at the kolache place. your mother and i have pulled together in peace and harmony. i eat my prunes each morning and take my Metmucel with religious regularity. aches & pains come and go with varying intensity, but nothing that i'm not already used to and resigned to endure with saintly patience. we are getting new neighbors, as old neighbors die and/or move out. the new neighbors will be hispanic, no doubt. this place is turning into a barrio. it makes for interesting potlucks. your mother has been doing a lot of sewing with sarah's sewing machine; making tote bags and mending my shirts.  we find the Lord blesses us so that each time a new medical bill comes in that is not covered by medicaid/medicare we find another way to earn enough to pay it off. without robbing any banks. yet.

every saturday i buy your mother a bouquet of flowers. 

whenever i get sleepy while i'm out with my haiku, i write a new one along the lines of:

the old man dozes

in the warm caress of sun

while passersby smile

and then prop it up against my wheelchair so i can fold my hands over my belly mound and take a snooze for ten or fifteen minutes. sometimes when i wake up i find another dollar or two dropped in my can while i slept. only in provo. anyplace else i'd wake up and find the can gone.

this morning your mother and i learned all about quick clay. this phenomenon occurs in parts of norway and canada. we were looking at youtube videos about norway when we came across a post about the geology of norway and learned that as the ice age glaciers retreated they left behind a weird blend of clay and silt, called quick clay, that appears to be firm ground -- but when it is disturbed or a great weight is placed on it it turns to liquid, causing huge landslides that swallow up houses, barns, people, whole villages even. who knew? we always thought norway was such a safe place to live.

your mother is making grilled cheese sandwiches this morning to place out in the community kitchen at noon for anyone who would like one.

well, the outdoors beckons. i can think of little else i'd rather do on a mild sunday morning than to take my poet for hire sign out into the fresh air and wave at cars as they pass by. the world needs to know there are such things as poets for hire. i need the wind and the sun and the hiss of tree branches rubbing against each other. or else an anchovy pizza.

roses are red

violets are cheap

may you be so blessed

you never do weep.

Love, Heinie Manush.

 

 

Work. (A Poem dedicated to Emma Goldberg)

 

 

 

I retired long ago,

so I could watch a TV show

when I wanted, and besides

commutes are really awful rides.

I stayed broke and homeless while

all my friends turned mercantile.

now they all have condos where

they sit and at not much do stare.

Me, I moved in with my kids

and raise jellyfish and squids.

I loose these nasty beasts on them

who say I'm lazier than phlegm.

I do a little dumpster diving,

and yet my ego still is thriving.

I have had a great career

sleeping late and swilling beer!

 

Buttons. Monday, September 4. 2023.

 

 

Buttons. Monday, September 4. 2023.

What is the moral responsibility of the artist? With balding pate, white goatee, and mischievous mien, Sung Neung Kyung is sitting in his studio in Seoul, South Korea, looking back half a century to the country’s authoritarian regime and wondering whether, as a radical young artist, he made a difference.

“I have to say, thinking back to my artistic practice then from the luxury of hindsight, I feel that my activities at the time were not political enough,” he says on a Zoom call. “I feel that I was carrying the voice of a mosquito. It was just so small, and because of that, I am ashamed.”  (The Guardian Newspaper.)

As a First-of-May, I tried to be political with my clowning (which I now see was always performance art first and comedy second) at Ringling Brothers. When the show played Chicago, I made up like Hitler and began goose-stepping out into the arena to salute then-mayor Richard Daly because I considered him a fascist. Performance Director Charlie Baumann grabbed me before I could “Sieg Heil” hizzoner and literally carried me under his arm backstage. Where I got a terrific dressing down.

My comedic voice has been that of a mosquito, like Sung Neung Kyung’s, but I have not felt ashamed about it. Having been denied a national or international forum for my shenanigans, I now find profound contentment and fulfillment in displaying my japes locally here in Provo. 

I got rained out this morning at Hruska’s Kolaches at 8:30 without making any money or getting any kolaches.

But today, I had an ace up my sleeve. With Amy’s help yesterday, I printed out a notice in both English and Spanish that read:

We are serving a free helping of homemade Tuscan turkey/spinach loaf, along with a side of brown rice, on Labor Day, Monday, September 4. Promptly at Noon. With Amy’s amazing cookies for dessert.

To receive your free serving, you must bring us a button; any button will do. 

Tim & Amy Torkildson. Apartment #115. Valley Villa.

Lunes. 4 de septiembre. 2023. Estamos sirviendo una porción gratis de pan casero de pavo / espinacas de la Toscana, junto con un lado de arroz integral en el Día del Trabajo, el lunes 4 de septiembre. Puntualmente a las 12 del mediodía. Con las increíbles galletas de Amy para el postre. Para recibir su porción gratis, debe traernos un botón; Cualquier tipo de botón servirá. Tim y Amy Torkildson. Apartamento #115. Villa del Valle.Monday. September 4. 2023.

Yesterday, we put this notice on door knobs and under windshield wipers in the parking lot. And today, we reaped a total of 11 people at our door, all with buttons and all dying to know what we would do with the buttons. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” was my reply to each.

The truth is I never had any intention of doing anything with the buttons. Would people show up for a free meal in exchange for a button? They did. So that was my work as a performance artist today.

The weather is still moist and gray this afternoon, so I’ll not be going out again. Instead, I’m warming up some cold spaghetti with a can of smoked mussels for my lunch. Then, write a haiku for tomorrow. The forecast calls for clear skies and cool temperatures for the rest of the week. Perfect weather to dress up as Hitler again . . . 

 

Sunday Morning Haiku.

 

Sunday morning sleep --

all the bells are in my head.

why no outside bells? 

 

Sunday morning street --

full of brittle brown leaf dust.

mute parked cars glisten. 

 

Sunday morning sun --

leftover Saturday games

and cold grilled sweet corn. 

 

Sunday morning clouds 

seem to be settling in

for a long visit. 

 

Sunday morning birds

put on their hats and trousers

to stroll in the park. 

 

Sunday morning smells --

 orange sweet rolls, and fried eggs

 with Tabasco sauce.

Sunday morning shoes --

Florsheim or jogging sneakers?

No. Carpet slippers.

Sunday morning socks --

new pair with the plastic clip

still holding them tight.

Sunday morning dew --

seen by so few and believed

by even fewer.

Sunday morning news --

lawyers eat donuts on air

and talk of the dead.

Haiku Hiatus. Saturday. September 2. 2023.

 

 

Haiku hiatus. Saturday. September 2. 2023.

I have been unstable all my life. My artistic sensibilities kicked in at a young age. These sensibilities were not understood by my parents or even by me. So I was labeled “moody,” “thin-skinned,” and “unfocused.” I grew up feeling guilty about my inability to find much interest or make much of a commitment to anything outside of performing and writing. I have always needed a public. After I joined the Church, I scolded myself as “selfish” and “self-centered” when the lack of artistic outlets left me stifled and ill-tempered.
And, let’s face it, I AM self-centered and selfish – my need to express myself either as a performer or a writer overwhelms most other considerations in my life. I’m difficult to live with and unsympathetic to the needs of others when I’m caught up in my art – whether it is creating a new clown gag or organizing a limerick or haiku.

This past week has proved to be a watershed in self-realization because I finally gave up on the idea of being only a poet so I could blossom into what I truly am and will indeed be for the rest of my mortal life: a Performance Artist.

Let’s back up a bit. Last Monday, I promised Amy that we would go to the Temple four times a week for endowment sessions. She has wanted this for years, but I have not been enthusiastic about it. I don’t really “get” the Temple ceremonies and symbolism. What generally happens is I feel a genuine lift in my spirits and nothing more. And with my bad knees and back, it’s always been more a test of endurance than an act of faith and worship.
So we went to the 6 a.m. session at the Provo City Center Temple four days in a row. And I was feeling more and more miserable. Because there was less time to get out with my haiku sign and because I felt exhausted and ill from fasting until noon each day, I had to forgo food, water, and my medications, or else I would have had an accident. Or so I thought.

BTW:  I have to go to the earliest morning session because, by noon, I am entirely done both physically and mentally.

Then, on Thursday, while at the Temple, I was hit with a thought so forceful it nearly toppled me out of my seat.
Relax and take it easy as part of this thought. You have never been just a poet but are a performance artist, was the other part.
A great deal of pressure and misery immediately left me.
The Temple session became much more peaceful and enjoyable for me. And I formed an idea of what I would do when we were home, and I was on my way to Hruska’s Kolaches.
I would take a blank piece of cardboard to display. See how people reacted.
I got two dollars in my can and no kolaches. Each dollar bill was deposited by a kind person who wished me good luck . . . and who apparently never realized I was holding up a piece of blank cardboard.
Two other people stopped to read my sign, realized there was no sign, and asked me what it meant.
I told them both: “It means nothing, and it means everything.”
Both passersby rubbed their chins sagely and seemed to say to themselves, “Yes, that is very profound – very profound indeed!”

And now, other ideas flood my mind in the Temple. I’ll wrap myself up in newspapers, and when people stop to gawp, I’ll tell them, “I get wrapped up in the news.”
I’ll have a sign that reads “AVOID MIND CONTROL. Get your tin foil hats here!” And I’ll be wearing a tin foil hat.

I’ll hold up one of the many colorful circus posters at home just to see what people will do. What they will ask. How much money, if any, they’ll give me.

Yes, the Temple has become a fruitful place for my imagination. Sometimes, I ponder a new performance art routine, and sometimes, I am struck by something in the ceremony that puts me in a deep ponder about how our world was organized and the role Adam & Eve played in it all, etc. My wit is quickened while attending the Temple, and my eyes see more.

Pray for me, gentle reader, that I do not relapse into a guilt-ridden, fasting fanatic!

Today, Saturday, I only spent an hour and a half at the kolache place. Because it began to rain, Amy and I had a granddaughter’s baptism to go to. So, I did a haiku:

A lot of brown shoes
Passing on the wet pavement –
Avoiding the cracks.

And I managed to make enough money to buy Amy a large bouquet of flowers at Fresh Market.

My total earnings for the week were $80.00. Plus, I got a used $50.00 Visa gift card with nine dollars left on it.
I can hardly wait until Monday to get out there again!
It’s time for a bagel with cream cheese and then binge-watch The Blacklist with Amy.

Who was James Finlayson?

 

**James Finlayson (1887–1953)**

**Early Life:**
James Henderson "Jimmy" Finlayson was born on August 27, 1887, in Larbert, Stirlingshire, Scotland. He began his career on the stage in Britain before moving to the United States in his late 20s.

**Work and Career:**
In the U.S., Finlayson found steady work in Hollywood, initially with Keystone Studios under Mack Sennett. It was at Hal Roach Studios, however, where he would make the majority of his films and where he would gain his most widespread fame. Roach was responsible for producing many of the era's top comedy shorts, and Finlayson became one of the studio's regular actors.

While Finlayson played a variety of roles, he is best remembered for his numerous appearances opposite Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. In fact, it's difficult to think of Laurel and Hardy without also thinking of the indignant, mustachioed Finlayson, who was often cast as their antagonist.

**Comic Characteristics:**

1. **Exaggerated Double-Take**: One of Finlayson's signature comic moves was an exaggerated double-take, often accompanied by a slow, wide-eyed look of disbelief. This became one of his trademark reactions.

2. **Catchphrase**: He's sometimes remembered for a drawn-out "D'oooooh", a catchphrase (or more accurately, an exclamation) of frustration. While this exclamation was not as emphasized as the one later made famous by Homer Simpson, some believe it may have been an inspiration for the more modern iteration.

3. **Physical Comedy**: Despite his often irate and pompous characters, Finlayson was skilled at physical comedy. His interactions with Laurel and Hardy often saw him end up in various slapstick situations, ranging from getting pies to the face to more complex physical gags.

4. **Distinct Appearance**: With a bald head, thick mustache, and expressive eyes, Finlayson was instantly recognizable. His stern visage contrasted brilliantly with the more bumbling and innocent appearances of Laurel and Hardy, making their interactions all the more comically charged.

5. **Frustrated Antagonist**: Finlayson often played characters that were constantly perturbed by the antics of Laurel and Hardy. He excelled at portraying the irate landlord, suspicious neighbor, or any other figure of authority constantly thwarted by the duo's inadvertent mischief.

**Later Life and Legacy:**
James Finlayson continued to act in films throughout the 1930s and 1940s. His career began to wane in the late 1940s, but by then he had already left an indelible mark on the world of comedy. He passed away on October 9, 1953, in Los Angeles, California.

Today, Finlayson is remembered as one of the great character actors of early Hollywood cinema. His contributions to comedy, especially his work with Laurel and Hardy, ensure that he will continue to be celebrated by film enthusiasts and historians for generations to come.

Who was Field Marshall Mannerheim?

 

**Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim: A Profile**

Born on June 4, 1867, in Askainen, Finland, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim embarked on a journey that would see him rise to be one of Finland's most influential figures. Hailing from a noble Swedish-speaking family, his early life was marked by privilege, but it wasn’t always smooth sailing. He started his military career in the Russian Imperial Army in 1887 and steadily climbed the ranks, demonstrating a combination of leadership skills and military acumen.

During the First World War, Mannerheim led troops against the Central Powers as part of the Russian Empire. Yet, as the Russian Revolution erupted, he found himself navigating a rapidly shifting political and territorial landscape. Seeing an opportunity for Finnish independence from the waning Russian Empire, he returned home.

Back in Finland, Mannerheim took charge during the Finnish Civil War in 1918, leading the White Army against the Red Guards in a bitter conflict. His side emerged victorious, solidifying his reputation as a military leader. Though he had fought for Finland's independence, the ensuing years saw him struggle with the country's political landscape. He ran for president in 1919 but lost.

However, his military expertise remained invaluable to Finland, especially as the shadow of World War II loomed. When the Soviet Union invaded Finland in 1939, marking the beginning of the Winter War, Mannerheim again took command of the Finnish Defense Forces. Against overwhelming odds, his strategies ensured that Finland retained its sovereignty, even though it made territorial concessions.

As World War II progressed, Finland found itself allying with Nazi Germany, not out of ideological alignment but as a strategic move against the Soviet threat. This led to the Continuation War (1941-1944). Here again, Mannerheim played a pivotal role, though the end of this conflict saw Finland ceding more territory to the Soviets.

Recognizing his invaluable contribution to the nation, the Finnish parliament appointed Mannerheim as the country's president in 1944. He steered Finland through the immediate post-war period, securing the nation’s place in a new European order.

Mannerheim's thoughts and ideologies were complex. While a staunch anti-communist, he also distanced Finland from Nazi Germany's atrocities. He believed in a strong and independent Finland, advocating for its cultural and territorial integrity.

Beyond the battleground, Mannerheim was an avid explorer. He undertook an extensive expedition in Asia between 1906 and 1908, documenting the lives and customs of various ethnic groups.

Mannerheim retired from public life in 1946 and spent his last years penning his memoirs. He passed away on January 28, 1951, leaving behind a legacy as a military strategist, statesman, and explorer. Today, Finland remembers him as a national hero who played a defining role in shaping its modern identity.

The Man with the Twisted Brain. Tuesday. August 29. 2023.

 

 

The man with the twisted brain. Tuesday. Aug 29. 2023.

In "The Man With the Twisted Lip," Sherlock Holmes is enlisted to help find the missing Neville St. Clair. The investigation leads Holmes to an opium den in a seedy part of London, where he encounters a disfigured beggar, Hugh Boone. Intriguingly, Boone is discovered to have possessions belonging to the missing man. As the story unfolds, it's revealed that St. Clair had assumed the identity of Boone as a lucrative ruse. Originally, St. Clair had dressed as Boone to track a man who owed him money. Still, when he realized how profitable begging in London could be, especially with Boone's convincing appearance, he continued the charade. Over time, St. Clair found that he was earning more as the beggar Boone than in his respectable profession. The transformation became his secret double life, enjoying the earnings of his deceit until his disappearance and the subsequent investigation by Holmes unveiled his secret.

So far, the great detective has not unmasked me on the streets of Provo; I continue to display my haiku in front of the Kolache bakery while sitting in a wheelchair, with a large tin can prominently displayed in front of me.


Amy and I started the day together at the Provo City Center Temple for the 6 a.m. endowment session. Meaning we got up at 4:15 a.m.
Amy's suggestion that I use the wheelchair finally percolated down into the conscious portion of what passes for my brain. Roomy, higher than the temple seats, I discovered there are privileges when you're in a wheelchair. Head of the line, and so on. In addition, I did not take any of my pills before the endowment session and wore an adult diaper. Meaning, my fine feathered friends, that I finally enjoyed the session as much as I used to before all the ills and embarrassments of old age set in ten years ago. So, I scheduled us to be at the 6 a.m. sessions Wednesday through Friday this week. I never feel like a failure or an outsider at the temple. It's better than any therapy for me.
Of course, this cut into my time at the Kolache place. I got there at 8:27 a.m.
Plus, I have discarded the artist's sketch pad in favor of a whiteboard to display my haku.
I was given my first and only kolache of the day at 9 a.m.
And my one and only contribution of the day came at 10:34 a.m. when a lady put one dollar in my can.
Otherwise . . . bupkis.
People ignored the whiteboard as much as they did my artist's sketchpad. Maybe even more. I only observed two persons who read my haiku and reacted. The first was a young lady who gushed: "Oh, how lovely!"
The second person was an ill-dressed honyocker, who came out of the pawnshop next to the bakery, gaped at my poem, and then guffawed like Pinto Colvig (who did the voice of Walt Disney's Goofy, as well as Bozo the clown.) As he walked away, he mumbled something unintelligible. I just gave him a nod and wished him in Hades.
Things got so boring for me that a little after 11 a.m. I erased my haiku and wrote, in all capitals, DO NOT READ THIS SIGN!
But nobody reacted.
In a final act of frustration, I resorted to doggerel:

Roses are red
Violets are green
Can you believe
I was once lean.
This gem didn't get any reactions from passersby, so I closed shop at 11:47 a.m. to go to Fresh Market to buy some bacon jam and a box of Entemann's chocolate donuts. Once home, I asked Amy to make me a prune and yogurt smoothie. Now I've written up my notes, it's time to siesta.


 

**Why I Choose Laughter Over Lament on Sundays: Finding Joy in Old Movie Comedies*

 

 

Each Sunday, as many engage in solemn reflection or religious worship, I find myself drawn to the likes of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in "Road to Rio" or the satirical journey in "Sullivan's Travels." Why, you might ask? Because on the Sabbath, a day of rest and spiritual reprieve, I laugh about life rather than lament my sins. This choice is not made lightly but rather with the belief that laughter and joy can serve as forms of worship, leading one closer to a sense of spiritual wholeness.

It's not as though history's thinkers haven't touched upon the value of humor. Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr once remarked, "Humor is a prelude to faith, and laughter is the beginning of prayer." To chuckle at a well-timed comedic line or revel in the comedic misadventures of Sullivan isn't just about entertainment but an acknowledgment of the shared human experience of joy and folly.

Furthermore, famed philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche posited, "We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh." What Nietzsche suggests here is profound. A life devoid of joy, a day without laughter, seems incomplete, even in our pursuit of truth or understanding.

On Sundays, many turn to religious texts and traditions to find meaning. When Jesus spoke in the New Testament, he often did so with parables – stories meant to instruct and guide. While his tales were not comedic sketches, they often contained elements of the unexpected. They were rooted in the lived experiences of the people. Similarly, while certainly not parables, old movie comedies touch upon universal themes and human truths that resonate across time.

The great Christian author, C.S. Lewis, wrote in "The Weight of Glory," "Joy is the serious business of Heaven." If the divine realms prioritize joy, then surely there's no harm in us mortals seeking it out, particularly on a day dedicated to rest, reflection, and worship. To experience joy and laughter is to partake in a slice of the divine, to be momentarily lifted above the mundane concerns of the world and reminded of a greater connection.

Moreover, the Dalai Lama, a beacon of wisdom for Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike, has often spoken of the importance of happiness and compassion in our lives. "The purpose of our lives is to be happy," he has been quoted as saying. Suppose old movie comedies provide that happiness, even momentarily. In that case, it becomes a sacred act that fulfills a broader spiritual purpose.

In conclusion, while introspection, prayer, and seeking forgiveness for our transgressions are undeniably valuable spiritual exercises, embracing the moments that make us laugh and feel joy is equally essential. Watching old movie comedies like "Road to Rio" and "Sullivan's Travels" on Sundays serves this purpose. It's my way of celebrating life's absurdities, choosing joy over sorrow, and connecting with a profound truth that transcends time – that laughter, in its purest form, is a gift from the divine.

Who was Corrie Ten Boom?

 

**Corrie ten Boom: A Life of Resilience, Faith, and Love**

**Early Life**
Corrie ten Boom was born in Haarlem, Netherlands, on April 15, 1892. She was raised in a devoutly Christian family, and her faith played an integral part throughout her life. The ten Booms lived above their watch shop, which they owned and operated, creating a close-knit family environment where love, sacrifice, and service to others were deeply instilled.

**World War II and the Hiding Place**
As Nazism spread across Europe, the Ten Boom family became deeply concerned about the persecution of Jewish people. This concern translated into action when they turned their home into a refuge for Jews and resistance fighters, risking their own lives. The family created a secret room, later called "The Hiding Place," behind a false wall in Corrie's bedroom. They managed to save nearly 800 Jewish lives.

In 1944, the family's covert operations were discovered, leading to their arrest. Corrie and her sister Betsie were sent to the Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie, unfortunately, did not survive the ordeal, but before she passed away, she left Corrie with a powerful message: "There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still."

**Post-War Years and Ministry**
After her release due to a clerical error (just days before all women her age were executed), Corrie returned to the Netherlands and began sharing her experiences. Driven by her faith and Betsie's message, she wrote the bestselling memoir "The Hiding Place," which recounts their story of courage, faith, and survival amidst the horrors of the Holocaust. The book was later turned into a movie and stage play.

Corrie's post-war mission expanded globally, and she traveled extensively, sharing her message of God's love, forgiveness, and reconciliation. She founded rehabilitation centers for Holocaust survivors and even former Nazis, emphasizing the power of forgiveness.

**Philosophy**
Corrie ten Boom's life philosophy was deeply rooted in her Christian faith. Some central tenets include:

1. **Forgiveness:** Corrie believed in the power of forgiveness, even in the face of extreme cruelty. She famously said, "Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart."
2. **Love and Service:** The Ten Boom family's actions during WWII exemplified Jesus' teaching, "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."
3. **Faith in Adversity:** Corrie and her family believed that God was with them even in the darkest moments. Their faith did not waver, even when facing seemingly insurmountable challenges.

**Legacy**
Corrie ten Boom passed away on April 15, 1983, on her 91st birthday. Her legacy is one of resilience, faith, and unconditional love. Today, she is remembered not just as a Holocaust survivor but as an ambassador of hope, a testament to the strength of the human spirit, and an advocate for the power of faith and forgiveness.