Sunday, February 11, 2018

Green Light

the mountain's green light

pours over the horizon

like cold quiet locusts

bumping down the stone

to the cold gray flats of ice

that don't know why to melt

The Day I Didn't Go Home Teaching

Spring has to slug its way into North Dakota, every inch of the way, slashing and punching at snow drifts that tower over homes and tugging insistently at timid crocuses until they quietly show their heads above the frost-blasted dirt. Gigantic winds rush down from the Canadian Shield, immobilizing the mating of songbirds, ruining the very marrow of hope in your bones.

But finally the cruel hullabaloo subsides and the Garden of Eden comes forth. The world seems newborn in its innocence and freshness. The milk white clouds drift smoothly past a warm and soothing sun. The sage explodes in your nostrils; the livestock offer a distant chorus of life; sap trickles down withered tree trunks like tears down an old woman’s cheek.

Such days are few and precious; they should be savored and stored in the golden silos of memory.

I remember one such spring day in Tioga, North Dakota, many years ago when Amy and I started our family. Our daughter was just three years old. Our son was two. It had been a bitter winter, with our Ford throwing a rod, the heating bill grown gargantuan and unmanageable, persistent head colds, and a long debilitating stretch of unemployment. We were broke and viewed with some distrust by our Lutheran neighbors, because we were the only Mormons in town.

It was a Sunday afternoon. Church was long over and a goodly portion of roast chicken and mashed potatoes resided inside our happy bellies. Amy and I were on the front lawn of her parents house with the kids. Madelaine collected twigs and bark to make a ‘troll house’ against the trunk of the box elder tree. Amy and I played ‘animal sounds’ with Adam.

“What does the bird say?” we’d ask.

“Tweet tweet!” he responded in delight.

“What does the dog say?”

“Ruff ruff!”

“What does the fish say?”

He had to think a moment about that one, then responded: “Blub blub!”

“Well” I told Amy, “I’d better get going and finish my home teaching.”

I had several church members to visit in a fifty mile radius, and I wanted to get started before it got too dark. Widows. Members who couldn’t afford to drive down to Williston anymore for Sunday services. Oilfield roustabouts who had strayed from their moorings in Utah. I visited them each month for casual conversation, and, if they wanted it, to give them a religious message.

But as I said the words I realized how very badly I wanted to stay right where I was, experiencing this perfect moment in time and nature with my family. Have you ever had that perfect moment of time with your own family, when everything is smiles and warmth and understanding? I can only speak for myself, but such moments were extremely rare in my life -- and they grew much scarcer as the years crowded in.

So I did not go see the widows or wildcatters. I stayed on the lawn with Amy and the kids until the chill returned at sunset and the muffled boom of the prairie chickens died away. Adam decided that elephants say “moof” and Madelaine added a second story to her troll condo for visitors who were not to be eaten. Amy and I held hands, needing to say very little to each other.

I have thought about that particular spring Sunday from time to time since then. It was selfish to stay, to neglect my church duties. But it was also a well-defined pinpoint of happiness for me and my family, one that I still recall with the tug of a smile. I wonder if Amy or Adam or Madelaine have any memory at all of that moment long ago?

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Reporters are a lonely bunch

Reporters are a lonely bunch;

They do not get invites to brunch.

Although they show some bravery,

They’re better known for knavery.

The public thinks they’re pushy, plus

They have a tendency to cuss.

I like ‘em cuz most are sincere

(especially when drinking beer.)

Unrestricted Entrance of Immigrants is the Only Way to Save Social Security

The only thing that will save Social Security in the United States is the unrestricted entrance of immigrants into our country; they work harder and longer -- and often have two jobs at a time -- than the rest of us, and they always pay their taxes. They have many children, who will in turn go to work and pay taxes. And, if they do not behave themselves as good American citizens, we can deport them before they themselves can collect a cent of Social Security. Without this enormous pool of active paying immigrants, so ready to do the most menial work, our Social Security will become a toothless beggar -- a hiss and a byword to the nations.