letter to nathan sunday july 31 2016

I had a touch of my old complaint, kidney stones, last night, so instead of snoozing peacefully I sat up most of the night, just going over the last few days spent with my ex, Amy.
A bowl of chicken broth went down well this morning, and I think the worst of the attack is overfor now.

Where to start? (The better question is probably 'where to end'?)

Forgive me for burdening you with my jejune ruminations, but I want to put my thoughts down to get them organized and analyzed, plus I have always trusted your judgement and discretion.

Anywho . . .

As I've mentioned, Amy is going to go live w/our Daughter Madelaine back in Virginia so she'll have someone to help look after her and help her file for Disability (she's still 3 years away from being able to file for early Soc Sec like I've done).

Amy has been wrapping up her life here in Utah Valley and has involved me in some of it. Since I have a storage closet as part of my apartment deal she asked if she could leave some things behind in it. Since I don'tuse it, I saw no problem. So she has crammed it full of suitcases and bags and cheap plastic tubs and photo albums (and her collection of 2-thousand DVDs). In doing so, she and I have cautiously been reviewing our life together, and I've come to the conclusion that she regards me mainly as someone she can talk to. She has a great, consuming need to talk deeply and in detail about relationships and family. I am very thankful she does not want to talk about the Gospel with me anymore -- she does that with her sister Kathy, up in Idaho. Most of our arguments were about LDS theology, or about food & diet & nutritional supplements.

So I found myself nodding my head frequently and saying "uh-huh" or "of course" a lot.

She told me some very shocking things about our children. I never realized (or perhaps did not want to know at the time) how hard things have been for them -- not just growing up, but right now. Where I today see my kids as mature, well-balanced, active, adults, Amy has informed me of the tremendous struggles that each of them are facing -- some that started long ago, and some that are very recent. My kids have never told me about these things, but they opened up to their mother.
There's no need to go into details, but if you ever hear me complaining about my ungrateful kids again you have my permission to kick me in the butt. The poor kids are weighed down with problems that would have certainly crushed me at their age. BUt since they won't open up to me, I guess I'll just have to remain in the background and give long-distance love & support.

Amy also told me all about her second marriage, and her affair while she was remarried. I found I could not gloat over her mistakes, but also could not offer her much comfort either. In fact, I started to get bored of the whole sordid thing after a while. She cheated on her second husband not out of romance or even physical attraction, but just because she felt he was ignoring her. It's an old and cliched story -- like the clown with a broken heart . . .

Amy has been cooking all her meals at my house since moving out of her apartment last Thursday. With her special dietary requirements (all self-imposed) she won't eat anything I keep around, so she brought over dozens of special organic, grass-fed, free range, non-GMO stuff to keep in my fridge -- and then promptly became too weak to do her own cooking, so I did it for her. Which I don't mind -- I like to cook.  
She drinks an incredible amount of kambucha and chia seed suspensions. And puts sterilized clay in it.

I've got to stop and rest a moment . . .

Now that I've had a little nap in my recliner . . .

So last night Amy wanted to watch the movie "The Five PEople You Meet in Heaven", with John Voight. I wasn't too keen on watching it, but since she is, in a sense, a guest in my house, I said okay. I had read the book when it first came out, but didn't remember very much of it.
Much to my surprise I found myself bawling through much of it. When it was over Amy wanted to have a long talk about our relationship, now, as she said, that "You're back in touch with the spirit."
I had to explain to her that nothing was changed or enhanced for me after viewing the movie -- that I had simply been emotionally manipulated by the film, and did not view it as a spiritual experience.
I think I was finally able to make her understand that about me -- not everything that moves me is some kind of spiritual revelation, but more likely just the product of my own imagination and emotions being triggered by an event or narrative or even a memory. I have grown to mistrust my feelings and desires as a sure compass to spirituality. More often, I am greatly moved by my own desires and stratagems that have little or nothing to do with the Holy Ghost.
If something is common sense and does somebody some good, and nobody harm, then, and only then, am I willing to consider it as coming from God. Amy's decision to divorce me was not a revelation. My decision to move back to Thailand and out of my children's lives for so long was not a revelation, but a selfish bit of foolishness. On the other hand, my decision to take the discussions, get baptized, serve a mission, marry Amy, etc., were all inspiration.

I also wanted to tell her that the more she 'opened up' to me, the more she appeared as merely wanting to justify all her own decisions and actions, many of which were hurtful to me and to our kids. However, that would be like the pot calling the kettle black -- meaning I am just as guilty about making poor choices that have not done anything good for my kids, or for others. The difference between Amy and me, I am finally convinced, is that at least I KNOW I have been foolish and selfish and should not be trusted. If Grace is not an operative principle of the Gospel, then I'm doomed.

Amy leaves this Tuesday morning for Virginia, and so once again she is, in a sense, abandoning me. Despite all that I've said above, she and I have established a wary friendship, a sort of Detente. I have enjoyed making 'organic' meals for her and listening to her and even doing her laundry. We sat together on the little couch my daughter Sarah gave me, her feet tucked under my legs for warmth, to watch Deana Durbin movies. I even got her to watch a silent movie with Harold Lloyd, and she grudgingly admitted it "had some good parts". There are strands of her long hair all over that little couch, all white. Having her around is more of a comfort than anything else to me.  And in a few days she leaves me again. I think I will hate the silence that is the only thing to replace her in my apartment, and my life.

I wish I was a garbageman

I wish I was a garbageman, and drove the garbage truck;
I think that it would be such fun, and I'd feel full of luck!
To back the beeping wagon up to dumpsters great and small;
and then to lift and shake them as if they were a beach ball.
Each morning I would jump from bed, as happy as a lark,
and then upon my journey I would happily embark;
down alleyways and up steep hills, and round the mansions big -- 
and if some rich guy said I smelled I wouldn't care a fig! 
For I am serving ev'ryone the same, no matter who
they might be to others in this worldly wobbly zoo.
Ev'ryone makes garbage and they need it hauled away;
and I'm the one who does it, and I even get some pay!
You can be an astronaut, a lawyer, or dragoon --
all I ask is just a truck and streets with garbage strewn . . . 

Cleveland

A reporter in Cleveland did say

"That RNC gets in the way

of viewing this city

with more than just pity."

And then she flew out the next day. 

When Trump is the President, oy . . .

When Trump is the President, oy . . . 
reporters will find so much joy
in being assigned
beneath all mankind,
ignored like a backward busboy. 

The Bagel

The bagel is a wonder bread, it has so much to offer;
offer number one is that it's tougher than a raw fur.
After you have bitten off a chaw, be sure to count
your teeth to make sure that you still have got the right amount.
Never use a knife to cut a bagel -- that won't do;
try a blow torch or a buzz saw or even a corkscrew.
Experts say a laser works quite well, but it ain't kosher
(that's according to the local rabbi, Irving Loescher).
Me, I chip away at 'em with chisel and sledge hammer;
it takes a little longer but it does provide less clamor. 
So what if bagels have an outer crust like granite rocks?
You won't care once you have had them with a slice of lox!

What if no one voted

What if no one voted come election time next year;
that would send a message to those shysters, crystal clear.
If ev'ryone did shun the polls and stay away in droves,
Trump and Mrs. Clinton could go suck on pickled cloves.
The White House would stay empty and we'd save on salaries,
and find some other ruckus that would burn up calories.
Oh, journalists would suddenly be out of work -- hooray!
Let 'em find some honest job, like laying down parquet.
Civil disobedience; that is what I'd call it, sure.
To keep future elections honest, peaceful, and secure.
Then maybe Congress would wake up and stir their stumps a bit,
instead of filibustering while on their rumps they sit.
So here's our motto to create a country that's resurgent:
"WE'LL NEVER VOTE AGAIN AT ALL -- IT REALLY ISN'T URGENT!"

Moroni, Chapter 9: 5

Moroni Chapter 9, verse 5:    For so exceedingly do they anger that it seemeth me that they have no fear of death; and they have lost their love, one towards another; and they thirst after blood and revenge continually.

How close are we today to this debacle and decline,

As hundreds murder innocents and think it's very fine?

Vast armies sweep across far lands, and blood is spilled by drones;

juggernauts mow down the crowd and crush their raging bones. 

Those who wield authority are Gadianton-bound;

shooting children, crushing widows down into the ground.

The holy places still remain, but few seem to desire

the safety and assurance of the Savior's cleansing fire.

How long, how long, the ancient question flares again today,

until the great Jehovah carries justice to the prey?

Save me from despair, O Lord, and quicken my weak trust,

so in your bosom I may hide when devils shove and thrust!

The Gualicho

The tiny arms of carnivores in Mesozoic ages

Puzzles scientific groups, where controversy rages.

The gualicho is a case in point – its arms were futile

When it savaged sauropods in a manner brutal.

I wish that Darwin were around so he could maybe parse

Why their arms were smaller than a fruit fly’s dainty arse.

Maybe creatures of this sort disdained to wash their hands,

And so they lost ‘em pretty much, as Nature so demands.

Or perhaps they wouldn’t shake hands with our Mother Eve,

And so were cursed to lurch around and sorrowfully grieve . . .  

Sealed Records

Moroni 10:2 -- "And I seal up these records . . . "

That which was long ages sealed
now at last has been revealed;
words of Christ and prophets bold,
writ upon pure plates of gold.
Put into our common tongue
by a prophet boy so young.
Heed the Book of Mormon stat
or your soul becomes a gnat.

Kevin Sieff Wants Out

I have compiled a list of around 75 professional journalists who enjoy my limericks. But sometimes one of them will ask to be removed from my email list.

Kevin Sieff of the Washington Post is one such reporter who no longer wishes to receive any more limericks.  The reason? I'll quote his email to me verbatim:

Hi man, I’m really sorry, but can you take me off this list? I’m running for cover in south sudan and emails are flooding in. sorry.

Kevin Sieff

Africa Bureau Chief

The Washington Post

Twitter: @ksieff

Naturally, I immediately took him off my list.
But I can't help wondering what kind of assignment he's on, running for cover and feeling threatened by emails.
Journalism is dangerous work sometimes, ain't it?