The Rough Places Plain

MOUNTAINS & VALLEYS, ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

~ Photo by Sam McCartney ~ Colorado ~ July 2018 ~

"Every valley shall be exalted,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low:
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough places plain . . . "

Isaiah 40:4

****************

"For God has decreed the flattening
of each high mountain, of the everlasting hills,
the filling of the valleys to make the ground level
so that Israel can walk in safety . . . "

Baruch 5: 7

****************

". . . settle your mean heights down
a little to short heights . . . "

~ Adorable Tiana's Heartfelt Advice ~ with subtitles ~
How did this tiny little girl get to be so wise? She hardly looks old enough to have listened to a performance of the Messiah, yet she is able to understand the message of the prophets. She seems to have no trouble grasping the concept of a middle ground, of bringing the high low and the low high. Truly, "a little child shall lead them":

Mom, are you ready to be his friend?

~ Yes.

Try not to be that high up to be friends.
I want everything to be low. Okay?

~ Okay.

Just try your best.
I don't want you and my dad to be replaced and meanies again.
I want you and my dad to be placed as settled and be friends.

I'm not trying to be mean.
I just want everyone to be friends.
And if I can be nice, I think all of us can be nice too.

I'm not trying to be mean, but
I'm trying to do my best in my heart.
Nothing else than that.

I want you Mom, my dad, everyone to be friends.
I want everyone to be smiling,
Not like being mad. I want everything smile.
Especially when I see someone, I want them to smile.

Especially Nana, everyone. I want everyone to smile.
And if that's for my dad and you Mom,
I think you can do it.

I think you can settle your mean heights down
a little to short heights.
Then it's both. Okay?

I'm not trying to be mean.
I'm not trying to be a bully.

I'm trying to be steady, on the floor.
Not way down. On straight.
On the middle where my heart is.

My heart is something.
Everyone else's heart is something too.
And if we live in a world where everyone is being mean,
everyone is going to be a monster in the future.

What if there is a little bit of persons
and we will eat them?
Then no one will ever be here,
Only the monsters in our place.

We need everyone to be a person. Everyone.
Including me and my mom, everyone,

I just want everything to be settled down.
Nothing else.
I want everything to be good as possible.
Nothing else.

~ Thank you Tiana. I love you.

I love you too.

****************

"Every valley shall be exalted,
and every mountain and hill made low,
the crooked straight and the rough places plain."

~ Handel's Messiah ~

~ Photo by Steven A. J. Kordenat ~ Mount St Helens ~ July 2012 ~
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, July 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

The Shadowiness of the Still House

A LONE HOUSE BY THE ROAD
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Childhood Paintings by Gerry McCartney ~ late 1960s

The Listeners

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Walter de la Mare

The Sea Gypsy*

I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.

There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.

I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.

Richard Hovey

*Sam recited "The Sea Gypsy" at St. Peter's
Poetry Declamation ~ 4th grade ~ September 2002

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, July 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Imaginary Football

WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
On the Football Field:

Little Sam as a Philadelphia Eagle!

Football
I take the snap from the center, fake to the right, fade back...
I've got protection. I've got a receiver open downfield...
What the hell is this? This isn't a football, it's a shoe, a man's
brown leather oxford. A cousin to a football maybe, the same
skin, but not the same, a thing made for the earth, not the air.
I realize that this is a world where anything is possible and I
understand, also, that one often has to make do with what one
has. I have eaten pancakes, for instance, with that clear corn
syrup on them because there was no maple syrup and they
weren't very good. Well, anyway, this is different. (My man
downfield is waving his arms.) One has certain responsibilities,
one has to make choices. This isn't right and I'm not going
to throw it.

by American poet, Louis Jenkins (b. 1942)
in Nice Fish: New and Selected Prose Poems

An old leather shoe? Or a "little punkin"? Up until my sons became kickers -- due to their early soccer training? Or more likely because I made them take ballet! -- anyway, up until then, my comprehension of the game rivaled that of Andy Griffith . If you're not familiar with Andy's "What It Was Was Football," click here to listen and have a good laugh! My siblings and I grew up listening to Griffith's classic routine on my dad's old 45rpm, and to this day can still quote all our favorite lines:

What It Was, Was Football
It was back last October, I believe it was.
We was going to hold a tent service off at this college town,
and we got there about dinner time on Saturday.
Different ones of us thought that we ought to get us a mouthful to eat
before we set up the tent.
So we got off the truck and followed this little bunch of people
through this small little bitty patch of woods there,
and we came up on a big sign that says, "Get something to Eat Here."

I went up and got me two hot dogs and a big orange drink,
and before I could take a mouthful of that food,
this whole raft of people come up around me
and got me to where I couldn't eat nothing, up like,
and I dropped my big orange drink.
Well, friends, they commenced to move,
and there wasn't so much that I could do but move with them.

Well, we commenced to go through all kinds of doors and gates
and I don't know what- all,
and I looked up over one of 'em and it says, "North Gate."
We kept on a-going through there,
and pretty soon we come up on a young boy and he says,
"Ticket, please."
And I says, "Friend, I don't have a ticket;
I don't even know where it is that I'm a-going!"
Well, he says, "Come on out as quick as you can."
And I says, "I'll do 'er; I'll turn right around the first chance I get."

Well, we kept on a-moving through there,
and pretty soon everybody got where it was that they was a-going,
because they parted and I could see pretty good.
And what I seen was this whole raft of people a-sittin' on these two banks
and a-lookin at one another across this pretty little green cow pasture.

Somebody had took and drawed white lines all over it and drove posts in it,
and I don't know what all,
and I looked down there and I seen five or six convicts
a running up and down and a-blowing whistles.
And then I looked down there and I seen these pretty girls
wearin' these little bitty short a-dancing around,
and so I thought I'd sit down and see what it was that was a-going to happen.

About the time I got set down good I looked down there
and I seen thirty or forty men come a-runnin'
out of one end of a great big outhouse down there
and everybody where I was a-settin' got up and hollered!
And I asked this fella that was a sittin' beside of me,
"Friend, what is it that they're a-hollerin' for?
Well, he whopped me on the back and he says,
"Buddy, have a drink!" I says,
"Well, I believe I will have another big orange."
I got it and set back down.

When I got there again I seen that the men had got in two little bitty bunches
down there real close together, and they voted.
They elected one man apiece,
and them two men come out in the middle of that cow pasture
and shook hands like they hadn't seen one another in a long time.
Then a convict came over to where they was a-standin',
and he took out a quarter and they commenced to odd man right there!
After a while I seen what it was they was odd-manning for.
It was that both bunchesfull of them wanted
this funny lookin little pumpkin to play with.
And I know, friends, that they couldn't eat it
because they kicked it the whole evenin' and it never busted.

Both bunchesful wanted that thing.
One bunch got it and it made the other bunch just as mad as they could be!
Friends, I seen that evenin' the awfulest fight
that I ever have seen in all my life!
They would run at one -another and kick one- another
and throw one another down and stomp on one another
and grind their feet in one another
and I don't know what-all and just as fast as one of 'em would get hurt,
they'd take him off and run another one on!

Well, they done that as long as I set there,
but pretty soon this boy that had said
"Ticket, please." He come up to me and said,
"Friend, you're gonna have to leave
because it is that you don't have a ticket."
And I says, "Well, all right." And I got up and left.

I don't know friends, to this day,
what it was that they was a doin' down there,
but I have studied about it.
I think it was that it's some kindly of a contest
where they see which bunchful of them men can take that pumpkin
and run from one end of that cow pasture to the other
without gettin' knocked down or steppin' in somethin'.

by American entertainer, Andy Samuel Griffith (1926 – 2012)

More humor from Dad:
Touchables & Martian Melody

CLICK HERE
for more poems about football,
both real and imaginary!
Despite having a British dad and a childhood of inner city soccer (@ Taney & Fairmont), my boys were attracted to the game of American football since toddler - hood. Finding a play area wasn't always easy, though. How we dreaded those forbidding city signs: "no glass, no bottles, no skates, no skateboards, no frisbees, no balls." No ball playing? But as Sam once declared: "Well, it doesn't say anything about imaginary football, does it?

Away he went to entertain himself. Knowing he was safe, I allowed my eyes to scan the book I had brought along -- until one of the dads at the park, with a better appreciation of football than I -- nudged me and said, "Look at your son!" It was an endearing sight, even for an uninformed mother such as myself, who at that time had no comprehension whatsoever of O - lines or P.A.T.s There was Sam, playing an entire game on his own: offense, defense, commentary -- running from one end of the playing field to the other, he had the entire game mapped out in his head and he was good to go, football or no!

Over the years, I learned a bit more about the game. As Sam explained at his Senior Football Banquet (2010 - 2011:

"I want to thank my mom for always driving me to practice during my football career in Little Gridiron, Junior High Football, and the early years of High School football. For making me breakfast during the summer after conditioning and double practices. I also want to thank my mom for underatking and accomplishing the endeavor of understanding the game of football.

"I want to thank my dad for filming my kicks during the games this year. For driving all over the state of Indiana to watch my games. For driving me all over the Midwest to attend football camps. I also want to thank my dad for undertaking and accomplishing the endeavor of helping my mom understand the game of football."

Thanks for the shout - out Sam!
Funny and true!
Writing recently about some of Sam's current musical favorites reminded me of a song from several years ago, which provided the title for narrative reminiscence that Sam composed in Senior English, describing some of those early football encounters and what he learned from them:

"I was once that little boy"
As a young boy, living in the Mecca that was downtown Philadelphia posed many problems for my love of fresh air, but more so for my love of football. The blocks and blocks of man - made material were like a Soviet Blockade. But it was the obstacle, the wait, and the anticipation in my search for an area in which to play football that made my love for it so much stronger.

I scampered ahead of my mom, trying to turn the next corner as quickly as possible. I was keyed p by the mere thought of going to an area where grass could be cultivated. My mother, weary from the tribulations of raising two young boys, was nearing the end of her patience. She refused to let me out of her sight.

"Sam," we are almost there. Just wait."

Realizing that I could not squander my mother's tolerance so early in the day, I sulked back to her and slouched at her heels. As we walked down Delancey Street, every twenty steps the palpable fumes from the sewage drains wafting by my nose, I couldn't help feeling sorry for myself. Trudging down the 300 year - old brick walk, looking at the Benjamin Franklin "History Signposts," I was constantly reminded that Philadelphia would always be stuck in its past. Looking up and seeing skyscraper upon skyscraper made me feel doomed in the urban forest.

Lost in my thoughts of resentment, distance and time eluded me. My other looked down in confusion.

"You have wanted to come here forever. Go play!"

I woke from my daydream and felt as though a cool breeze had swept over my whole body and blown away everything that ever could have been bad. There it was: Washington Square Park, like a mirage of water in the midst of a desert. I could not contain myself. Football in hand, McNabb jersey on, and Red Converse All - Stars strapped up, I was finally ready to, as they say, toss the old pigskin around. It was like no other sensation I ha ever experienced. The invisible shackles of the inner - city dissolved in thin air, and I could now live out my wildest fantasies. I felt the rush of blood, the pure exhilaration from head to foot of imitating Freddie Mitchell's catch on 4th and 26 against the Green Bay Packers. In my head, I had just been tackled by the ferocious linebacker, but then I looked up.

"Boy, no footballs are allowed in the park."

How could an upstanding police officer possible crush my dream like that? I watched him strut away, with that smirk on his face, and I could tell he loved exercising his false sense of power, much the old lady standing behind the counter at the BMV. My clenched fists and glaring eyes, focused on the austere officer, barely scratched the surface of my fury. What confused me more was why he would want to stop me from enjoying my time at the park: grass, grass everywhere and not a blade to play on.

I knew that if my mom saw me sulking, which was no rare occurrence, we would leave the park. So, with no football, I had to think of something to do. As I gazed up in the sky, the sum seemed to shine just a little brighter as I realized how I would jump this hurdle. No football did not mean that the game had to end.

As I lowered my head, I realized the stadium was full of raging Packer die - hards, decked from head to toe in green and gold. Their cheese - heads were just as amusing as their maniacal jeers were frightening, but the Eagles needed me. I readjusted my chin strap, put in my mouth piece, and got back in the huddle to hear the next play. As the evening wore on, he game was finally decided in the eighth overtime. I had six touchdown receptions, broke every single NFL record, and led the team to victory, clinching a spot in the Super Bowl.

I strolled home, head held high, like a conquering hero surveying my new dominion. I recounted all of my fabulous diving catches, amazing jukes, touchdown upon touchdown receptions and obviously the postgame interview with the press. On top of the universe, I thought back on the police officer. I was proud of myself that I had created an alternative solution and that I had still allowed myself to enjoy my outing. At that moment I realized it is not what people tell us that determines what we can do, but it is how we react.

Thanks to Guest Blogger Sam McCartney
for sharing this experience
and for permission to reprint!

**************************************

And thanks to Uncle Bruce for sending
Little Ben the Kansas City Chiefs version,
back before we were Eagles' Fans

Additional Musical Recommendations

from Ben ~ "Duets"

and Sam ~ "Forever Young Again"
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, March 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ "Millennials & Music"
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ "Climb Inside and Live There"
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Forever Young Again

WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
At the Portrait Studio:
Sears ~ Summer 2012 & Penney's ~ December 2014

"There are many things in life. You're very young," said Ralph.
"I feel very old," said Isabel.
"You'll grow very young again. . . ."

Henry James ~ from Portrait of a Lady, 1881
(Chapter 54, p 471)

MUSICAL CONNECTIONS
1. from "The Longest Time" by Billy Joel
Once I thought my innocence was gone;
Now I know that happiness goes on . . . (1983)

2. from "Oh Very Young" by Cat Stevens, aka Yusuf Islam
Oh very young, What will you leave us this time?
You're only dancing on this earth for a short while
And though your dreams may toss and turn you now
They will vanish away like your daddy's best jeans
Denim blue fading up to the sky

And though you want him to last forever
You know he never will
You know he never will
And the patches make the goodbye harder still

Oh very young, what will you leave us this time?
There'll never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you?
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven?

And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
You know you never will
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still . . . (1974)

3. from "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar
We are young
heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong
No one can tell us were wrong
Searchin' our hearts for so long . . . (1983)

4. from "Forever Young" by Alphaville
Youth's like diamonds in the sun,
And diamonds are forever

So many adventures given up today,
So many songs we forgot to play.
So many dreams swinging out of the blue
Oh let it come true.

Forever young,
I want to be forever young.
Do you really want to live forever,
Forever, and ever? (1984)

5. from "We Are Young" by Fun, featuring Janelle Monae
Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun (2011)

6. "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan
May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young. (1974)

7. "Forever Young" by Rod Stewart
May the good Lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
surround you when you're far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As you'd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave

And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever Young, Forever Young
Forever Young, Forever Young

May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to heaven
with a prince or a vagabond
And may you never love in vain

And in my heart you will remain
Forever Young, Forever Young
Forever Young, Forever Young
Forever Young, Forever Young

And when you finally fly away
I'll be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
I'm right behind you, win or lose

Forever Young, Forever Young
Forever Young, Forever Young
Forever Young, Forever Young (1988)

*****************************
Two weeks (and one leap day!) ago, my post for the 14th, featured a series of Duets recommended by my older son Ben. Since then, my younger son Sam has suggested "Young Again" by Hardwell: "This is an 'EDM' song, but more melodic than most. I think you will enjoy."

Sam was right. I loved the melody and the lyrics, which brought to mind all of the above snippets from so many previous favorites. I kept wandering from one connection to the next, arriving ultimately at "Forever Young."

I guess one doesn't have to be very old to yearn for an earlier, more carefree time. After all, Hardwell himself is only 28, and Sam is even younger! I hope they will feel young again; better yet, I hope they will feel young now, because -- guess what? -- they are young! But I know what they mean. The obligations pile up; the duties and responsibilities seem to completely overshadow those faraway times of unstructured simplicity and creativity. And what's the best way to capture that nostalgia? A song, of course! Here is Hardwell's reminiscence that Sam so kindly recommended for his old parents:

"Young Again" by Hardwell
When I was a boy
I dreamed of a place
in the sky
Playing in the fields
Battling with my shields
Bows made out of twine

I wish I could see this
world again
through those eyes
See the child in me
in my fantasy
Never growing old

Will we ever feel young again
Will we ever feel young again
Will we ever feel young again

We wanna feel young
We wanna feel young again

When I was a boy
I searched for a world
that's unknown
All we have is fun
everybody runs
until the sun goes down

I wish I could see this
world again
through those eyes
See the child in me
in my fantasy
Never growing old

Will we ever feel young again
Will we ever feel young again
Will we ever feel young again

You wanna feel young
You wanna feel young again (2015)

In addition to Hardwell,
Sam also sent an enthusiastic recommendation for Armin:

Letter From Sam:

"Mom and Dad -- I tried to pick my favorite Armin song, but no man, woman or child could ever hope to accomplish such a daunting task.

As such, I will be offering you a spread of my favorite Armin songs in this week's EDM Update email.

Disclaimer: When listening to Armin, you don't just listen to music, but you enter a #StateOfTrance

His most famous song: "This Is What It Feels Like"

Current most famous song: "Strong Ones"

My current favorite: "Heading Up High"

His Entrance Song (very similar to Dad's March Song) -- this was my favorite for a long time. It is 7 minutes, but I highly recommend. Dad I think you will very much enjoy this one: "Embrace"

His Closing Song: "Looking For Your Name"

Enjoy!! (not necessary, I know you will)"

~~ THANKS SAM! ~~
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, March 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ "Millennials & Music"
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ "Climb Inside and Live There"
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

A Story About a Tree

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Twenty - second Incarnation of the Kmart Tree
Still Going Strong After 20 Years!

2014 ~ Treetop Detail
Bertie Bassett ~ The Liquorice Allsorts Man

A Couple of Connections:

First, thanks to my friend Nikki for sharing with me this fabulous book from her family's collection:

Flair Annual 1953
And more thanks to Nikki for her kind comments after reading my previous post "Be As Brave As Sharon Olds." I appreciated her observation that "the connections are always good, but what's better is when you tell a story! Tell more stories!"

2. Second, speaking of stories, I read Christmas on Jane Street right after Thanksgiving and was summarizing it over the phone for my son Sam. When I suggested that we could pay a visit to the corner of 8th Avenue and Jane Street to see this famous New York City Christmas Tree Stand, Sam, ever the skeptic, and master of the literary allusion, replied: "Mom, sounds like you've been reading a story about a tree." Haha, Sam!

So, at the risk of being a Buzz Killington, I'm going to take Nikki's advice and tell you a story -- a story about a tree.

The first Christmas that we lived in Philadelphia (1993), it didn't occur to me that we wouldn't do what we had done the year before back in Indiana: go to the nearest grocery store on the day after Thanksgiving and buy a tree right out front, chosen from a large selection of live cut evergreens leaning against the plate glass windows. Surprisingly, it was not to be. We drove out to Pathmark bright and early, but where were the trees? "What trees?" the grocery clerk replied. "We don't sell Christmas trees."

Where then? We tried a nearby produce market; no luck. We returned home to ask some neighbors on the street. Of course, many were out of town for Thanksgiving weekend, yet we gleaned what information we could: one family would be driving to Vermont, or something like that, later in the month to chop down their own tree (over - achievers). Another family claimed they never put up a Christmas tree (Bah, humbug!). I was growing despondent. My sister Peg and her family were driving up from Maryland to visit us in Philadelphia for the first time, and my planned Black Friday activity was tree - decorating. But still no tree.

My husband Gerry had an idea. He remembered seeing a small tree nursery across the street from Kmart, a few miles away, outside the city limits. When Peg and her husband Ron arrived, Gerry and Ron would drive down and see what they could find. They did so; and, what to their wondering eyes should appear but a huge truckload of Christmas trees, stacked and netted, "bound into tight versions of themselves for easy travel," (Romp, 10). Success at last you might think; that was not so hard after all! There was, however, a catch. The nursery personnel did not know the going rate for trees that year. The truck had to be unloaded and each tree receive its price tag before sales to customers could officially begin.

"Are you sure?" Gerry asked. "Just name a price, any price, and we will pay that for the tree." This labor of love had become a full - fledged quest, and he did not want to return home empty - handed. But, no, said the clerk, that would be against the rules. Could they return in a few hours? Okay, it was only a fifteen - minute drive, five miles or so. They would make another trip, later in the day.

The hours passed quickly enough, and off went the woodchoppers on foray number two -- only to find that the manager had not come in that afternoon, the trees had not been tagged, and all purchases must be put on hold until the following day. The trees, plainly visible on the bed of the truck, were not to be had at any price. But these men of action were not to be deterred. Daylight had faded, and the neon lights of Kmart beckoned from across the Baltimore Pike.

Maybe it wasn't like a scene from Norman Rockwell or When Harry Met Sally,



but no tree could have been more anticipated or appreciated than the seven - foot storage box that Gerry and Ron carried through our front door that evening, some assembly required. But never mind, we were proud to place it our front entry and it went up quickly. The following year, we put it on the sleeping porch adjoining Sam (in photo, age 15 months) and Ben's bedrooms because that's where we spent many hours and they could enjoy it most:

1993 ~~~ 1994

When I decided a few years later (1998) that I needed a second tree, my dear husband was ready once again to undertake the mission. This time, no need to try the produce stands or tree nurseries, for I had become a true believer in the decorative attributes of an artificial tree, primarily because they provide so much more strength and versatility when it comes to hanging heavy ornaments and reshaping branches to suit a particular arrangement of baubles. Instead of driving randomly around the Delaware Valley, Gerry did the ground - work by phone and located a Sears at a Mall north of town that claimed to have 9 foot trees in stock. Many of the stores seemed to be topping out at 7 feet, but I already had one of those and was keen to extend the reach of my tree collection. Malls were not typically our scene, but Gerry was game, so away he went in our one - horse open sleigh (i.e., 1995 Oldsmobile Station Wagon) for a jolly expedition of tree procurement.

Was the tree at Sears as promised? Yes, but there was only one and it was already assembled, standing in undecorated glory on the showroom floor; and the packing boxes no longer existed. But if Gerry was willing to go out to the loading dock and scrounge around in the recycling for some large boxes and personally remove and repack each branch, then he was welcome to purchase the tree. Naturally, Clark Griswold style, Gerry was equal to the task. We need a tree? He'll get us a tree! "Fixed the newel post!"

Our usual parking spot was on the side street, but for easier access through the front door with several large boxes, Gerry parked right at the corner. As luck would have it, in the few moments in between multiple trips from car to house, we received a parking ticket! Happy Holidays from the City of Philadelphia! Could the officer not see that this vehicle is stuffed with Christmas decorations that are being removed as quickly as possible? Had he no patience or mercy or humor or Christmas Spirit? No, Virginia, he had not. Bah, humbug!

Not to worry! No one could rain on our parade that day. We put the new nine - footer in the second floor turret window (below left) and the seven - footer in the third floor turret window (below right), covered them both with ornaments -- including this handmade series from our multi - talented neighbors Doris & Denis --

and were very happy with the results:
[Look closely on the right to see Ben (L) and Sam (R)
peeking out from behind the tree!]

I know all about the sentimental premium attached to a live tree, and even better if that live tree has been picked out personally from a tree farm, local or distant, and chopped down with an ax. For me, though, nothing can beat the affection that went into acquiring our two artificial trees. Those memories are with me every year as we drag the boxes out and erect our enduring symbols of light and life and hope and fun.

But wait . . . there's more! At the beginning of Ben's third year of college (2010), he and his friends had a successful day of curbside trash - picking: a bookshelf, a chair, a couple of suitcases, and -- "For you, Mom!" -- a Christmas tree. Ben pulled it into the sunroom, and we put it together right away to make sure that all the pieces were intact. It didn't seem to be a recent student discard but rather a vintage 1987 Fake Douglas Fir, complete with its own original brochure -- like ours, over twenty years old, but still in fine shape, discarded, perhaps, by a family who was reverting to the wild or replacing with a twenty - first century pre - lit model. Once we had it up, it seemed a shame to take it back down, what with the holiday season only three months away, so we decorated it for fall with harvest miniatures and Halloween cookie cutters. At Thanksgiving we changed it over to Christmas and finally put it away sometime shortly after the Valentine Dance:

February 2011

Continued thanks to Ben, Gerry, and Ron for bringing these trees into my life and giving me a story to tell -- a story about trees! O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, whether you be regally real or proudly pretend, your green shall ever teach me!

The Big Tree ~~ in 2014 ~~ The Sunroom Tree

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, December 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Fake Trees & Gift Books
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ "Would you like anything to read?"
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

The RedBear Connection

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Welcome RedBear!
Back in early June, my older sister Peggy sent this "picture of a kitty who has decided we are his family. I think I'll keep him and see if I can convert him to an indoor kitty. When I saw him outside the front door this morning I just had to take his picture because it reminded me so much of your quote, 'a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious.' Doesn't he look like he just belongs here? If I keep him I'll call him RedBear because he's a ginger boy and built like a little bear."

In addition to the E. M. Forster quotation, the words of Mark Twain came to mind when I saw RedBear waiting so proudly and patiently on Peg's front porch: "A house without a cat, and a well-fed, well-petted, and properly revered cat, may be a perfect house, perhaps, but how can it prove its title?" Clearly, my sister has a perfect house, and this cat knew it! As a discerning feline, he could sense that this dwelling proved its title and chose it for his new home!

Coincidentally, my older brother Dave once had a similar cat with a similar name, and shared his story: "This cat looks a lot like the cat we had in Crailsheim that we named Bear. He was a big old woolly street cat that learned the joys of being a kept cat indoors. When he died of kidney failure I spent the last night with him laying on the laundry room floor. He woke me up to say goodbye and then passed right before my eyes. Needless to say, it was a long weekend. Good luck hanging on to this boy. He really looks like a keeper!"

At the end of the month, I asked Peg if RedBear was still hanging around, and she sent the good news: "RedBear is now an inside boy. Very sweet and fits in like he was always here. . . . learning the joys of being an indoor boy after living outdoors . . . getting along fine with his 'brother from a different mother.' His biggest problem is that we have to control his food or he gets sick. He's so used to fighting for his food that he wolfs down any food put in front of him. He's a wonderful addition to my home."

Thanks to Peg
for sharing these pictures of RedBear & Squiggles
and for thinking of my Fortnightly Blog!
Thanks to other readers as well, who have entered so gratifyingly into the spirit of my various blogposts:

Tracy: "I love that you save these things, it reminds me I have a kindred spirit out there who takes joy in the little things of our past and, with that, those little things become bigger."

Brigit: "Kitti Carriker, you're a cultural force of nature!"

Evelet: "Kit o' my heart! . . . May you always err on the side of audacity."

Jan: You understand "the power of story and poetry to transform and transcend. I am forever in awe of you and so so grateful to know you."

Jim: Kitti, you are the Keeper of Memories. Thanks for sharing them with so many . . . you are an essential connection.

Milly: "Today we were discussing diary and journal genres. Then we talked about blogs. I told the students that one of my friends has a blog. They wanted to see it, and I showed them. They thought it was cool and so literary, but the boys were more impressed that Sam played football for Purdue!"

Kitti: That is so sweet! Thanks for doing that! I wish all my friends who teach would show their students my blog, or maybe give them an extra credit assignment to read one of my posts! I always LOVED the concept of extra credit (both as student and teacher)! Sam has now graduated from Purdue and moved on to New York City, but I'll be sure to tell him that his legend has traveled to Northeast Missouri!

Why Connection & Coincidence?
Because as Henry James says:
"The whole of anything is never told;
you can only take what groups together."

In closing, I share the words of the ageless, timeless Hafiz:
"Still, though think about this, this great pull in us to connect."

and this excellent song about
Coincidence & Connection:

Come and See
Look up here,
Most people can't make out the difference
But it could be a small change
In the light

And sometimes
We watch our lives align
But the questions remain:
Did you will it? Is Sight benign?

Is it coincidence or connection?
Come and See
Fall to your knees
and hear the call
Are you still lovesick for it all?

Is it you that
Brighthens the same sea that
Curves my path and life-lines
Is your shine like mine?

And the difference between
Betting your life or dying
Could reveal itself in a small change
In the light

Is this coincidence or connection?
come and see
fall to your knees
and hear the call
Are you still lovesick for it all? [emphasis added]

Sung by Young Galaxy
In one of our favorite summer movies:
The Way Way Back

P.S.
Just Look at RedBear . . .
Such a Foxy Gentleman!

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, August 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Ode to Josef: Nine-Lived and Contradictory

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Look at Josef! Such a little genius!
One snowy afternoon in December 2000, Ben, Sam,
and their friends Sarah and Ethan,
decorated this box for him and stuck him inside
(just above his head, you can see that it says "Josef's House").
How did he know precisely where to step?
Right in the paw prints that they had drawn for him!

*********************

Taken during the same snowfall, December 2000
Josef appears to be about half the size of Sam at the time!
A year later, as part of a classroom assignment, Ben decided to write a poem about our dear old long - lived (1988 - 2007) Josef:

THE CAT
This cat lies down, not moving.
Contemplating. Why? What? When?
Will the world end today?
Tomorrow, now, then?

The Universe is great.
The cat knows its ways,
lying down, on my bed.
The sun flashes its rays.

Where did they come from?
Humans, I think they are called.
Interesting what they have done
with this planet, what they’ve hauled.

Well, they feed me, not what I want,
but they give me enough.
Sometimes it’s fun and entertaining.
Sometimes it’s boring and tough.

They give me a box of cardboard.
They give me a queen-sized bed.
They give me my own curtain.
They put me at their head.

But still I contemplate
The Universe. I know
they want to: tough!
They give me food and go.

by Ben McCartney, age 11
29 January 2002, 6th grade

And a few months later, Sam followed suit:

MY CAT
My cat is lazy and loving.

That is my cat, loves meat,

so sleepy but adventurous.

But no matter what,

my cat I love.

No not a thing --

he can scratch,

he can bite,

he can reject his meat.

I love him!

by Sam McCartney
August 2002, 4th grade


As I have a mentioned before (No One With A Nose / Wise Fool), when Ben and Sam attended St. Peter's School in Philadelphia, they were required to memorize and recite a poem every month. They became quite adept at managing increasingly long works, and I often urged them to choose from among my old favorites, such as these two, which I used to enjoy teaching as a Freshman English exercise in comparison and contrast:

CURIOSITY
may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems,
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches,
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.

Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

by Scottish Poet Alastair Reid, b. 1926

more about Alastair Reid
(additional blog post)

Both the dog and the cat are admirable characters, rising above discouragement, discounting the naysayers, embracing their personal and political freedom. They have tales worth telling. The independent cat tells the truth about his nine lives, his near - death experiences, and the cost of curiosity -- the "cat price." The dog trots freely and fearlessly, facing reality: "a real realist / with a real tale to tell / and a real tail to tell it with." What excellent role models they are!

DOG
The dog trots freely in the street
and sees reality
and the things he sees
are bigger than himself
and the things he sees
are his reality
Drunks in doorways
Moons on trees
The dog trots freely thru the street
and the things he sees
are smaller than himself
Fish on newsprint
Ants in holes
Chickens in Chinatown windows
their heads a block away
The dog trots freely in the street
and the things he smells
smell something like himself
The dog trots freely in the street
past puddles and babies
cats and cigars
poolrooms and policemen
He doesn't hate cops
He merely has no use for them
and he goes past them
and past the dead cows hung up whole
in front of the San Francisco Meat Market
He would rather eat a tender cow
than a tough policeman
though either might do
And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory
and past Coit's Tower
and past Congressman Doyle of the Unamerican Committee
He's afraid of Coit's Tower
but he's not afraid of Congressman Doyle
although what he hears is very discouraging
very depressing
very absurd
to a sad young dog like himself
to a serious dog like himself
But he has his own free world to live in
His own fleas to eat
He will not be muzzled
Congressman Doyle is just another
fire hydrant
to him
The dog trots freely in the street
and has his own dog's life to live
and to think about
and to reflect upon
touching and tasting and testing everything
investigating everything
without benefit of perjury
a real realist
with a real tale to tell
and a real tail to tell it with
a real live
barking
democratic dog
engaged in real
free enterprise
with something to say
about ontology
something to say
about reality
and how to see it
and how to hear it
with his head cocked sideways
at streetcorners
as if he is just about to have
his picture taken
for Victor Records
listening for
His Master's Voice
and looking
like a living questionmark
into the
great gramophone
of puzzling existence
with its wondrous hollow horn
which always seems
just about to spout forth
some Victorious answer
to everything

by American Poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, b. 1919

more about Ferlinghetti
(additional blog post)

Little Nipper, the RCA Victor Dog
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, August 28, 2011

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

The Desolation of Abode and Boy

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUSWaiting for the Moving Van ~ June 2004

************************

This picture of Sam polishing the kitchen tiles
was taken in August 2001, on the day we moved in,
pre-figuring the above photograph of Ben,
taken three years later on the day we moved out.
For today, I have pulled together yet another moving day blog post, this time featuring a poem by my son Sam, written back in 2007, when he was a freshman in high school. At the time, I thought he did very well, and I still think so. I am honored to feature him today as my guest blogger.

I confess, it was my idea (interfering mother) for him to experiment with the pantoum style, thinking that the repetition would capture the echo of the gradually emptying house; but all the rest was up to him.























Farewell

The barren house deserted and devoid,
The home depleted of its frills and friends.
The desolation of abode and boy,
Packed up and sent off to another place.

The home depleted of its frills and friends,
Who will replace the boy that loved her so?
The lonely house cries out; it wants to shout,
“Come Back, Come Back! I can’t be left like this!”

Who will replace the boy that loves her so?
The boy that laughed and cried within her walls,
Humming and thrumming through welcoming rooms,
Now stripped down to bare bones and skeleton.

The boy meanders far from all he loved.
The desolation of the house and boy
Like Tara and Scarlett, separate and sad,
Their barren hearts deserted and devoid.

by Sam McCartney, age 14


To accompany their completed poems, the students were also required to submit an explication of their poetic process. Sam explains:

In my poem "Farewell," I used alliteration, internal rhyme, literary allusion, personification, simile, and hyperbole . . .

Alliteration is definitely my favorite poetic device, so I started my poem with "deserted and devoid" and continued with "frills and friends," "bare bones," "separate and sad" . . .

The lines in which I use internal rhyme are 7: "out / shout"; and 11: "humming / thrumming." Internal rhyme, for me, is a really effective way to enforce an idea. For example, on line 7, I really want to personify the house and enforce the idea that is is crying out in anguish; and on line 11, I really want to enforce the idea of the boy joyfully running through the house.

Finally, I chose an allusion to another work of literature. I think the placement of this device in line 15, which is near the end, really ties the poem together. The whole relationship that is being described throughout the poem between the boy and the house is similar to the feelings that Scarlett, the main character in Gone With the Wind, has for Tara, the house she lived in as a child. She was separated from that house during the Civil War and several years after.

As for the process that I underwent to complete my poem, it was a tough process that caused me a lot of stress and panic. I was trying to write my poem when my mother asked me to download pictures from her camera for her. As I completed this task, I started looking at the photographs from the day I moved from my house in Philadelphia. There was my brother, stretched out forlornly on the kitchen counter - top in our wonderful old house. As I looked at this picture, a flood of memories came to me and the poem wrote itself after that.


When I got the poem written down on paper, I went through a thesaurus to sophisticate* my poem by using words like "meanders" instead of "walks around." Also, I let my mother read the poem to add her insightful ideas. She showed me one of her favorite poems (see below), written in the form of a pantoum, thinking that I might like to experiment with this poetic pattern, in which line 1 of each stanza is an echo of line 2 in the previous stanza (until the final stanza, which can rearrange the pattern in a variety of ways). She also helped me keep the poem in blank verse by using her vast vocabulary** to keep all the lines 10 syllables long.

For example, in line 3, I could not get the line longer than nine syllables. She suggested that I replace the word "house" with "abode," which added one more syllable. Earlier that day, my teacher had suggested that I consider the word "abode" as a synonym for "house," so I knew it was the right choice for my poem.

Using the devices of alliteration, internal rhyme, and allusion taught me a lot about how the sound and sense of a poem go together to create the final impression. In my case, I wanted to capture the sad, hollow feeling of moving day, when residents say farewell and every stray sound echoes bleakly through the empty rooms. I hope my readers experience this feeling when they read my work.

**********************************************************

*sophisticate: at this point, Sam's teacher has written in the margin of his final draft: "Is this a real word?" I think the correct answer would have to be: "It is now!

**vast vocabulary: I swear I did not put Sam up to saying this!

**********************************************************

Here is the other poem Sam refers to, the one that I had suggested he read to get a feel for the pantoum:


Always the One Who Loves His Father Most

Always the one who loves his father most,
the one the father loves the most in turn,
will fight against his father as he must.
Neither knows what he will come to learn.

The one the father loves the most in turn
tells the father no and no and no.
but neither knows what he will come to learn
nor cares a lot what that could be, and so

tells his father no and no and no,
is ignorant of what the years will teach
nor cares a lot what that could be, and so
unties the knot that matters most, while each

is ignorant of what the years will teach,
they'll learn how pride -- if each lives out his years --
unties the knot that matters most, while each
will feel a sadness, feel the midnight fears.

They'll learn how pride -- if each lives out his years --
will lose the aging other as a friend,
will feel a sadness, feel the midnight fears.
The child and then the father, world without end,

will lose the aging other as a friend.
And then the child of that one, too, will grow --
the child and then the father, world without end --
in turn to fight his father, comme il faut,

will fight against his father as he must,
always, the one who loves his father most.

by Clement Long

Long's poem can be found on pp 116 - 17,
in Patterns of Poetry: An Encyclopedia of Forms
by Miller Williams


Our Third Floor Landing, like a drawing by Escher!

P.S.
Even Harry Potter says,
"It felt most strange to stand here in the silence and know
that he was about to leave the house for the last time. . . .
It gave him an odd, empty feeling to remember those times;
it was like remembering a younger brother whom he had lost."
~ J. K. Rowling ~
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 44
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, August 14, 2011

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com