Saturday, September 24, 2016

Welding; Being happy; On my shoulder; Sankt Gallen; Wis; Lee, WHS drum team captain; Men of the cathedral; Tak rip

Ticket to ride
been waiting a long time

Dino-unicorn rides here
at the Waukesha Odd Fellows
~ just you wait and see ~

[Vulcan Weathervanes sculpture 1970s
from MATC industrial oxy-welding class; instructor
told us to make something out of our
cutting exercise scraps.  I took mine home to finish,
being in it for the art]



Of course it was doomed. I know that now,
but it ended so quickly, and I was young.
I hardly remember that summer in Seattle—
except for her. The city seems just a rainy backdrop.
From the moment I first saw her at the office
I was hooked. I started visiting her floor.
I couldn’t work unless I caught a glimpse of her.
Once we exchanged glances, but we never spoke.
Then at a party we found ourselves alone.
We started kissing and ended up in bed.
We talked all night. She claimed she had liked me
secretly for months. I wonder now if that was true.
Two weeks later her father had a heart attack.
While she was in Chicago, they shut down our division.
I was never one for writing letters.
On the phone we had less to say each time.
And that was it—just those two breathless weeks,
then years of mild regret and intermittent speculation.
Being happy is mostly like that. You don’t see it up close.
You recognize it later from the ache of memory.
And you can’t recapture it. You only get to choose
whether to remember or forget, whether to feel remorse
or nothing at all. Maybe it wasn’t really love.
But who can tell when nothing deeper ever came along?
“Being Happy” by Dana Gioia from 99 Poems. © Graywolf Press, 2016.



If this does not start at the very beginning
dial it back all the way to the left, to the Start.
As shown, the green arrow below:


and this


Annual Mens' Club picnic

It was 2012
Men and women young and old
gathered in the church parking lot

Wis, foreground, is picnicking elsewhere
this year.

Will not be the same without you.


Waukesha South
former Drum line captain
Lee Dix

Lee ascends to full YIBAWEan status 7-3-16


Great men of the Washington Cathedral
Col. Leslie Dix took us to his church
many times when we visited Wash DC.

In this immediate family he was the original

Homage has been paid often ( recently by Bruce and Lisa Hopper of Waukesha WI) 
at his gravesite in Arlington Cemetery. Democrats, Republicans, Independents :)


KD reposes live on her throne

Our daughter in Alaska
a nearly lifelong resident there
just had to put her beloved dog, Tak
to rest. 
The raccoon sent condolences and
this 1999 poem, death of a pet remorse:

To Max the Cat
1988 – 1999

In an age of many things blackened
Your missing blackness no more cattening
Our rooms and halls, our souls are slackened
Max, we loved you, we gently lay you down.

I live some miles from where you rest
But you are here right now
On my mourning mind
As I feel your lumpen weight on my reclining chest,
And if pall bearers there would have been,
I would have been one for you,
My feline, too.

You were not just a good cat (pass me that wine!)
You were a great cat
A cavernous black hole you’ve left in my heart
And in the hearts of our friends, mine and yours
On the Helt farm,
An address to which your beloved bones
We forever consign, and as at Arlington
Guard and mind in perpetuity
Or till we too have moved on

We know where that dark well is,
where your shell is,
and when I visit that little grave- site
I am going to lay myself down on it,
Out of
Out of Africa
Might I?

You never asked me when the table was turned
But I could have shooed you away
And now I’m glad I never did.
I’ll be wet- eyed as now I am
And sigh:  Max, Max, Max, why do we die?
You wanted to no more than I

Or Buddy, or Maggie, your surviving cats
In the house gone dry,
Save for tears of unsuccessful searching
Now that you are no longer in it

Who upon our chests will lie
And make such a weighty thing of it?
We thought you were good for fifteen years
you got eleven;
Much is wrong with our world
Though you are in your heaven

And, I don’t want to “recover” from your loss
It’s made me frankly cross, and blue
You showed your trust, no part of you did you withhold
You brought us gamey socks
And tolerated moods of many hues

You did your darndest to talk to us
Now we withhold nothing in ever remembering you;
Your gamboling gamble of a life may be over
You may have been but “an animal”
Yes, but never to us

Dear Max, we send you our best
We loved you, we gently lay you down.

[David Dix]

Laurie answered back:

Thank you Dad. I always commiserate pretty hard when this happens to others, too.
I'm now waking up to my first Tak-less morning. I dreaded this part a lot. 
"Tak" means thank you in Norwegian. It's a thank-less morning.
So, my kitty, Paul Anka is my Jesus-with-fur-on. She slept all night under my bed covers, right by my stomach, my soul. "Thank you".