still not crazy after all these years (jt)

We'll show them we're not crazy...........

a frog contemplates jumping
onto sand dollar pad
from Sanibel
and zeppelin crashes into
nasturtium leaf

Beck's Minions for Sally v. B

Beck's Minions

We are Beck’s minions bold and brave
each day we go a-driving
And some are bald and some don’t shave
Yet all each day are striving

We pay our money and take our chance
Piloting Yellows by the seat of our pants
Through the maelstrom of traffic we fearlessly dance
And at flag-up our loads are still living

We cabbies are lowly, many assay
Our job does yield little station
The dregs of the work force, bottom-rungers, they say
Back-washed from proud civilization

But didn’t we cheer the maudlin, brace up the drunk?
Didn’t we ferry them all, dog, chippie and monk?
Didn’t we treat them as equals though some might have stunk?
Yes, with verve and no small dedication

So take heart, fellow driver, heed what’s here writ
You’re a hero, a champion, a darer with grit
That you can’t quote the market
Doesn’t matter one whit
It’s your guts that call forth admiration

I’m proud to be with you, black men and white
Together on call on the streets day and night
We perform our service. Getting rich? No not quite
Yet to us be there be joy and libation

Yet to us be there be joy and libation


[David Dix in Cab No. 202 8-1973]

…………………………………

MICHAEL PALIN FOR PRESIDENT

WHY NOT?

http://www.michaelpalinforpresident.com/

faces

Bobby Lohman

Several readers have written to inquire about the face at the bottom of the canoe paddle in our Mona's new house posting of yesterday.

Herewith, an explanation in a correspondene with friends:

To Laura, Quin, 2 ea:

I thought of you today when posting this SRN piece on Mona's new harbor. If you look at the canoe paddle to the left of the cabinet you will see an old image of Bobby Lohman, the night watchman at the Guest House, Freiden's homeless shelter.

Do you remember seeing him? He's the guy who was the miraculous organ player who gave that concert performance in the church, circa 1984.

His pasty white face after X period of time on Milwaukee's streets that he presented that first time at the temporary shelter on Wis Ave was so void of any expression, so lost. John Helt and I discovered that he was a crossword puzzle-doer. So we would bring assortments of crossword books for him, and worked puzzles with him through the night.

When the permanent shelter was established in the old Friedens school bldg, he came there and eventually got hired as an entrance window-watcher when the guests would line up in front and outside that "gatekeeper" window beneath him.

You may remember that Bobby was killed, beaten for his meager SS check in the small south side hotel he established his own room in. The funeral was at Woods.

I remember Bobby sidling up to me once at the guest house, asking me very indirectly, with much hemming and hawing, if there was a pipe organ in that church building.

When I said there indeed was, and a good one too, he fell silent. "Why?" I asked him.

"Oh, nuthin"."

"Well, why do you ask?"

" I was just wonderin".............."

"Wondering what?"

Looking away from me, he mumbled, "Wonderin' if I could try to play it sometime."

Why certainly, and we went over right then in the dark of the night and I unlocked the door and led him down the cavernous aisle to the altar where the console stood, at the left of the huge behind-the-pulpit picture of Christ knocking at the door.

He never told us, though we asked often, how he became such an artist at the organ. We never did find out. He would't say. His history was locked up and we would never know it.

But that small man with the wandering, uncoordinated eyes and fuzzy beard could play! It was like a roller rink the night of the concert he gave for the band of Friedenites & guests. Probably a hundred (seemed like) songs and he never repeated a tune. All we needed was a spot-lit turning mirrored ball at the vaulted ceiling, to send colored reflections around the sanctuary.................

When he died, I glued his picture to a canoe paddle, and it has remained with Dee and me ever since.

Looking forward to the up-coming Friedens reunion!

Regards, David

..............................................

And now:

Laurie Dix Kari

of Wasilla Alaska

The SRN received today this likeness. Laurie poses behind her birthday present, a gnome called "Pipsqueek." Laurie has a face, if you'll pardon us for saying so, that is quite beautiful. Her mother's influence - the Norwegian blue eyes as an example. It is antithetical to Robert Lohman's face and offers some counterpoint to the thrust of this SRN posting.

Dad's pre-computer file box

We all have a tray or container in which to place our loose change when we empty our pants pockets.

Here, we have wooden file box

owned by my father during his high school

and college days.

It is a fine box, mortis-joined.

It was probably crammed full

with just bits of the contents

of Dad's mighty brain,

now reposing as dust

at Arlington National Cemetery.

File cards were not subject to computer crash.

They went another route to oblivion.

As I've studied this box

over several years

I've pondered the jack-knife notches

in the left front cover.

What did they stand for?

^.^

My guess:

they marked some academic achievements.

This box was never parted with;

saved, and now by me.

My additions were the Yibawean Seal,

the tortoise (Dad's eyes were in later years

tortoise-like)

and the compass.

A little dime store but still true

gauge of direction.

Maybe I should not have

gilded that beautifully joined

memento.

It's only original inscriptions

were the notches

and the pencil-written words

on the inside cover:

Leslie Vernon Dix

From a friend who visited me when I was sick........

All's quiet on the Western front; but all is not at peace on the Midwestern homefront & homestead: instead, in bed, with visions of the pacific shore and packers scores dancing in my head, i rose from my bed to the clatter of mobile phone ringing a predawn wakeup call saturday from a neighbor right across the alley in whitefish bay to tell me that the "tree planted by streams rivers of water" (days of rain), longstanding home for squirrels evicted from our attic, raccoons and possums,and sentinel over our garage,decided to split (literally) in the rain and windstorm, and go to rest in pieces on our garage roof, power lines, and north neighboring fence,with its still-standing better half now leaning for a fall on our south neighbor's new garage (rockabye treetop, in the highwires:down came that baby, cradle and lines . . .and the wisconsin lineman is still on the line with insurance agents, contractor, tree surgeon, electrician, WE energizer and adjoining neighbors, north, south and west through the alley, as all rally in the most collective neighboring since our last block party) Even as i speak (and the wooden corpse squeaks its last gasp) our hired burglar is flipping melted brats from the unfreezer. Give us a singe, Lord, i pray, not execution by electrocution, as i hear the kicker of psalm 1 say:

"But the wicked are like the chaff that the wind drives away."

Meahwhile, back at the ranch, i ride a new paint purple integra, and the greatest danger is a filly who runs wild in the church.

Yours in the Great I Am,
Who is not in the wind or the tree,
He Who Is, Whirl Without End,
A Horseman of a Different Collar
Chaffing at the Bitin Horse Country,
watching out for a red, black or pale horse,
while calling (as i did in sunday's call to worship)
for a white horsewith the crowned rider
called Faithful and True, a New Jerusalem,a New Ramona,
and the Tree of Death removed


Tom Bentz, Rev. Dr.

Harbor suitably your cat:

Mona the cat, 18, 1 ea:

"I would dearly love a new place to hang out, now that winter is coming and you have no warm radiators yet for me to sleep on. Somewhere preferably against an interior wall, up off the floor, and a cozy small enclosure. A niche where I can curl up and sleep for hours where/when the sun don't (sic) shine. Please................."

We saw to Mona's need, as is our respectful want, in the walnut commode opposite the sewing machine desk where this contemplator sits. There is a door on the right for a chamber pot, a perfect enclosure now that we have indoor plumbing. Clearing away the contents and placing a fluffy towel down for Mona to lie upon, we put her in and partially closed the door to give her privacy and to reduce any drafts.

It is indeed a snug harbor suitable to her need, apparently, for she is still in there.............