Traveling with Steinbeck

Taking a break from reading. I'm re-re-reading Travels with Charley, by John Steinbeck. Its one of those books that never quite got the notice his other books like Grapes of Wrath, or Of Mice and Men recieved and that's too bad. Almost sad, really.

Those other books are good, great even, but there is something about them doesn't really resonate with me. That is particularly true with Grapes of Wrath. Maybe the themes are too big, or maybe my brain is too small. Either way, I feel awash in the prose and somewhat buffetted by them. Not so with Travels with Charley.

Travels with Charley is, as far as I am concerned miscast. One usually finds it in the amongst the fiction of Steinbeck. It is not fiction, but a travelogue. In the early 60's Steinbeck decided to become reaquainted with America. He figured, and rightly so, that since he wrote about America and the American experience he should get to know America. So he had a small camper built on a pickup truck, got his standard sized Poodle, Charley and set off to rediscover his country. Or as he put it:

One of my purposes was to listen, to hear speech, accent, speech rhythms, overtones and emphasis. For speech is so much more than words and sentences. I did listen everywhere. It seemed to me that regional speech is in the process of disappearing, not gone but going. Forty years of radio and twenty years of television must have this impact. Communications must destroy localness, by a slow, inevitable process. ...with local accent will disappear local tempo. The idioms, the figures of speech that make language rich and full of poetry of place and time must go. And in their place will be a national speech, wrapped and packaged, standard and tasteless.

Reading Travels with Charley is like looking at a backwards mirror. I do find it to be a modern day prophecy. When I read Travels with Charley I have to do it in small doses, a page or two, sometimes just a paragraph. Reading the book almost fifty years removed from the actual writing has the feelin of literary archeology.

I have a strange affinity for Steinbeck. I'm not sure why, maybe it has something to do with the fact that he and I share a birthday, granted his was 72 years before mind and he was dead a full seven years before I made my squalling appearance, but for some reason Steinbeck's words resonate and rattle my brain cage when I read them. Full discloure: I tried, but have never gotten through East of Eden, if there is a heavier handed book I have yet to meet it.

There are passages in Travels with Charley that stick with me, particularly those rare occasions when I am traveling. I usually get whacked in the head from Steinbeck when I am in a motel. I make it a point to leave nothing behind because of something he writes about when he stops in Chicago.

There is an audio recording of the book, but it is only on audio tape; trust me, I have looked for it on cd. The book is read by Gary Sinese. Sinese's gravelly voice really captures the prose and the rythym of the book.

So, I shall go back to 1960 and drive with John and his dog Charley and rediscover America. I wonder what I'll learn this time.

Genuine Smile

This is the last picture of my father in his pastoral robes. He is second from the left in the front row. That smile is genuine. He genuinely loved being a pastor and loved ministry.

He passed away six months ago last Sunday. Its hard for me to believe that a half of a year has gone by so quickly. My mother and I are doing well. We both miss him, but together we have worked through the sadness; there wasn't much of that, though. No, we both believed, nay, knew that he was with his Lord. And we both took so much comfort in that. We knew that if he had survived and been sent to a nursing home, or even sent home, he would have been unhappy with the quality of life.

We first saw the picture in the new church diretory. We were both a little surprised by it. It was a bit of shock to sit in the pew that Sunday morning we first got it, flip through the pages of the directory and there with a huge smile on his face is my father, doing what he loved most: pastoral ministry.

That smile is symbolic, too. For all Christians. I am sure that my father has that smile on right now in heaven. He is at peace and in the Church Triumphant. That smile, though, is the key to it all, at least for me. Its just another one of those little gifts that my dad gave my mom and I. That smile, the big toothy, happy smile.

That smile is a result of a life-long faith that never wavered. It was tested, I'm sure, but that faith always came out of the forge stronger. About a week or so before he died he had been listening to Coach Tony Dungy's book Quiet Strength. In that book Coach wrote that his mantra was simply "do what we do," he used that mantra to get his team the Indianapolis Colts into the proper frame of mind and to keep focus. One day, my mom and I walked into his room and he looked at us, smiled and said "Do what we do." I think he had somewhat reconciled himself to the fact that he might not be coming home, that he might be going to a nursing home, at least for a while, but he looked at it as another form of ministry. Do what we do.

The Lord called him on Feb. 17, 2008. My father did what he did and he touched many people with his ministry and love. That smile that beams from a picture is the result of that ministry and his Doing what he did.

Peace, dad, and thanks for that smile.

Eights

August eighth would have been my parents' thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. With the summer Olympics in full swing I have heard some interesting things about Chinese numerology and their belief that the number eight is the most lucky numer there is.

My parents were married on August 8, 1971, 8/8/8 (that is if you add 7+1). They were blessed many times through course of their marriage and I'd say that they were fairly "lucky," if you put much stock in numerological things. When my dad had realized that the Olympic opening would be on 8/8/08 he became very excited and had, according to my mom, said that instead of going out to eat to celebrate their anniversary we would have to have chinese food and watch the opening ceremonies on TV. Well, my mom and I were planning just that, but some friends of ours from Accident blew through on their way home to Illinois so we instead ate at Pizzeria Uno's and had pizza, but we were able to watch the opening ceremony at home later that evening.


As I went through my father's things I found two large plastic boxes; he had saved old sermons that he had preached and, if the opportunity arose and he had a chance to preach a vacation Sunday, or even a vacancy, he would go to the box and pull out an old sermon, freshen it up a bit and preach it on Sunday. I looked through the boxes the other night. I could kind of hear my dad's been-out-of-Brooklyn-for-over-forty-years Brooklyn accent. It was interesting to see his little oration marks that he used: a slash here, a hyphen there. I assume they were marks for breathing and pacing, but I don't know for sure.

We are pretty much done going through dad's things. We have gotten rid of somethings and kept somethings. We have donated some stuff and sold other stuff. There are some pastors in Sri Lanka that are wearing his old clercals and there is a newly minted pastor in Pennsylvania wearing some of his stoals and there is a newly started seminarian using one his albs. In short, my mom and I have tried to continue his ministry the best we can.

These two pictures I have posted are from the last family vacation we took two summers ago when we went to Ohio to visit some Presidential homes. I am particularly fond of the first one. There is something about how they are walking together that really seems to capture their relationship: walking together down a path. It brings a smile to my face and puts a little lump in my throat.

On Books and Bookcases

I slept like a rock last night. I don't think I moved an inche. That's a good thing because I moved a mountain of books yesterday, this included a bookcase. I got serious yesterday about my dad's books. I went through everything. I seperated books by topic, sort of. In the process they got mixed up, but that's okay. I seperated theology books (this includes a full box of Luther's Works, not the whole set, but probably about ten or so). There are six boxes of theology books sitting by the window. They may be taking a trip to the Fort sometime this summer. Give em to the cash strapped seminarian, right? Hopefully, it won't make me cash strapped to take them up there... gas at four dollars a gallon?

I have, I don't know, seven boxes of things to go to Half-price books. They won't give me anything for them, but they'll be out of the house. Those boxes contain mainly softcovers and things like that. And then there are four bookcases full of books that hopefully, we'll be able to sell to someone who we contacted. He seems interested in them, hopefully he'll be able to come on Thursday to look at them.

Don't worry, I kept some books. Not many, I have too many of my own, but I did keep a few; mainly, art books, some books about NYC, and a few of his presidential biographies that looked interesting. I keep telling myself that I can't keep everything. I can't, and I really don't want to.

Because of what my father did for a living, minister, he had a lot of books for study, but he also had rather varied interests. He was a history buff and loved to read biographies. He was a New Yorker by birth, a Brooklynite, and when he was a kid he would go to Broadway from time to time to see a play. When he went to seminary in Springfield and then took his first call to South Dakota he couldn't just pop over to Broadway on a whim, so he had broadway come to him. He got involved with a bookclub that would send him a play script a month, hardbound. Really nice, actually. He was a member of this club for over thirty years, so he had a lot of playscripts. He also had playrecords. Full plays recorded. He loved nothing more than going into his office, shutting the door and putting on a playrecord and listening to it.

Its not that much fun. Its a lot of work, but I have found some comfort in the process. There are few books that I kept mainly for sentimental reasons. Those books I know meant alot to him, or there is a story behind them.

The picture at the top of this post is my dad's library. I took it one evening when I was fooling around with my digital camera. I took it a few months before he died. If you look carefull you'll see three fairly large, "blonde" bookcases, and a smaller darker colored one. The three big bookcases are over 40 years old. They were made by a parishoner at my dad's first church in South Dakota. They are about seven feet tall and four feet wide and are strong as ever. Supposedly the original plan was to make them one big unit, but the guy who made them decided it would be easier to three individual instead one big one. This actually turned out to be a good thing. They have been moved around the country six times and have been used as a faux wall at least once between rooms. Those, I'm keeping.

The process continues. Slowly, but it continues. Its alot of work.

if on ampty put 2 dollars how much will that give you in you tank

If there is one thing that really makes Emma, my little white cat, metaphysically scrath her head, it is this: watering plants. She's a smart cat, really, almost too smart for her own good. Sometimes, if I watch her close I can almost see her little feline wheels a-turnin as she figures and postulates a new problem. She has yet to crack the whole watering-the-plants-thing. She just doesn't get it. She usually has the look of "hey, I can drink that!" as I pour a half-comsume bottle of water into the plant on my desk. Its a green, leafy thing. I think I've heard it referred to a "wandering Jew," I don't know if that's the proper term, but I guess that'll do for a name. Anyhow, I just watered the said Wandering Jew plant and Emma, who was reclining quietly on my desk, promptly walked (with purpose) over to the plant and watched as all the water slowly soaked into the potting soil. All the while her ears perked and her eyes wide. She looked at me and gave me a look that said "why did you waste that water?" I don't deprive her of water, really I don't.

I had sent a resume and application to Moline, IL, for a librarian position I saw listed on lisjobs a few weeks back. I got a letter in the mail today, its the typical "thanks, but no thanks letter" I've been getting lately. Its okay. I'll be a bookpimp for a while longer.

Speaking of jobs, I went to a cattle call job fair yesterday. Mainly just to see what one was like. I stayed for about a half an hour. Mainly, the exhibitors were "colleges" that had training programs for various jobs. I will say this, though, my idea of "dressing for success" and some of the other folks idea of same are two entirely different things.

The Final Piece

The above picture is a polaroid of my father's headstone. It was placed last week or so. My mom and I haven't been to Accident, MD yet, to actually see the stone, but we will sometime in the near future.

My dad would of like the stone. It fits the cememtary and isn't ostentatious at all. It blends in nicely. The most important part of the whole thing is that he is amongst his congregation. Many of the folks he ministered to when he served St. John's are around him.

you've been alone, you've been afraid i've been a loof

The title is one of the "key words" that was used to find my blog. I get a kick out of seeing the words people use to find my blog. in a strange way, that title is a poem. What's funny is this: through misspelling, they found my blog. I do believe that the "i've been a loof" should actually be "i've been aloof."

I don't have much more to say than that. It just kind brightened up my day.

Dad's Daily Journal

My dad used to keep a daily journal. Matter of fact, he kept it for 58 years. And when I say daily I mean it, literally. There are twelve letter boxes and two magazine boxes full of his journals. He started writing them when he was about 12 or so. He always told me that he had been inspired to keep a journal by Archie, the comic, I don't remember if he said he had seen it in a Sunday comic or if he had heard about it in a weekly Archie radio broadcast. Either way, he started a journal.

The first journals are written in little pocket notebooks. They aren't much more than a few lines about this and that. As he got older he graduated to regular sized notebooks. His college years are chronicled in Brooklyn College notebooks. Eventually, he graduated still further into five subject, spiral bound, college ruled notebooks. He wrote on the front and back of each page.

His journal changed over time. When he was in high school and college, he would clip out newspaper articles about news and current affairs and paste them into his journals. By the time college rolled around he wasn't doing that so much, though from time to time, there are pictures pasted in.

He also took pictures, lots of pictures. He always had a camera around his neck. After he graduated from college and seminary, he went back and typed up his journals, put pictures with the words and made some really nice scrapbooks. Those scrapbooks go from his first semester of college in in 1954 to just about the time he moved the Lyndhurst, New Jersey in the late '60's. There are thirteen of them. One summer, when I was in high school, I read these journal/scrapbooks. It was truly a fascinating thing to do. I learned a lot about my father, but also about his family and friends. It was quite a lot of fun.

At the end of every year, he would write up a "year end epilogue." A few years back, I asked him if he'd type up his year end epilogues for me so that I could read them. His handwriting was never very good, neither is mine, I like to think that handwriting is hereditary, which, to some degree, I'm sure it is. He started to type up the epilogues. Somewhere along the line, he and my mom decided to make it into a bigger project. They would take pictures from our photo albums and "illustrate" the year end epilogues. He would type up the epilogues and then start going through photo albums to put the pictures to the words, a la his college photo albums, except these were put into clear plastic sheets and the into three ring binders. There are, I think, about seven or eight of them so far and they only got up to the 90's I think before my dad got sick.

So the project continues. I have been typing his last year-end epilogue, 2007. Its been slow going because I've had to stop often and decypher his handwriting, but it has been an enjoyable experience. For a while, I've thought about posting his year end reviews here on blogger, but I'm not sure if that is a good idea. Many of the people who appear in his journals are still alive and some our still in ministery. That's the main thing. He had some rough times during his ministry that he wrote about. As a matter of fact, he went to a counselor to make sure he was really suited to be a minister because it got so bad. According to my mom, after taking a battery of tests he was informed that he was very suited to the ministry and should stay in it. He told the counselor about his journal and the counselor told my dad that the journal was the thing that probably kept him sane and on an even keel. He was able to write it out and get all his hurt and anger out of his system by putting it on the page.

As he typed up his epilogues he dredged up some of the unpleasant experiences he had in his ministry and it actually affected his mood and his sleep patterns. Both my mom and I couldn't wait until he got through those times. After he got through those years, from about 1979-1986, or so, his mood lightened and he became a much happier person.

The journals are the greatest gift my father left for me. That and the tape recordings he made of dinners and phone conversations over the years. He may be gone from here, but he certainly is here with my mother and I.

In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discusses Things

I've had a cold for the last two days and it has been a rather unpleasant experience. Its that "gunk," for lack of a better word, that has been going around. Luckily, it isn't the flu (I got my flu shot this fall). I've got a stuffy head, plugged up ears, and a sore nose from blowing.

My current condition on the health front made for an interesting day. I had a job interview for an "adult services librarian" position. It was the first of at least two that I'll have to go through. This first one was a "getting to know you" interview. Basically, I guess, it was the whittling down part of the process. I haven't really done something like that before. Now, I have to wait for a call back. I also have to fill out an official application for employment.

The library I had my interview is about two, maybe three, miles from my home. Its in the same county as I live, but I can't check books or other materials out of it. It has something to do with taxes. I was asked if I used the library very often and I was honest and said that I hadn't been there but two or three times because I wasn't able to check things out. My interviewer, Marge, understood.

I also have another interview at the big library downtown next week. And I have also applied for another job at the law library I work, this one is a full time position as opposed to the little parttime gig I have now.

I got my masters in Library Science in August. I applied for a couple positions, but I didn't get too excited about them. I wanted to actually have the degree in hand before I started looking for a job-- call it superstition, I don't know. Then the holidays came around and I felt guilty about looking for a job at that time of year since I work retail. I also wasn't too keen on trying to fit interviews in with my busy schedule. So, I took that two months off. Then my father got sick and I had to put my job search on hold, again.

When I was in confirmation we talked about prayer. My father always said that God answers all prayers, just not always the way we want them to be answered. He said God had three basic answers: Yes, No, and wait. When I was looking for a job and sending my resume out to libraries I got interviews, but I never got the jobs. I was disappointed and frustrated, but never angry. There always seemed to be a little voice somewhere telling me that it was okay and not to worry. I look back on the last two months, or so and I can see that that little voice was right. If I had gotten a new job before my father got sick I probably would not have been able to get the time off I needed to take care of things that needed to be taken care of. I might have, but maybe not.

So, looking back, I'm able to see God's plan in action. This helps me now. With my father's death, I'm able to look for jobs again. That probably sounds horrible, but I think you understand what I'm saying.

So, I'll hack my way through the weekend and continue to pray for God's guidance. Its going to be okay. That, I'm sure of.

Shooter and Where it Leads

I went to the movies today. That's something I don't do very often... go to the movie. I was hoping to see Grindhousethe newest Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodeiquez "double feature." I have a thing for movies of this nature. Strange and off beat. I also like "exploitation" films, too and this kind of fits in that category, I think, but, darn the luck-- Grindhouse wasn't shown until four o'clock and I didn't feel like waiting around. So, I decided to give The Shooter a try. I didn't know much about it, but I'd seen the previews and it looked like a movie I might like, you know one of those movies that is geared towards the 18-35 year old male (I fall into that category). It looked like a good a balls out kind of movie. It didn't have quite the fun quotient of say The Rock but it had its moments.

I must say this off the bat: it is a bit over the top in its violence. I, personally, don't need to see heads explode as bullets pass through them, but realism is a must now adays so there you are. On the whole, I liked the movie. It was paced well and had just enough twists and turns to keep me guessing. Though, I found myself getting lost once or twice, I was able to catch up. In movies like this one must be able to turn off their powers of disbelief. If you don't, can't or won't you just won't enjoy the movie. There are some far-fetched scenes.

The Shooter is about a former Marine sniper, Bob Lee Swagger, who is a bit disenfranched about his government (cliche, I know) because of something that happened in the past (Rambo type start to the film). He is recruited by the CIA, or the FBI, or one of those alphabet soup agencies to help them catch an assassin who is planning to kill the president, but in actuality they are setting him up to take the fall. Let's just say that that is the start of a lot of bad things that happen. I'd go into it further, but then I'd have to ruin the surprise.

I must say that Mark Wahlberg (aka Marky Mark) continues to impress me as an actor. He really is very good. He "holds his own" as they say. Also, Michael Pena does a great job as a rookie FBI agent, but I got him confused with Michael Beach, who stared as Ira Hayes in Flags of Our Fathers. They look an awful lot alike.

Here's what drives me nuts about going to the movies: the cost and the 15 minutes of advertisements/trailers. The trailers don't bother me too much, but its the ads the drive me bonkers. I really shouldn't bug out too much about the cost, though, because after I dropped my seven bucks to get into the movie I spent another 10.50 to get myself a Coke and think of nachoes, I was hungry. I feel like I'm a captive. At least I wasn't subjected to the anti-pirating PSA's they had a few years back. I'm also kicking myself because I forgot my MovieWatchers card.

I'll try and see Grindhouse soon, but I also want to see The Hoax mainly because Clifford Irving appears in an amazing film called F for Fake, by Orsen Welles. And the movie The Hoax is about Clifford Irving's world renown con: an authorized bio about the excentric billionare Howard Hughes.

So, to bring this back to its original thesis: The Shooter is a pretty good flick. You don't have to think too hard, it has some good one liners and some great shootouts. Its violent, but I don't remember much vulgar language. Oh, and it was good to see Danny Glover back in the movies. I hadn't seen him in a while. So, if you have a few extra bucks in your pocket go check out The Shooter.