As a youngster, I and many in my generation were drawn to the character sketches of Edwin Arlington Robinson ... relatively short poems describing folk he met around town ... maybe in a bar or an IGA store. "Miniver Cheevey child of scorn grew old as he assailed the Seasons ... he bemoaned that he was ever born and he had reasons." Robinson went on to further describe this man lost in fantasied history and in his bottles of whiskey. Simon and Grarfunkel put his Richard Cory to music ... a suicide who was known through town only as the bon vivant he presented to the townsfolk.
Character sketches? M and I were catching a bit of the News a few days ago ... must've been CNN or a related channel, as Dr. Sanjay Gupta was doing a piece. He visited a Northern European Yoga group that has specialized -- for I think they said 30 years -- in adding laughter to the stretches and poses of Yoga. I don't recall the details but there they were laughing. I wouldn't say that they were forcing the laughter, especially since it appeared that the more they laughed, the more natural and genuine it appeared to be.
I don't recall many details. I was watching GuntherDog move about on the couch and listened to him groan. It occurred to me that there really are personality types and that I was, in my head, dividing them up into laughers and groaners ... then I morphed into thinking about how I've previously divided humanity into those who emphasize gratitude for what is and those that bemoan what isn't and struggle with envies.
Sometime, this weekend, we (GuntherDog was home ... moaning, chances are -- he must come from a long line of Kentucky Kvetchers ... or maybe he got it from me) were driving in run down area of Philadelphia ... houses in disrepair ... some folk walking about appearing half(or more)-drunk. Oh! I just remembered how we ended up there; it relates to Last Quarter thinking. I had been excited to attend a talk ... it was just yesterday ... of a Southeast Asian Society of Psychiatrists talking about prejudices in the consultation room. M and I arrived ten minutes early for the 2-5 fete which promised to provide Indian and Iranian snacks, if history of previous meetings could be depended upon. We got buzzed in and explained why we were there. The three people at the desk looked perplexed.
"A meeting? I don't know if I saw an announcement of a meeting for today."
Long story; short version. We were 168 hours and ten minutes early. I was gladdened that I got the hour right and the good folk at the table let us get away without the $5 token for leaving Parking. I guess it was a Social Security discount ... Alms for the Old.
We left, quite amused by the vagaries of late middle aged memories and sauntered through the rundown area I mentioned seeking a way home. True, true. Old people get lost but M and I both had (well-placed) confidence that we'd make it home to find out where we hid our Ginkgo ... the same closet, perchance, in which we left our memory.
But that neighborhood? I'm reasonably confident that many -- most? -- of the residents of that area of Philadelphia are waking up, as I write, to go off to schools and jobs. Sunday afternoon while we were driving? Many -- most? -- were sitting down after church to have dinner with family. But many of the visible were walking the street in what appeared to be a fog. So, I asked myself, why isn't that me? When illness strikes, there are those who ask: "Why me?" For me, at this moment and many like it, it is closer to the minister's plea: "There but for the grace of God" or the dice "go you and I."
I suppose gratitude is an experience that precipitates from a recognition that my life's direction was and remains a crap-shoot and that I lucked out. Have I worked for the past 45 years? Well, yes, but that poor guy doing the Cheap Wine Stagger? he may have worked for 50.
I know this can't be the whole story, but gratitude and laughter -- whether constructed or absolutely expectable -- do seem to be related to our ability to accept the randomness of the Universe and to laugh ourselves into peeing in our pants at the fact that we didn't crap-out, entirely.
"GuntherDog ... c'mon ...
give Daddy a laugh!"
"Hey, Dad ... Gimme a break,
it's 5 AM, you're full of hooey
and you forgot to feed me. Oh!
And by the way. You're a lucky
old dog for not getting lost on
the way home, yesterday"
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