surrounded by trees surrounded by
Pittsburgh ruins
that will be rebuilt
dressed
both in blue
with just enough quirk to their style
you know they put time and thought into it.
Waiting for the wedding photographer
and when you and your wife and daughter walk by
and you say:
“you are the best-dressed muggers I’ve ever seen.”
the guy says:
“That’s so nice. Give me your wallet.”
A were-child
a little were-girl with ponytails and
a bike with a basket and bell
can eat her own weight in about
an hour. Which doesn’t
sound like much but you know
that’s more than your arm, your leg,
your head.
Is there a case to be made
a first affirmative delivered in defense
of collating those second-rate thoughts
you might not see again (or even miss)?
Shake them out of your hands, those
drops of borrowed blue electric ink
to make room in the sides of your fingers
for some top-notch scribble sent down
like a message
in a lunchbox on string
you once lowered through a bannister
to rest on the carpet down below
just in case
someone curious walked by.
In brief:
Jacob blesses Joseph’s two sons, and once again it’s a good day to be the youngest child. Jacob then gathers his sons and delivers a series of prophecies that to be honest sound a little bit insulting here and there. For example: “Dan shall be a serpent by the road, a viper by the path”? Was that really necessary?
Jacob/Israel passes away. The Egyptians are gracious, and mourn Joseph’s loss, and Joseph brings his father back to be buried in the land of Canaan. Many years later, Joseph passes away, confident that in time his remains will also be brought back to the promised land.
A couple of thoughts:
If you’d like to join in… this is the place for comments and commentary on Va-Yeḥi (Gen 47.27 – 50.26)
Next up: Shemot (Exodus 1.1 – 6.1)
-Cecil
In brief:
Jacob journeys back to Esau, worried, aware of the weight of what he’s done, seeking to make amends.
Along the way, he wrestles with a mysterious figure and comes away with a limp to remind him of the struggle. These struggles, they leave their mark.
The mysterious figure names Jacob “Israel,” but it doesn’t stick for even a sentence. Seriously, the book goes like (paraphrasing): “‘OK Jacob, you are now Israel’” and then: “‘Thanks!’” says Jacob.” It borderline feels like a burn on the mysterious figure, whose naming powers are clearly so-so.
Esau, far from the wolfman I remembered from childhood, is just about the most genuine and sweethearted (albeit hairy) person imaginable, particularly given how he was raised by a family of, let’s face it, tricksters. And in a beautiful scene of reunion, forgiveness, and some pretty fierce brotherly hugging, we can’t help but start to like Jacob too.
The story shifts quickly, though, as we learn of the rape of Dinah by Shechem. Her brothers Simeon and Levi slaughter Shechem and his townsmen and take their women and children captive. There is no waiting for divine judgment. Vengeance is theirs.
In the third section, God names Jacob “Israel,” and this time (yes!) it takes. Rachel dies giving birth to Benjamin, and the coldness of her midwife’s words still kind of haunt me: “Have no fear, for it is another boy for you,” the midwife says … Two sentences later, Rachel is dead.
With all this, it was honestly a relief when the text turned to full-on family tree mode, and we learned about several people who gave birth to many more people. Phew!
A couple of thoughts:
If you’d like to join in… this is the place for comments and commentary on Va-Yishlaḥ (Gen 32.4 – 36.43)
Next up: Va-Yeshev (Gen 37.1 – 40.23)
-Cecil
In brief:
In Va-Yese’ we get the first of Jacob’s dreams, as well as the first mention of the tithe, one of those little ideas that has had gigantic implications.
Jacob meets Rachel and Leah. Jacob the trickster is tricked by his father-in-law. The family grows, with as many kids roughly, as there is sand on the beach and stars in the sky.
We find out the value of a mandrake (considerable). Jacob and Laban have an extended battle of wits and of sheet and of goats, and ultimately make their peace.
And Jacob runs into angels of God and is pretty blasé about it.
A couple of thoughts:
If you’d like to join in… this is the place for comments and commentary on Va-Yetse’ (Gen 28.10 – 32.3)
Next up: Va-Yishlaḥ (Gen 32.4 – 36.43)
-Cecil
If you are here in search of the week 12 post, god love ya! 😉
I’ve finished the book but need a wee bit more to gather my thoughts.
Real week 12 post coming Tuesday….
Thanks for your patience and your meandering!
-Cecil
Hi all,
I wanted to let you know that a collection of my poems and stories is now available on Amazon in print and kindle!
I thought I’d reshare the title poem here, which was originally about the joy of lemonade and coffee shops. Over time it became about other things that go away and come back — like creativity. But these last few weeks, it’s become about missing lemonade and coffee shops all over again. Ah, lemonade and coffee shops.
Best!
-Cecil
The Lavender Lemonade Is Back
The lavender lemonade is back
at my local coffee shop.
I’d given up on her.All the lemon factories, moved off-planet.
“We Thank You For Your Business.”Empty cups, traced with
mint and cane.I’ve been lost
behind the
lost
behind the
dark berry side of this Lavender Moon.
Here comes the lemonade.
In 1976 I was in Mr Rehmeyer’s fourth grade class. I guess he was around 35 then, so born sometime around 1940. It’s something to think about, all those teachers from that time who are likely 70, 80, 90 years old now if they are still with us.
Mrs. Brown had been my excellent 3rd grade teacher. She was from San Francisco, and I think that was the first time I really heard or thought about the idea of the Bay Area, where I ended up making my home for the last gazillion years. She was sweet and warm, and that’s likely part of what I always associate brown bobbed hair with kindness. So if you have brown bobbed hair, don’t be mean to me. It will mess me up.
Mrs. Brown liked me, but she liked everyone. Mr. Rehmeyer was a little different. I could be wrong, but I feel like I may have been one of his favorites. At least, that was the impression he gave me, and you know, more credit to him if we all felt that way.
He had lived in India before coming to our school in the Hague, and would tell us little tidbits about life on the subcontintent. The whole Western romance of India as a land of mystic wisdom —- all the trace signals that sent a generation of American hippies, British musicians, Harvard professors into the crowded cities and thick jungles of India -— long before my brother Pete introduced me to Ram Dass’ Be Here Now, long before I stumbled on Herman Hesse’s Siddartha, long before I watched The Razor’s Edge, and learned about the Upanishads from Bill Murray, all of that I got from Mr. Rehmeyer.
He looked a little like the actor Bryan Cranston, if that helps, but with fuller black hair, and a thick beard, thick like moss or the beard on a GI Joe doll. He wore button down shirts and seemed ready to pick something up, to turn it around, to fix or make something.
I remember he talked directly to me and not at or near me. And I remember being excited to learn one day that we would be putting on a show, sort of a living panorama. The theme was India and Hinduism, and the role of the holy man was going to be played by a talkative, frizzy-haired Jewish kid prone to wearing tight, thick-striped shirts. Aka, me.
We staged the scene on a blanket in the corner of the classroom. If I remember right, the performance was planned for the evening so our families could join. I don’t remember any lines, or even the existence of lines. It seems like we were just being asked to be these characters, not to play out a particular narrative.
My Grandma and Grandpa visited us a few times from the US while we were overseas. There wasn’t any pattern to these visits. It wasn’t an “every passover” kind of thing. The wheels would turn, the stars would click, and they would appear, staying in our house for two or three weeks. But only one of those trips stuck with me — a visit when I was in the fourth grade.
My Grandma was funny and wry. She was a little bit Danny Kaye. She would dance without provocation. She would tease. She didn’t mind attention, and she didn’t mind doling out attention either. When I was perhaps 4 or 5 or 6, we were on a late night family drive, both in the back seat. It might have been to an event at our cousin Naomi’s in Connecticut. I put put my head down in her lap and slept some of the best and deepest sleep in my life. I think she patted my head. Wonderful safe darkness. That was my Grandma too.
This visit to see us in Holland was only a few years later. I was nine and I still loved her like crazy. I mean, that never went away, but there’s an extra power to the love you have for your grandparents when you’re a not-yet-teen.
And here’s what I remember most of all: I remember getting ready to go to the school, and my Grandma pulling out her lipstick. It looked sort of purple, perhaps lavender. She made a thick dot on my forehead with that lipstick, pressing the lipstick hard enough that the dot raised up from my skin, almost like a blob of lavender paint.
I’ve since learned that a mark on the forehead is called a Bindi for women and a Tilak for men. And perhaps we can give me and my grandmother a pass, all these years later, for a move about as sensitive as someone wearing a turquoise cape and calling it a Tallit. Because I have to admit, I remember that mark with affection.
I remember her standing close. Maybe even stretching up a little to press it into my skin. I remember climbing onto the platform to put on our show, the heavy scent of incense drifting over the set. And it was the cool feeling of lavender lipstick fixed to my forehead that stuck with me all these years, that moment with Grandma that made it possible for me to remember my star turn, Mr. Rehmeyer looking on from the side, my grandparents in the audience, the incense sticks glowing like slow burning prayers. Me, beaming. Holy, sort of. Happy, fully.
I’m back in Cecil mode after a while away from ye old blog, and that’s pulled me back to recording mode. Herewith, a cover of a loverly Rodgers and Hammerstein tune from South Pacific packed into just less than 2 minutes of digitalia.
time: 1:54 seconds; specs: 3.7M