Though it happened one hundred years ago
it still seems as shocking as front page news,
the details of that tragedy
filling the ocean liner of our hearts
and carrying our compassion
down to the depths.
Maybe it was the way
rich died with poor –
their bodies wrapped in jewels
or in tatters –
mixing in those frigid waters.
Or maybe it was how wrong
even brilliant shipbuilders can be,
shocked to learn of their unsinkable promise
colliding with fate
But perhaps the greatest of ironies
is how it seemed her dream drowned that day
and was given up as lost –
yet in song, story and moving picture
she rises, again and again,
inviting those of us who believe in hope
to climb aboard.
As soon as I started writing this column I realized that I had written about “comics” before. But that didn’t stop me – I kept going.
The fact that I have found myself writing about the newspaper “funnies” a few times may say something about my choice of reading material, or what I like to do to get the day started – or end it, for that matter. But nonetheless, here is this year’s contribution:
I grew up having the newspaper’s “funnies” read to me, and then reading them myself. I remember spreading the Herald Journal’s comic pages out on the living room floor and no doubt making a mess of it before my father ever got to look at that section of the paper.
Help me understand 4G. Not the mechanics of a network, I’m beginning to grasp that after a few run-throughs with techno geeks. Help me understand the “need for speed,” as the commercial says.
I had to shake my head at the last commercial I’ve seen about these supposedly-great 4G networks.
Two married couples in their suburban driveways with their fancy SUVs were competing over how fast they could get the news and updates on the neighbors through their iphones or ipacs or whatever they are. They were racing over who knew about a neighbor’s giving birth who could deliver a gift the fastest. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Last week, while writing about the different kinds of mustard residing in our refrigerator, I thought of something while finishing the column.
I think of my mother as a really smart person in almost every thing she did – but there was one thing. She didn’t like mustard. The particular time I was thinking about happened on one of our trips to Heid’s when I was a kid.
Like the rest of us, my mother loved Heid’s hotdogs but she didn’t like mustard. I was remembering the time when she sent a couple of Heid’s employees on a quick mission looking for a bottle of ketchup. Back then, Heid’s didn’t feature French fries, so there was not a need for ketchup to slather on them, and anything but mustard on a Heid’s hotdog was unheard of.
And, while I was remembering, I thought about the wooden paddles that were used to spread that delicious spicy mustard from the full crocks at Heid’s on to our hotdogs.
Anyone else want to go to Heid’s?
I missed getting a column in last week because I just got too busy, and by the time I realized it, my deadline had come and gone.
That’s not a good thing! We have our four “boys” down here, plus four grandchildren, and we have been going, going, going.
Monday, we got in a bit of fishing, but mainly we gathered a big bucket of oysters. Tuesday the guys and I were out fishing all day. We caught lots of lady fish, and a good number of silver trout. We added a few gaff-topsail catfish, and yours truly caught a nice Spanish mackerel about 4 pounds.