THOUGHTS, AS PROMISED

THOUGHTS

I have a thought.  ”Oh no,’ says Charlie

THINKING IS DOING

 I was reading Ron Padgett’s poem, Think and Do, which begins,

‘I always have to be doing something, accomplishing something, fixing something, going somewhere, feeling purposeful, useful, competent—even coughing, as I just did, gives me the satisfaction of having “just cleared something up.‘

And I thought, ‘I like this guy.  I have to think and do, too.  Hard to manage in a wheelchair 24/7.’  I kept on reading.

‘The phone bill arrives and minutes later I’ve written the check. The world starts to go to war and I shout, “Hey, wait a second, let’s think about this!” and they lay down their arms and ruminate. Now they are frozen in postures of thought, like Rodin’s statue, the one outside Philosophy Hall at Columbia. His accomplishments are muscular. How could a guy with such big muscles be thinking so much? It gives you the idea that he’s worked all his life to get those muscles, and now he has no use for them. It makes him pensive, sober, even depressed sometimes, and because his range of motion is nil, he cannot leap down from the pedestal and attend classes in Philosophy Hall. I am so lucky to be elastic! I am so happy to be able to think of the word elastic, and have it snap me back to underwear, which reminds me: I have to do the laundry soon.’

His mind is elastic and he thinks about what needs doing and if, when, and how to do it.  I can think and do all of that, too, and, then, I can call Charlie to put in take out, and fold the laundry.  You can’t do anything without thinking, so if you can do, you can think.  And with Charlie’s muscles and good-nature, I thought, thinking and doing become one.  So I beaver away in my wheelchair, having ideas, carrying out some,  and checking  others with Charlie, who pretends not to hear me, as he heads to the couch for a little nap.

Maybe I should recall and cite the Jesuit Ethics teacher’s pronouncement that ‘the thought is as bad as the deed’, and the response, as one, from my 5 roomies, ‘Well, let’s do it then.’ Or maybe not. [And maybe the best part of college is the lifelong friends.  Hi, Nonnie and Dort.  Clearly, we old oldies are the toughest birds of the batch.]

MULTI-THINKING

There is multitasking, sure, and though It has a mixed reputation, it is still useful when you want to justify doing two things at once.  Well, with all the thoughts of a busy bee in a wheelchair, how about multi-thinking?   For example, as I was listening to golf on tv, an interview on NPR radio, and trying to match colors of jigsaw puzzle pieces, wondering if weeping edema matters, the latte machine is fixed, Charlie will fix the phone and remember the mail when he comes, etc., etc., etc.  I had a thought.  Surely, we are multi-thinkers, as well as multi-taskers, ready with a messy desk and a convergence of ideas that come from ever-meshing thoughts to confront the thorns  in one’s rose garden.

OBITUARY — LATEST THOUGHTS

You may recall that Charlie decided I should write my own obituary.  I had to decide what of my life was more than a death certificate’s data and less than a memoir.  It should be a memorable me, and not cost too much to have printed in the newspaper. As I struggle to satisfy fusspot, Charlie, and not bore myself to death [possibly literally!], I tried simulating a conversation with a favorite poet, Wislawa Szymborska. In her poem, Possibilities, she listed a number of her preferences, and I responded to each.  She didn’t know Charlie, but, had she, she would have listed him first, too.

Charlie nixed this idea, as it would eat up his inheritance, if he could even find a newspaper willing to lay it out [so to speak!].  He did recall that the ‘Conversation’ memorial card we made for my sister was a big hit, and he promised to make a card for me.

My latest OBIT thought was to develop a shelf of books that ‘summed’ to me.  I got the idea from the results of such a study / survey, published in a book with a title,  by two women whose names I don’t recall.  I do recall liking the book, and from that was born the thought that making such a list and could be fun to do and be an obituary of sorts.

SELF-PORTRAIT FROM A SHELF OF BOOKS, which, like the self portrayed, is ever-changing

The Scotch, by John Galbraith

The Snoring Bird [My Family’s Journey Through A Century of Biology], by Bernd Heinrich

Lab Girl, by Hope Jahren

Swimming Studies, by Leanne Shapton

The Fly Trap, by Fredrik Sjoberg  [hoverflies],  

    [now reading, The Art of Flight, by Fredrik Sjoberg, about Gunnar Widfoss]

The Power Broker [Robert Moses and the Fall of New York], by Robert Caro

Frankie’s Place; A Love Story, by Jim Sterba    

Fishing with John, by Edith Iglaur 

Caught in  the Web of Words [James Murray and the OED], by K.M.Elizabeth Murray

The Book Nobody Read, by Owen Gingerich  [Copernicus]

The Double Helix, by James Watson

Places In Between, by Rory Stewart

From the Holy Mountain, by William Dalrymmple

Principles of Uncertainty, by Maira Kalman 

       [now reading, Still Life with Remorse, by Maira Kalman]

Travels with Herodotus, by  Ryszard Kapuscinski

So Many Books, So Little Time [A Year of Passionate Reading], by Sara Nelson

Suggestions for the obit–ish list are ever welcome.  I’m already reading and liking a lot, All the Beauty in the World; The Met and Me, by Patrick Bringley   

DIVA-DOM

When I became [ahem] an award-winning poet, I declared myself a Diva for a Month.  Charlie agreed to ten minutes and offered to get me a latte.  Then when I turned 85 and became, by an NIH classification, ‘old old’, I declared myself a Diva for Life.  For some unfathomable! reason, woeful Charlie called his lifelong, nearby friend. Ben probably tsk – tsked, then said, ‘Your mom was a Diva at 45.’  ‘Harsh,’ I thought, until I looked anew at my earliest known picture and [gasp] saw a DIVA!

This is for you, Ben.  You are one of my FFLs [favs for life].

That’s all for now.  I’m already busy doing a lot of thinking, and Charlie is headed for the couch