RUMINATIONS? NO, EMOTIONAL PROCESSING

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While folks like Joyce White Vance keep pounding on all online readers to “talk with your family, your friends, your neighbors” about how to ward off the fearful ramifications of dictatorship, monarchy, and autocracy. Some of us don’t do this. Me, for one. And not because I don’t interact with others, but in some places—Dollar General, the pharmacy, the grocery store—it’s not appropriate. Nor does it come up unless you meet a fellow partisan down one aisle and begin to discuss the state of affairs with them.

I could not participate in any conversation about the two-day’s prior Democratic election “blowout” with a group I have lunch with. After one month’s admonition from one of them: “no politics,” that pretty much left me out of any meaningful conversation since I spend most of my unstructured time reading various pundits who analyze the polls, any scoops they can get or read from another pundit. And commenters, opinionators, political data specialists, etc.

Two of the others read mystery series, and other light (to me) books found at second-hand stores, Goodwill or flea markets. Then they trade books. Nothing wrong with that, of course, and sometimes, one of them will glom and enthuse over a TV series, usually domestic arts. Having no TV, I’m completely left out of that conversation.

The one with the caregiver doesn’t talk unless spoken to. I always—for some reason—get to sit next to her; she was my best friend in school. I try to hug her when we meet, and when we leave, but sometimes Daughter leads her out before I can. This time, I asked her what she’s been doing. “Been busy,” she answered. Later, I asked her, “What you been busy doing?” She hesitated. “Whatever comes up,” she said. End of conversation.

I did begin one conversation: “Every time I write a check, I’m thankful I took bookkeeping.” The two others chimed in, “Who taught bookkeeping? It was a man.” None of us could remember his name. “It started with an H,” I offered, still (to this writing) unable to pull his name out of the brain. Guess I need to find a yearbook, but I have only the 10^th grade one where I was one of the (ahem) “Most Beautiful’ (3^rd place). The others agreed that Miss Doak taught typing and shorthand.

Another time, I added to the conversation. B. said something about one of our women classmates, whom I thought had died, being “Crazy as a Bessie bug!” That reminded me of one of the Bombadil’s poems about “a well-thought-of, educated woman after a stroke, asked the poet to get her a scholarship. Naturally, the poet was non-plussed. She finally asked the woman why she wanted a scholarship and the lady replied, “To blow my nose on.” Silence. Duh! I don’t recall any comment, or sniff, or pfuff—nothing. I don’t know what I expected them to do or say.

We did have a close encounter with John, the waitperson, when it came time to pay. He muscled in between me and the wall to begin the process on the apparatus designed for knowledgeable folks to take care of. Someone on the other end of the table made some snippy remark about folks not knowing how to do such simple things.

As for talking politics, I often tell MY daughter about any IMPORTANT thing that had happened while she was working. And one of my sons has lately been taking the opposite position if I happen to bring anything political into the phone conversation. So I’ve quit talking politics. Sad. My siblings are all on the same side as I am, thank goodness. I wonder what Thanksgiving will bring in that arena.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, my youngest sister is back to hosting the extended family at her condo in Hot Springs. Another sister’s family from up east—her estranged husband and their three adopted grown children––will fly in for two weeks, the second week to be spent with the long-separated wife.

Host sister asked me to spend Wednesday and Thursday nights with her since her Portland daughter and granddaughter won’t be coming, and she’ll be alone. Billy and one other grandchild will be flying in on Tuesday. That is, if their flights are back to normal after the shutdown.

I agonized over her invitation, now proclaiming to myself, ‘I MUST go.’ And alternately whining, ‘I don’t wanna go.’ Not to Thanksgiving, but to her two-night invitation. Finally, I took the plunge and called her. Straight to voice mail it went, so I told her I was declining her kind invitation, but would bum a ride with our brother down on Thursday. But I DO have a ride down for the gathering.

Lately, online folks are advising seniors to “get out and socialize; visit your neighbors; have friends over, etc.” But I want just the opposite: staying at home when I can, working in the yard when it’s nice out, filing papers in the office, working on the jigsaw puzzle an hour before nap and an hour before bedtime, reading, working on a family-history scrapbook—stuff like that.

 Oh, and thinking up creative ways to use leftovers, like those au gratin potatoes. I went online and produced a great soup today: a chicken-broth cube (one cup liquid), diced cherry tomatoes, one-fourth a red sweet pepper, a little onion, bacon. Mix, put in a Corning ware dish and cook at 350 until needed. Wonderful! No more leftovers.

c 2025, Pat Laster, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

 

Pundits Find Poetry in the Prose of Politics

 

As a writer and poet (redundant!), I have learned a myriad of ways to get an idea, work up an introduction, add three points, then end with a summary. This is our retired-English-teacher-member’s construction of an essay.

                Here’s the idea I’ve had of jotting in my journals (one for the office, one for the dining table) what I call a clever use of poetic devices in the news-commentary-analyses-opinions and sometimes, ranting. It’s as though these folks took a class in poetry, or were taught that alliteration and assonance (what??) always elicit a positive vibe from the proofreader or editor.

                Around three months ago, I began noting phrases I thought were from the poetic-devices-catalog, citing the journalists from whose mouths came these potentially poetic thoughts.

                Now, the trick is how to paragraph them into what might pass as an essay. Let’s call the preceding verbiage the introduction and what follows as the three points of my subject.

ALLITERATION seemed to be the most used. I’ll bullet each example and cite its source.

·      “Books, bathrooms and Bibles: – these state-approved bills were thought to be counter to their purposes and it was a sub-hed to “New Laws Concern Library Director” by Grace, Hurt and Thompson, from the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

·      “The answer . . . appears to be a toxic blend of profits, politics and purposeful cruelty.”  –– Thom Hartmann.

·         “ . . . tariff-turvy country.” –– Frank Bruni

·         “ . . . gluttonous Gotrocks. . . –– Ibid

·         “The presidency . . . isn’t a privilege, it’s a profit center.” –– Ibid

·         “ . . . trickle-down triumphalism.” –– Ibid

·         “. . . too minor to matter.” –– Experts on finding Hegseth’s plagiarism, Raw Story

·         “. . . callously and carelessly . . . “ –– Maureen Dowd, NYT

·         “. . . more volatility than value.” –– Ibid

ASSONANCE, HOMOPHONES, INNER RHYME

·         “ . . . swirls of uncertainty . . .” –– Economist Lindsey Owens, Raw Story

·         “ . . . perverse dissonance . . .” –– Frank Bruni

·         “ . . . armed with charm . . .” –– N. Allinson, M Birnbaum, J. Stein on UK’s Starmer

·         “All gilt and no guilt.” –– F. Bruni

·         “The Trump slump is upon us.” –– Lindsey Owens, Raw Story

·         “. . . groused about . . .” –– Adam Nichols, Raw Story

·         “. . . performance of governance without substance.” –– Democracy Index

REPETITION AND RHYMING

·         “The least informed, least curious, least logical, least credible, least responsible [president] in history.” –– Jen Rubin, The Contrarian

·         “ . . . where the conflict of interest becomes a confluence of interest.” –– Maureen Dowd, cited by F. Bruni

·         “ . . . the times are flush/ and the digs are plush.” –– F. Bruni

·         “The world may be going to hell/but don’t worry, the president’s doing well.” –– Dana Milbank, Washington Post

METAPHOR

·         “. . . leaving his demolition derby of DOGE.” –– Democracy Index

·         “. . . the lug nuts on the wheels of the White House bus continue to loosen.” ––Heather Cox Richardson

In summary, these selections seemed to be right out of the poetry clinics I’ve attended, including the two online MFA poetry classes from the University of Arkansas at Monticello. Though I worked hard on those class poems, this compilation was a similar situation. Online news, analyses, commentaries, opinions are my conduit to the world sans TV and a smart phone. And it’s a lot quieter, too.

Viva la poetry! Especially in prose!

 c 2025, PL dba Lovepat Press, Benton AR USA

Waiting for the long-predicted winter event

 

From another year's snowfall

2:45 p.m. CST Tuesday, February 18, 2025, and I look out the south window to see if I can detect anything falling. Earlier, as I schlepped the recycle bin to the roadside for Wednesday's scheduled pickup, it showed rain on the border bricks of the sidewalk but, since I was covered from the cold except for my face, I felt nothing. Soon, the drops in the birdbath stopped and nothing has happened since. Old Gray Ford Taurus sits under the shed porch out of the precip. Daughter has taken a room close to her work site so she won't need to drive on any ice that accumulates. Smart woman, right?

I have a pitcher ro catch the drips and the "Dripping tap" note at hand: to activate during the next four nights, if the lows drop as predicted. With gas heat and two electric heaters, this big old house is warm enough if one wears four layers on top and two on bottom. Myriad throws are handy if needed.

Stay warm; stay dry' stay; inside if possible. The mail may stay in the box for several days if and when the winter storm emerges.

I DO have pansies blooming, and I picked the open jonquils last night as Ms. Carson suggested.

C 2025, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

On second thought, how about a "Second Final Column"?

 

January 30, 2025, Thursday night

The late Dr. Paul Root of Arkadelphia, (22 years at OBU, untold years in the music program at First Baptist Church,and a founding member of a quartet, The Four Jacks) had a habit of putting on several "final concerts." And since Editor May offered me the opportunity to write an occasional guest column, why not?

But I sent it only to the writers group I belong to. Earlier in January, I was lucky enough to receive a visit from a writer friend from Ann Arbor, MI, who has a son and grandchildren in this area. We'd met in Piggott at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Educational Center for a writers retreat. At the same time Joe stopped by, a closer neighbor (two streets over), who walks by daily and--with permission--cuts through my yard to avoid the dog on the next street, appears. I'm already streetside and I get a hug from both men, but one at a time. "Joe, meet Ed. Joe's visiting family from Michigan. Ed's a neighbor," pointing westward.

Inside, anticipating his visit,  I'd pulled a rocker over facing my sitting place, brought a TV tray beside it in clase Joe wanted coffee. He did. We caught up with the news; I offered him my last copy of a hand-produced book, A Year's Worth of Selected Haiku. "Happy 70th birthday," Friend and neighbor Lydia, who'd edited Joe's new book of poetry, Slow Rivers had only corresponded with him via email and phone, so I called her to come over and meet Joe. She did.

  As we visited, Joe said, "Behind you, I see a Donald Hall book." I twisted around and pulled out the thick hardback poetry book I'd read recently. In his earlier years, Joe had some interaction with Mr. Hall and expressed an interest in his work. "Here, happy birthday twice." I signed and dated it and gave it to him. 

And now, it's nearly February. Where DOES the time go?

c 2025, PL, dba lovepat press Benton AR USA

No more STANDARD columns so perhaps I'll blog more often.

 After more than 25 years of writing a general interest column (500 words) for the SOUTHERN STANDARD, a regional weekly based in Amity, AR, and begun while I lived in Arkadelphia AR, I decided to quit. But I kept the poetry column, and I will get a copy of the paper each week. I loved doing a general interest piece each week, but as I aged, I needed time (ha) to continue my memoir that my editor and I decided she would not continue. Also, there are myriad containers of loose papers and photos that need corralling before my time is over.

As I write, snow that's been predicted for at least a week, isn't yet here, but son Eric reports sleet in Hot Springs moving this way. My concern is for my daughter's safety in getting home from work, though we live within walking distance. But she assured me she could manage the short drive. Let's hope so.

Hello especially to Sue Goldberg of Australia, a faithful reader and commenter. I'm back, Sue!

c 2025, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA