LTDL--Early Salvation Army

Hello again.

Well, the steel guitar blog worked out. It is self-contained. I worked through something in it. It’s done. The new steel guitar instruction book that supersedes my blog worked out too—I would only supplement it with a C6 song book, but that’s just me. I’m not so sure abt my old idea for another book, Learning and Teaching Dead Languages. A perusal of books available for learning Old English books shows that there are several new ones since the time I used to study the language regularly. And they look good. But I don’t think they have anything abt teaching the language.

A friend said that that blog was like stepping into my house uninvited. I intend to blog this time so no friend would feel like that. Some may think the furniture is chipped and in need of replacement. Some may find the thrift store look campy. But hopefully they won’t feel another room in my place is really for sitting.

I don’t know what to write though. I feel like I’m in the Van Morrison song, No Religion. The line goes, “When I cleaned up my diction, I had nothing left to say.”
I swear in my living room, and I abbreviate, so you’ll just have to put up w/ that.

When we last left our hero, he was angry at himself for being relatively at ease with the fact that he knows he will never be able to live in Poland with his son, Ricky, four years old, again.

Last time I was trying to talk to Ricky, his mother lit into me for taking a long time to make up my mind. I was trying to save her some processing money and myself the problem of paying child support before its time, and she lit into me with that accusation. When you are connected to sbdy thru marriage, names will ever hurt you. When we lived together she’d wake me up from a winter slumber, crying and saying we must do such and such now. That’s how she wanted me to sign off the most recent mutually-related divorce papers. But I learned not to do such things when we lived in our last apartment and she got me roped into a religious ceremony for Ricky’s sake, which was redundant and against my better judgment. Another factor in an international marriage is communication, by which I mean being totally clear on what you and your spouse are talking about. V has no patience for getting clear on things.

But I have decided that I am going to sue for custody of Ricky when he is twelve years old. Today when the Vie was on she axed me if I wanted a divorce, and I had to question whether I really did. I later decided that, yes, I did. This may or may not involve making it a no-fault divorce. I think it’s all her fault, and pressing that could get me custody. But I may not be the most objective source.

Here’s a poem I wrote:

They Talked

Lit white-on-blue street flash by.
University town.
They ought to spend money on more signs like that.

“That’s covered parking. It’s a parking lot for cars. People leave their cars there and go and do stuff around here like going to school. Then they come back and get in their cars and drive home.”

“Well, there aren’t any cars there now,
But there are cars there during the day.
All the people have gone home.
Because most people work or go to school in the day.”

“That guy looks like Beck.
Do you know who he is?”

“He’s a singer.”

“No, I just mean that guy just looks like him. Similar.”

“Similar.”

I know how this Beck guy grew up.
His Dad told HIM all about this, explained it all to him.
Or he didn’t.

He needs a shave. No he doesn’t—it’s the style.
He’s reading. A novel? Pop psychology? How to succeed in something?
He wears a red zip-up sweatshirt and easy cloth black shoes.
He goes to college in my mind.

His dad talks to him on the phone.
Mom talks to him, and they talk about him.
They drink coffee and do parent stuff but think about him a lot.

I think about you and
How I want to help you
And really tell you all about all of this.

Will you go to college?
Will you shave? What matter of your style will be foreign to me?
Will you carry a book on the train?
Will you listen to pop, rap, the new genre or out-of-the way stuff?

I wish I could help you do it
Your way.
My way.
Our way.
The way.
Which of those? No word really captures it. Each does.


Can I warm up your coffee? Maybe you’d like an beer instead. Today I worked out on a step machine. When I was done, I was asked how long I had. “21 minutes,” I said. “That ought to be enough for one Guinness,” they said. I tried to continue the conversation but didn’t come out on top, unless you read this. Guinness is low-alc, and I want to homebrew and get to below 2.5% alcohol. Lovely day for a Guinness. Get you one?