The Wedding Ring
As you may know a time came a few years ago ago, when Maria asked that I wear a ring to symbolize ...
My father never wore a ring; I used one, hastily purchased on Greenwich Street, at the ceremony that tied us together in June of 1963, in Riverside Church, the Reverend Pablo Colon, presiding. What happened to that ring I cannot tell. It is gone for a long time, many years, perhaps stolen by a burglar at our home in Great Neck. Or lost, forgotten on a sink somewhere. I don't know. At the time I did not feel comfortable wearing it, and never replaced it.
Many years later, Maria asked that I wear one, just after our reconciliation feeling somewhat under pressure, and guilty too, I agreed, and immediately went to find one. I tried a few on, but I couldn't bring myself to go through with a purchase. So a year has elapsed, perhaps more.
A few days ago I visited a few nearby jewelry stores; my finger was measured -- ring size 11 1/2. A few rings were tried on, none suited me, most were too wide, one too narrow, finally it seemed that whenever I liked one the store would fail to have in stock a size 11 1/2
I tried a few pawnshops, but not one had a suitable ring, though the thought crossed my mind that in a pawn shop each ring must have had a more interesting story to tell than any new one that I might buy.
So this morning, once again, I went ring-hunting and found what I sought. A size 11 ½ of medium width, 18K.
And I wear it now -- as I type.
I wanted to surprise Maria by wearing the ring without telling her that I had purchased it. As I placed it on my finger, the salesman smiled and asked whether my haste to wear it outside indicated a shotgun wedding of some kind, but I explained to him that I had been married for forty years and that the purchase (and my wearing) of the ring was a present for my wife.
He suggested that buying her a present would be more appropriate. Well, I had no time to explain my convoluted thinking so I left the store, the ring on my finger and burning into it.
I walked away, finger ringed, now searching for Maria.
She called me on my cellphone and we agreed to meet at another store in the Mall. We met and I waited for Maria to notice the ring.
At first she failed to notice it, as I had purchased a silken robe for her from VictoriaÂ’s Secret, and she was busy looking at the robe. My secret was betrayed by a bulge in my pocket where I had placed the ring box. She saw and asked what was in my pocket. -- Still not seeing what was on my finger.
"My cell phone," I lied. She detected the lie quickly as I had the cellphone in my hand.
"Let me see it," she demanded. Sheepishly I pulled the box out and she saw the Tiffany box.
"Look, I bought a ring," I announced.
She complained that I didn't bring her with me when I bought it. It was too small. Of course I bought in Tiffany's so it had to cost too much.
I wanted to surprise her and I thought that she would be very happy when she saw the ring. Well, no good deed goes unpunished.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Friday, October 17, 2003
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Unexplainable to me.
Freedom of choice... unless you're a doctor.
I am not "pro-choice" but what follows is very suspect.
Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and NARAL all oppose a bill permitting doctors and hospitals to refrain from performing abortions.
Apparently, Alaska forbids doctors/hospitals from abstaining from abortion for conscience reasons. How on earth do they enforce this? A better question is directed to the rank and file pro-choicers out there: how do your consciences allow this? How do you still support NARAL, Planned Parenthood, NOW, etc. when they are:
against parental notification for minors wishing abortion
against outlawing partial birth abortion
in favor of forcing doctors who believe abortion is reprehensible to perform them
against regulations of abortion that are mandated for procedures that are much, much safer.
Freedom of choice... unless you're a doctor.
I am not "pro-choice" but what follows is very suspect.
Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and NARAL all oppose a bill permitting doctors and hospitals to refrain from performing abortions.
Apparently, Alaska forbids doctors/hospitals from abstaining from abortion for conscience reasons. How on earth do they enforce this? A better question is directed to the rank and file pro-choicers out there: how do your consciences allow this? How do you still support NARAL, Planned Parenthood, NOW, etc. when they are:
against parental notification for minors wishing abortion
against outlawing partial birth abortion
in favor of forcing doctors who believe abortion is reprehensible to perform them
against regulations of abortion that are mandated for procedures that are much, much safer.
Monday, October 13, 2003
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Jan 1, 2003 -- old notes found in old books
Decorating
Maria and I are setting up the apartment--its slow going, especially as we have very different ideas--I am for buying the best, using a decorator if necessary, as I feel this is probably our last place and we should make it as beautiful and good as we can. She is Miss Frugal (thank God for that, otherwise we would have run out of money long ago, I must admit) But aside from cost our tastes are very different too. She is very beige, very bland, very traditional, I am for something, anything, knockout, that will still stand the test of living with it for twenty years. I could go for very modern, or very traditional, but give me something with a definite style. I saw, for instance, a portrait in Connecticut of an 18th century boy, frowning, dressed as a girl, for some reason. Striking, unusual, well painted. I crave it. Maria: "bizarre, I can't live with it."
We have had our only arguments since I returned, over furniture and so I am giving up. I am turning over the entire furniture selection to her, as there is no compromise--and it probably my inability to compromise that is at fault. I am very critical, and see crap for what it is. She doesn't. So, I am letting it go.....
Decorating
Maria and I are setting up the apartment--its slow going, especially as we have very different ideas--I am for buying the best, using a decorator if necessary, as I feel this is probably our last place and we should make it as beautiful and good as we can. She is Miss Frugal (thank God for that, otherwise we would have run out of money long ago, I must admit) But aside from cost our tastes are very different too. She is very beige, very bland, very traditional, I am for something, anything, knockout, that will still stand the test of living with it for twenty years. I could go for very modern, or very traditional, but give me something with a definite style. I saw, for instance, a portrait in Connecticut of an 18th century boy, frowning, dressed as a girl, for some reason. Striking, unusual, well painted. I crave it. Maria: "bizarre, I can't live with it."
We have had our only arguments since I returned, over furniture and so I am giving up. I am turning over the entire furniture selection to her, as there is no compromise--and it probably my inability to compromise that is at fault. I am very critical, and see crap for what it is. She doesn't. So, I am letting it go.....
Monday, October 06, 2003
Sunday, October 05, 2003
Question for my two readers on the poem below.: I published this poem, by A.R. Ammons, on Sept 17th, a month or so ago. I have wondered about the last lines:
"...When
You left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away."
In the context of the poem how does these last four lines fit? Is the author saying that when "you came" your brought depression and when you left the desolation disappeared? I first read it as a love poem, one that said that when "you came" life lit up and everything attained meaning.
Let me hear your ideas on the poem...Thanks.
gratwicker@aol.com
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
"...When
You left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away."
In the context of the poem how does these last four lines fit? Is the author saying that when "you came" your brought depression and when you left the desolation disappeared? I first read it as a love poem, one that said that when "you came" life lit up and everything attained meaning.
Let me hear your ideas on the poem...Thanks.
gratwicker@aol.com
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
Saturday, October 04, 2003
Friday, October 03, 2003
a fine and quiet place
The ship is over a thousand feet long and has sixteen decks open to the public and a few more under the public ones, in the ships belly. We were on Deck Two--it took me two or three days to stop calling it "the second floor." On these ships traveling on Deck Two is akin to traveling steerage but we were by ourselves in a cabin. It had a large round window, not really a porthole, there was no shiney brass hardware on it, and it couldn't be opened.
A chambermaid was assigned to make sure that the cabin was kept shipshape probably because Royal Carribean's agents on the pier had spotted me as the type who would toss my underwear on the floor. They were not so perceptive when it came to Maria, however, as she is quick to spot a mess in the making and then quick to make sure that the underwear in question is put in its proper place.
Between the two, chambermaid and spouse, our cabin was always ready for the Captain's inspection.
Our cabin was tiny, though the furnishings of the space were so well designed that it was comfortable. There was a closet, dresser, vanity-desk with lighted mirror, wall safe, television, a small refrigerator and several extra drawers all in one prefabricated piece made of a light colored beechwood on one wall.
A double bed was placed under the 30" inch in diameter porthole. The bed could have been split into twins. On each side of the bed were small night tables. The space under the bed was used to kleep our luggage and two flourescent red life preservers.
Opposite the prefabricated wall unit the other wall had a comfortable couch, that I imagine might have been a pull out sleeper. A glass topped coffee table was placed in front.
The bath unit, also prefabricated from the same beechwood and one of the newer ceramic-plastic materials, consisted of a stall shower with a fine stainless steel spray unit; and a sink and countertop, medicine chest, and more lighted mirrors.
Although we were only a deck or two away from the engines, we could neither hear them nor could we feel their vibration at all.
No complaints at all about the room. Steerage, on the Royal Caribean, at least, is a fine and quiet way to go.
mek
The ship is over a thousand feet long and has sixteen decks open to the public and a few more under the public ones, in the ships belly. We were on Deck Two--it took me two or three days to stop calling it "the second floor." On these ships traveling on Deck Two is akin to traveling steerage but we were by ourselves in a cabin. It had a large round window, not really a porthole, there was no shiney brass hardware on it, and it couldn't be opened.
A chambermaid was assigned to make sure that the cabin was kept shipshape probably because Royal Carribean's agents on the pier had spotted me as the type who would toss my underwear on the floor. They were not so perceptive when it came to Maria, however, as she is quick to spot a mess in the making and then quick to make sure that the underwear in question is put in its proper place.
Between the two, chambermaid and spouse, our cabin was always ready for the Captain's inspection.
Our cabin was tiny, though the furnishings of the space were so well designed that it was comfortable. There was a closet, dresser, vanity-desk with lighted mirror, wall safe, television, a small refrigerator and several extra drawers all in one prefabricated piece made of a light colored beechwood on one wall.
A double bed was placed under the 30" inch in diameter porthole. The bed could have been split into twins. On each side of the bed were small night tables. The space under the bed was used to kleep our luggage and two flourescent red life preservers.
Opposite the prefabricated wall unit the other wall had a comfortable couch, that I imagine might have been a pull out sleeper. A glass topped coffee table was placed in front.
The bath unit, also prefabricated from the same beechwood and one of the newer ceramic-plastic materials, consisted of a stall shower with a fine stainless steel spray unit; and a sink and countertop, medicine chest, and more lighted mirrors.
Although we were only a deck or two away from the engines, we could neither hear them nor could we feel their vibration at all.
No complaints at all about the room. Steerage, on the Royal Caribean, at least, is a fine and quiet way to go.
mek
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
At Sea
In every book that I have read about the sea the engines thrum and sea spray salts the faces of the crew or passengers, but on the Navigator, Royal Caribbean’s newest ship, by design thrum is neither felt nor heard, and sea spray is sighted only at the bow of the ship where its knife edge parts the water, a thousand feet from the deck. While on the ship the closest a passenger gets to the sea would be in any of the three or four saltwater swimming pools that could be found on the top two decks. As the pools were filled with most of three thousand passengers I avoided them, keeping a wary eye out for any wayward pool splash that might be aimed at me by frolicking Coney Islanders.
Of course, no pool in the Caribbean would be complete without Pina Coladas and a steel drum band, so the ship’s owners have provided several bars and a band, amplified at a level high enough so that should the guest be swimming at the bottom of the pool, ten feet under water, he or she could still hear the merry music.
There are always a few guests who carry with them glum and serious faces, wrinkled brows, and a Social Director has been provided to nudge them out of their self-concerned reveries and into a Royal Caribbean euphoria. One soon learns to paste a smile on ones’ face, as armor against said Social Director’s efforts, should one want to be alone a la Greta Garbo.
In every book that I have read about the sea the engines thrum and sea spray salts the faces of the crew or passengers, but on the Navigator, Royal Caribbean’s newest ship, by design thrum is neither felt nor heard, and sea spray is sighted only at the bow of the ship where its knife edge parts the water, a thousand feet from the deck. While on the ship the closest a passenger gets to the sea would be in any of the three or four saltwater swimming pools that could be found on the top two decks. As the pools were filled with most of three thousand passengers I avoided them, keeping a wary eye out for any wayward pool splash that might be aimed at me by frolicking Coney Islanders.
Of course, no pool in the Caribbean would be complete without Pina Coladas and a steel drum band, so the ship’s owners have provided several bars and a band, amplified at a level high enough so that should the guest be swimming at the bottom of the pool, ten feet under water, he or she could still hear the merry music.
There are always a few guests who carry with them glum and serious faces, wrinkled brows, and a Social Director has been provided to nudge them out of their self-concerned reveries and into a Royal Caribbean euphoria. One soon learns to paste a smile on ones’ face, as armor against said Social Director’s efforts, should one want to be alone a la Greta Garbo.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Return from a well-deserved rest
Yes, rightfully, you have asked the question: "Rest From What?" "From what?" you say? Well, a vacation is always needed to re-create oneself--thus, recreation. Nes Pa?
Maria thought that getting me on a cruise would be good for our joint soul--I must add, however, though not our joint bank account.
We cruised what is known as the Western Caribbean, in the company of some 3100 other souls in need of rest, and 1100 persons assigned to wait upon us hand and foot. Well, we were well waited upon. The service was enthusiastic, willing, and skilled.
Of course, not one American was to be seen in service. 37 other countries were represented, and the citizens of those countries were drilled and trained in the custom of service as practiced in Victorian Days. With the single exception of facing the wall when passengers passed, all other customs known to me were practiced. As far as the help was concerned crisp uniforms, reserved, quiet and discreet conversations were the mode and rule of the Cruise. Beds were made and re-made twice a day, guests were fed at least five times a day, and snacks, buffets, and other treats were available at all other times. One man was caught skipping Second Breakfast and the Captain ordered him to be force-fed by pushing a red rubber hose down his throat.
The shipboard help had been taught their place and behaved accordingly but not so much could be said for us passengers (now called guests, by the way) Passengers (guests) dressed as they wished, some were ready for Coney Island, others got the idea that they were going to be on the Rivera. As for me--Ft. Lauderdale style was fine. Full Blown whites: White ducks, white belt, white shirt, white bucks, straw boater with a white band.
+++++++++++
More later as I am up past my bedtime and duty calls--or is that the little woman's voice I hear?
Yes, rightfully, you have asked the question: "Rest From What?" "From what?" you say? Well, a vacation is always needed to re-create oneself--thus, recreation. Nes Pa?
Maria thought that getting me on a cruise would be good for our joint soul--I must add, however, though not our joint bank account.
We cruised what is known as the Western Caribbean, in the company of some 3100 other souls in need of rest, and 1100 persons assigned to wait upon us hand and foot. Well, we were well waited upon. The service was enthusiastic, willing, and skilled.
Of course, not one American was to be seen in service. 37 other countries were represented, and the citizens of those countries were drilled and trained in the custom of service as practiced in Victorian Days. With the single exception of facing the wall when passengers passed, all other customs known to me were practiced. As far as the help was concerned crisp uniforms, reserved, quiet and discreet conversations were the mode and rule of the Cruise. Beds were made and re-made twice a day, guests were fed at least five times a day, and snacks, buffets, and other treats were available at all other times. One man was caught skipping Second Breakfast and the Captain ordered him to be force-fed by pushing a red rubber hose down his throat.
The shipboard help had been taught their place and behaved accordingly but not so much could be said for us passengers (now called guests, by the way) Passengers (guests) dressed as they wished, some were ready for Coney Island, others got the idea that they were going to be on the Rivera. As for me--Ft. Lauderdale style was fine. Full Blown whites: White ducks, white belt, white shirt, white bucks, straw boater with a white band.
+++++++++++
More later as I am up past my bedtime and duty calls--or is that the little woman's voice I hear?
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
Here's a worrisome piece of data I picked up in Adbuster's Magazine Sept - Oct 2003:
"Ironically paying for biodefense vaccines threatens the very research that produced them. The White House Budget Office stipulated that NIAID (Nat'l Institute of Allergies and Infectious Diseases) must purchase $233 million worth of a new Anthrax vaccine, and while the money must come from NIAID's budget, it isn't to touch the biodefense programs. "
"NIAID must slash funding grants to other areas of its research program--like basic immunology, infectious diseases, and AIDS research--in order to bankroll the bio-war demand. "
"Ironically paying for biodefense vaccines threatens the very research that produced them. The White House Budget Office stipulated that NIAID (Nat'l Institute of Allergies and Infectious Diseases) must purchase $233 million worth of a new Anthrax vaccine, and while the money must come from NIAID's budget, it isn't to touch the biodefense programs. "
"NIAID must slash funding grants to other areas of its research program--like basic immunology, infectious diseases, and AIDS research--in order to bankroll the bio-war demand. "
September 17, 1902 --Dad's date of birth. Brooklyn, NY
Dad would have been 101 today. If he's here looking over my shoulder, I miss you Dad--and wish we could have a conversation. Maybe you could get Grandpop, and the three of us could all be the same age--say 50--right now. What a talk that would be. I'd like to know you as a 50 year old man talking to me as a 50 year old man.
And then, maybe, a later talk bringing everyone up to 65. But each of the same age--50 and then 65.
Gee, now that I think of it--how about a series of conversations at each age starting with ten--then every five years...?
Dad would have been 101 today. If he's here looking over my shoulder, I miss you Dad--and wish we could have a conversation. Maybe you could get Grandpop, and the three of us could all be the same age--say 50--right now. What a talk that would be. I'd like to know you as a 50 year old man talking to me as a 50 year old man.
And then, maybe, a later talk bringing everyone up to 65. But each of the same age--50 and then 65.
Gee, now that I think of it--how about a series of conversations at each age starting with ten--then every five years...?
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
+
+ Decision
+
Dante says that the vestibule of Hell is reserved for those who cannot make up their minds.
Be this or that
When things are done
Both rain and snow have friends
But slush has none.
.................TRUTH......................
Most of us have an Operational Truth that we use to move through life. Every leftist and rightist has his own Truths. As do fanatic atheists and fanatic believers. Truth is never compatible with dogma.
Each of us looks in a mirror when he seeks Truth, but our eyes are blinded by what we have already seen in the past.
mek
mek
+ Decision
+
Dante says that the vestibule of Hell is reserved for those who cannot make up their minds.
Be this or that
When things are done
Both rain and snow have friends
But slush has none.
.................TRUTH......................
Most of us have an Operational Truth that we use to move through life. Every leftist and rightist has his own Truths. As do fanatic atheists and fanatic believers. Truth is never compatible with dogma.
Each of us looks in a mirror when he seeks Truth, but our eyes are blinded by what we have already seen in the past.
mek
mek
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