Just woke up with the radio on. Martin Luther King was giving an amazing speech. On and on he spoke with quotes like a nation that loves excessive materialism and militarism more than human beings needs to think again. He talked about Vietnam and the inhumane use of napalm.
These were very bold things for anyone to say, let alone a black man.
Then as I was doing my back exercises on the floor, he brought up the famous passage in the Book of John about Love and he made Love the topic of his talk. How bold!
Who did this good man have to support him? Many other black thinkers.
Let's take a look at his memorial in Washington DC.
I can't tell you how much I enjoy the writing on there. Everything is medically-oriented. View it here. It's also a medical school in Chicago.
Chicago was just named by the US Justice Department as having a terrible record by its police department of treating blacks, Latinos and other minorities.
The screen flashed to mayor Rahm Emmanuel who said he'd look into it.
While eating my usual fantastic breakfast of an egg omelet, I composed a poem, something that was on my mind.
VACUUMING THE DOWNSTAIRS WITH AND
WITHOUT MALEVELANT THOUGHTS
Miss Bissell and I go over the
champagne-colored wall to wall
leaving tracks in the carpet
like reindeer on the rooftop
I try to acquaint myself with
Kevin, a new character I wanna
put in today's short story over
at B's condo
Can't be done as the malevant
thoughts flood in.
Who named ME as the repository
of old clothes? Baby clothes, tiny
Philly caps, overalls with duckies
on the front, the odd skirt or two
with rubber pants underneath?
I managed to lug two bags, heavy
as 10 wine bottles, into the
garbage can that night. A great
feeling of triumph and self-hatred
swelled over me.
Next time, oh, in about a week, I
shall lug more bags to the thrift shop
and let other moms and dads have a
go at them.
Kevin, a new character I wanna
put in today's short story over
at B's condo
Can't be done as the malevant
thoughts flood in.
Who named ME as the repository
of old clothes? Baby clothes, tiny
Philly caps, overalls with duckies
on the front, the odd skirt or two
with rubber pants underneath?
I managed to lug two bags, heavy
as 10 wine bottles, into the
garbage can that night. A great
feeling of triumph and self-hatred
swelled over me.
Next time, oh, in about a week, I
shall lug more bags to the thrift shop
and let other moms and dads have a
go at them.
***
Since I went to bed around 4 am I was exhausted and needed to nap before the writing group began at 1:30 pm.
Very little time to write my own story.
The night before there was a new opera on TV, based on a novel by Ann Patchett called Belcanto. She was born in 1963.
When she was interviewed after the opera, she said she liked to put a group of people into the same location for a long period of time - this was about terrorists and hostages - and see what happens.
I thought I'd do that in my short story but I only had 45 minutes to write it.
Instead I sat here at my upstairs desk, looked at my photo-stuffed bulletin board, focused on Joe, a guy from the nursing home where I work on Mondays, and wrote a story about him getting married.
I just fixed it up and will submit it as a love story. I called it The Whim.
WRITERS GROUP
Beatriz had a bowl of salted nuts and other things out on the table. I could not stop eating them. She showed us a jigsaw puzzle she had just finished, given to her by her son.
Every square was a book. What was the common denonimator? Linda guessed it. Female authors. Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Jane Austen.
Maybe Peter bought it here.
Linda brought in three poems - two named January - and one, very moving, about the life she and her mother have spent together.
Outstanding!
Hmmm, maybe I should ask for that for the Compass.
Rem read two of his psalms to God, which will appear in the Compass. I told him to send me one other poem.
Beatriz wrote one of her delightful bug stories. This time about the colorful lives of larvae.
Ah! The breakfast gong just went off!
Be right down, Roy!
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