I wanted to discover the very first snow flurries.
They began coming down at ten minutes to ten, or 9:50.
We had our support group last night. Small but mighty.
Helped a lotta people.
Ada and I drove Margie home. She lives in a lovely area in Horsham, townhouses.
Cars were parked in the street. You had to squeeze through.
Just found a poem I wrote about Horsham.
PASTOR RON
The trail of breadcrumbs led me
to a living room in Pennsylvania
part of a development whose name escapes me.
They had a gas fireplace in the living room
and islands of creamy white Corleon countertops
in the kitchen.
It was a book discussion group,
led by Pastor Ron, his home
before leaving for the temple.
There were eight of us gathered around
The usual seven plus a new man who sat beside me
I watched him from the side. A face like any other,
large nose, hooked a bit,
curved mouth bespeaking ill fitting
but ardent false teeth.
He spoke and his arms waved in the air,
I watched those arms, followed them
wherever they went,
waving
like an orchestra conductor,
Leonard Bernstein
nearing crescendo with swords.
Or Moses
standing on his mountain in Canaan
commanding
his people to behave themselves.
And then from my seat beside him
I saw the way his shirt cuffs
were unbuttoned at the wrist,
Unbuttoned, so he could be more comfortable.
And I wondered what it was like
to love a man so much.
It was really a Bible-discussion group but they
didn’t call it that. They called it a book discussion group
And they were all moved by the call of God,
except for the man with the shirt cuffs.
He lived in a house by the water and walked
along the beach. He didn’t say it,
but the man was looking for God.
And Pastor Ron said, “I was called to the Lord
when I was eleven years old.”
He lived in Oklahoma back then,
still had the twang, huge as a smile,
and round eyeglasses.
You could see him under those vast Oklahoma skies,
more sky than earth,
a boy swinging on a tire swing, round as a Cheerio.
And the pastor spoke and he was telling his story
and you wondered how many times
he had told that story,
hundreds certainly,
a man with the face of the kind of boy
you’d sit next to in the third grade
and never in a million years pick
for your side of the baseball team.
And he looked out into the middle of the room,
maybe at Lillian or Herman,
eyes blazing,
his beautiful wife Shari of
thirty-three years sat next to him, her face
radiant, this was her husband Pastor Ron speaking,
she sat in a flowered chair with a look
that can only be described as rapture,
and I sat there, too, watching her rapture.
Ron was leaning forward in his chair,
one of those little
mock rockers that look like a real chair
but rock
when you sit down.
And he looked at me sometimes
and I sat there taken in,
oh, boy, was I taken in,
big time.
consumed with white fire
- it did no harm – just
seared my insides hot to the touch.
He wasn’t talking loudly, mind you,
not spewing out spitlets that glistened in
the lamp’s glow,
but just reporting,
just put himself back there when he was eleven years old
and the Lord came calling one morning
and swallowed him whole.
***
It was published somewhere. Where, I do not remember.
***
I am sipping lukewarm Dark Roast Coffee, Giant Brand. Quite good, but, baby, some like it hot, and I'm one of them!
Lemme check and see if the mailman is on our street.
He just came. Brought only junk mail.
I had one item to mail, so I hobbled across the street to give it to him.
A very important note.
He said it's very difficult to drive and to walk. He was all bundled up like a downhill skiier.
***
Just added hot water to my coffee, which I'm drinking in my celebrating the marriage of Harry and Meghan cup.
So many different cups to choose from.
I'd like to have a party in the Spring, after the snow is gone.
***
Damn! Won't be able to invite Ron Abrams. 215 627 1012.
Or Stephen Weinstein, whose photo I can't find.
Pastor Ron and his wife moved to West Plains, Montana.
All things are possible with the Lord, he writes.
IT'S SNOWING
Throughout the night
I pulled back my lavender drapes
and stared.
Nothing.
Nothing.
The first flakes came down
at ten minutes to ten.
I was there, like Jesus at Golgotha.
Kalie, the dog who lives across
the street, is barking.
Has Jesus come, or is it
the Mailman?
The roofs are now white
like spun sugar or
frosting for a wedding cake.
On the backyard deck
tiny feet have left an
imprint.
Let the snows come
Let the birds scurry to their nests
Let peace be upon the earth.
Watch John Oliver on Mike Pence. He also discusses James Dobson, Focus on the Family.
No comments:
Post a Comment