Posts Tagged ‘children’

DNA the best Way

April 1, 2019

The dispensation of DNA

is best when it’s done in an orderly way.

What’s needed is that any man who so yearns

should direct his emissions in loving terms

to the same loving recipient every time:

all his kids have the same mama on down the line.

So let the ladder of life, the DNA

be distributed in a family way.

From the itinerant visionary

LadderJ

to the coding contemporary,

DNAdubhelx

counsel the loopy adventurer with his genital arrow

to find motherly love in the strait and narrow.

So the resulting kids will grow up right,

and not be left in a social services plight.

You may think I’m old-fashioned in this,

but ’tis not a principle to flippantly dismiss:

The distribution of our precious DNA

is bestly dispensed in the family way.

Now if you guys think that I’m not cool,

well I AM cool, y’all. . . and no April fool!

Glass Chimera

Advertisements

Appalachian Spring

March 17, 2019

We are reminded that life is good when bright sunshine lifts the  slumber out of these old brown hillsides.

We know life is good when ten-month-old granddaughter contributes smiles to our quiet enjoyment.

Then she leaps with joy in her jumperoo.

Just outside the glass door, Appalachian Spring bursts forth in sunshine, warmth, and quiet celebration of a winter that is gone, gone, gone, and again I say unto thee, gone!

Gone with the snow, gone with the tragi-tales of our human’s wintr’ous struggle . . . at least for a season, at least for today, at least for a few moments. . . while spring tumbles in outside . . .

And lo, what is this amazing sound on the  inside?. . .  here in the inside of our mountain home . . . Harken: Violins, clarinets! cellos, flutes, even trumpets sending out yon first tender shoots of sonorous celebration, as first strains of mountainside spring penetrate the forest floor outdoors, accompanied orchestrally by vibrant  woodwinds and reeds. They agree to ascend  in jubilant rondos, ultimately trotting toward some old Shaker praise.

Life abounds with simple gifts if you wait for them, and even more sweetly if you have worked for them.  Now we pause to appreiate their arrival as the shoots come burstin’ out all over!

Yes, Life is good when bright sunshine lifts the slumber out of these old brown hillsides.

And reflections unfold in memory of springs long ago. . . a different time, a different place. . .

Many and many a year ago I was a clueless college student way down south, down in the bayou country where the coming of spring was too soon overtaken by the fierce heat of summer.

I would escape the routinous sweating of  academic chores. Slipping into the cool music listening room at LSU Student Union, I’d request a big vinyl platter whereon was somehow wondrously tracked the sedate, celebratory strains of Aaron Copland’s masterpiece orchestral work—Appalachian Spring. At that time I listened to Eugene Ormandy conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra. This morning, however, the quick search lands us on:

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMaAe2aH6pw   

AppSpring2

While listening, I am remembering . . . escaping through miracle of sound-tracked vinyl, that early-’70’s sweltering Southern day. I would dream, it would seem, of days ahead when I would experience Appalachian Spring, the real thing!

AppSring1

And now that I have seen, oh, forty-or-so of these Springs, as an inhabitant, I find myself once again sacramentally satisfied with the blooming outcome.

I was pleased when, 39-years ago, my chosen bride of Appalachia (a New Jersey transplant)  bloomed forth in her wonderful hips and delivered the beginnings of our family.

According to that first child’s  January birthday, it must have been about this time of year—early spring—when we conceived him.

Sap’s rising, yes indeed . . . was then, is now.

‘Tis true. Life is good when again you celebrate Appalachian spring’s crawling-in. The season sneaks in through splashing outside sunshine. While tiny granddaughter babbles here on the floor,  we revisit our  old musical companion once more: Appalachian Spring.

King of Soul

Fidelity

January 4, 2019

Marriage is the best.

I believe it’s better than all the rest,

safer, more satisfying, more productive than the horde

of various pairings, trysts, hot encounters this fast life may afford.

While Frank did croon back in the bygone time

of old love affairs being like fine old wine

I find fidelity to be the best kind.

Sleepin’ around aint worth a dime.

I’m entitled to my opinion, you know,

‘cause our Constitution says it’s so.

I know you may disagree with me,

and that’s your right, as it should be.

I’m just sayin’ one man one woman is the way to go,

Since way back when and long ago.

I mean I know in our g-generation

we thought we had some great revelation

that it was all about free love and blahblahblah,

but when the dust settled, race was over and last hurrah

’tis best to settle down with just one mate

and plant your seeds, your vines, and you know—procreate.

I find that children are where it’s at;

watching ‘em grow—nothing better than that.

Long time ago

in the big flowerpower show

Steven sang to love the one you’re with

and while it seemed a cool idea, it’s really just a hippie myth.

I’m glad I found the grace to settle down

instead of baying like some heated hound

at every pair of flashing eyes and bouncing breasts.

I’d rather have our shared memories in the old hope chest.

Judy blue eyes, joking, compared Steve to a dog;

the audience laughed, re-visiting their summer-of-love fog.

But where have all the children gone,

long time passing,

where have all the children gone

long time ago?

Where have all the children gone?

Gone to divorce, so many of us,

spirited away by lust, mistrust, diamonds and rust.

When will they ever learn?

When will we ever learn?

I mean I know its the cool thing to say

to let us all be trans and bi and gay

but give me marriage straight any day

and time will reveal it’s the best way

‘cuz when you get old and gray

you’ll have a mate with whom you stay.

Yes, Virginia, a lifetime of shared fidelity

is more precious and productive than wild revelry.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it,

‘though you are free to live however you want to do it.

You go your way and I’ll go mine.

Just give me my wife for the rest of my time.

TwoBlooms

King of Soul

The Parentals of Disney

December 23, 2017

The Disneyland idea was originally hatched in Walt Disney’s mind as an amusement for his daughters. Walt’s impulse to incorporate family togetherness into his life’s work  led ultimately to his developing Disneyland in Southern California, beginning in the early 1950’s. Later, in 1971, DisneyWorld in Florida became an eastward expansion of the visionary’s influence on us baby boomers, and beyond.

If you visit Disney World today, you will see that Uncle Walt’s original vision for facilitating family togetherness is still intact. In fact, it is alive, well and proliferating. A stroll through any one of the four theme parks on any given day reveals that people in the world today still lovingly maintain and extend their families.

 

 

 

 

 

Everywhere you look you see uninhibited Motherhood ripening and blooming; you find unfettered Fatherhood flourishing in spite of all the forces of modernity arrayed against us. But all those Mamas and Papas know that the real stars of this show are the kids; they’re all over the place.

Families

In spite of the free love movement of the 1960’s— and the stillborn ZPG zeitgeist, and women’s careerism, increasing wimpishness in men, birth control, the hefner hedonism,  neuterizing lgbtquidation and rampant ubiquitous debilitating online porno—despite all those developments that might have stricken us Boomers with infertility, we and our children have done quite well thank you.

If you don’t believe me, go to Disney and see.

Families love to come here to Disney in droves from all over the world and proudly wear their wholesome familihood, like badges of honor. The purveyors of Disney wonder cultivate a haven in which we parentals feel welcomed and affirmed in our natural roles as moms and dads.

Strollers

Here We are free to revel in our unadulterated fertility.

It seems that ole Uncle Walt understood this urge to procreate;  by building Disney for his daughters and then opening it to the world, he hath given us permission to revel in our parenthood, along with millions of other likeminded moms and dads from the far corners of the earth.

Family

And the purveyors of Disney culture understand that it all starts with love—a mutual love between a man and a woman. And then the love grows into offspringing children—one, two, three, however many pop out.

We discover here that there is no entity anywhere that can allegorize and romanticize love and procreation better than the Disney gang; and they’ve been doing it a long time . . .

Bambi

That’s the mushy sentimental stuff. But there’s also the economics of all these little faces. Yes, we are all consumers, and we don’t mind admitting it. Watch Dad whip out the wallet for a round of ice cream cones. Watch Mom stoop to conquer the sloppy fudge on those little faces. Watch ‘em as they buy Mickey ears, Cinderella T-shirts, light necklaces etcetera etcetera. Watch ‘em whip out the cards to pay the whoppin’ resort bill.

Disney is, like it or not, the mecka of the material world. Here we celebrate all that we hold dear: Makin’ Family and Having Plenty, if we can get it, for all the young’uns.

I’ve noticed on this trip that the Disney phenomenon is really a great paradox. Everything Disney does seems to be both politically correct and incorrect at the same time. You drive or fly here from far and wide via some internal-combustion machine; you settle into the groove, drive to the Magic or the Epcot or the Animal Kingdom or the faux Hollywood; then you are whisked through the parking lot into the Dream vortex on a green-engined roaring propane tram.

You gotta follow the rules, of course. Parentals know this. Stay behind the yellow line until it’s your turn to get on. Then glide, with your fellow World-travelers, through the asphalt aorta of this vast vehicular field of dreams. Then maybe you amble over to Epcot’s The Land and view a demonstration of sustainable agriculture, corporate style.

But hang around until evening and you enter into the questionable World celebration of fire and mist wizardry. Now a plethora of fireworks captures the World’s imagination, brilliantly proclaiming their politically incorrect carbon-spewing mastery over us awe-struck, wishing-upon-a-star gazers.

Dream on! It’s okay here. We are here in the deep, Deep South, far, far from myriad inside-the-beltway carbon-counters.

Behold those brilliant combustion trails zippedy-do-dah-ing through the rockets’ red glare! Streams and streams of smoke, trails and trails of fizzy-fire, sending out a message:

This here’s the land of the free and the home of the brave! Citizens of the World, this is the way we do things in America. Send us your prolific masses yearning to be free, and we don’t care if you call us middle class, or working class, or any old class you please. Please, please throw us in that briar-patch theme park!

We earned it.

See the signs. Copious consumption and emissions.  Read ‘em and weep, all ye bean-counters, all ye carbon-counters. This is what human beings do; we have kids and we have a good time.

So we’re politically correct and incorrect at the same time. Families always have been, always will be. We’re too busy living life to get hung up on the emissions. Leave it up to the experts to build a better mousetrap technology, and we’ll climb aboard if the budget allows.

Here and now at Disney, one minute we’re cruising through the tunnel of World brotherhood singing along with our fellow-travelers about how it’s really A Small World, after all.

Next thing you know, we’re whizzing through the roller-coaster ride and hearing B’rer Fox’s skedaddle rap that strives to entrap us in the dreaded . . .

Consumption!

Sho’nuff! B’rer Fox is out to get us, but I think we can outwit ‘im, because we are, after all, parentals. We’re watching out for our own.

Glass half-Full

Ask not what the world can do for you

April 12, 2017

If the mandarins of this world want to manage everything from their databases

if they wannna fix everything so everyone is the same and everyone has the same

opportunities and all are equal in the eyes of world and all hues and colors and

shades of gray and shades of brown black and white blend together having the same

access to all the good stuff that this managed world has to offer such as

access to all the education, employment, electoral, and economically elevatable

opportunities that can be put together by the Fed and the IMF and the UN and the

G20 and the G-hundred and the G-thousand and all the world together appointing

managers who assure that everyone is on the same page and nobody

gets blowed up and and everybody is safe and secure and fat and happy

or slim and lean as the case may be

If the bureaucrats and the directors of this that and the other feel like they need to

manage all this stuff and turn back the rising tide of climate change

and the ancient, undeniable, irrevocable urge that rises between a man

and his woman

and  therefore the renegade loins of men and women who unite in their beds every night

and ever day bringing forth all these children and this family

busting forth out of their mama’s womb and then growing up in Africa or Indonesia

or Uruguay or Gary Indiana or Mesa Arizona or Mexico City or Moscow or Orlando

and if they feel the need to put a rein on all our emissions

all our carbon spewing forth from all our cars and our planes and trains

and our monorails and our leaping’ lizards and leviathan whales and

our males and females,

and if they think they can manage all this and

turn the unquenchable tide of the life force and and the gaia

so that it becomes something other than what it is

which is the life force itself that comes

from the loins of a man

and the womb of his woman,

and then those subsequent young boisterous bucks and does

who spring forth from the loins of mankind

then let them come to Mickey’s place and see

what its really all about.

Let them discover that the proletariat has now become

the bourgeoisie

with every man chomping down on his family’s piece of the pie

and every woman bringing forth her children and proud

of it

and all those neuters who wish to not participate are

free to do so because

we’d all like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony if

we could, buy hey

we’ll settle for the next best thing, which is having youn’uns

and watching them grow and if you don’t believe me then

come to Mickey’s place and see

what’s really going on.

You can’t put a tether on this thing. We must be free

to live and work and have our being and have

our children and watch them grow

and hohoho every Christmas

and hiedee ho gonna get me a piece of the pie

you don’t need to get it for me

gonna get it my own dam self

and for our kids too.

What’s it to you?

Let them come to Mickey’s place and see what’s

really going on.

Earthship

Ask not what the world can do for you,

but what together we can do for our children and our children’s children.

Glass half-Full

Time and Towers

March 4, 2016

In this life, things aint what they used to be. In fact, they’ll never be what they used to be. Things are–have always been–what they will be.

My life, for instance began as a gleam in my daddy’s eye. That shining life force moved, somehow, into mama’s domain, then emerged nine months later as me. My entrance into this world was  really a stretch, like maybe a kid passing through the eye of a needle. But I got through it all right, mama did too, and here I am still kicking, sixty-four years ago.

I remember hearing a special song almost a half-century ago; Joni Mitchell sang, “Something’s lost and something’s gained in living every day,”

Which is so true.

Now the something lost could be something small and insignificant, maybe a coin, or a hat, or a credit card. Or the something lost could be something important and irreplacable, maybe a rare work of art, a diamond ring, or a person dear to you.

In this picture from the year 1997, you see two buildings that no longer exist.

NY'97

To reflect on the their absence, maybe we could think of it this way: the two are gone, but today one is erected where the missing two once stood.

This is a little bit like life itself. In my case, probably yours too: there were two that stood for awhile, mama and daddy. But now they are gone.

In their absence, I remain, a tower of my own imagination and God’s enabling grace.  There I am in 1997 on the right side of the pic.

On the other end of the picture, my nephew Erik stands next to my son. But something tragic has happened.  As of yesterday, Erik is gone. Like an early March bud taken by the last frost, he was suddenly taken from us.

But that young man had become a father. So, while he sojourned with us for a while before departing,  now two children–a boy and a girl– remain in his absence.

This is the way it has always been for us. Mothers and fathers can procreate and love their children. Children can honor and cherish their parents.

For the children who remain, life as it is now will not be the same as it was for mom and dad. The world is a different place.

But however it turns out for you, I hope you can agree with me: Life is, by God, pretty dam good. Live it while you can because one day it won’t be there for you any more.

 You may be one of those stubborn persons, like me, who believe life goes on after death.  I know someone who has actually gotten through that whole death thing and lived to tell about it.

As for me and my nephew, I look forward to seeing him again on the other side.

Glass half-Full

Fidelity is the way to go

July 12, 2013

A man cannot

love all the lovely women of this world.

What’s best is to choose

one,

and love her well.

Then she is satisfied, and he is taken care of,

while God is pleased and

society hums along more contentedly.

Oh and btw,

along the way

children are born: this is the real

miracle.

The sacrifice the man makes, being faithful and

fatherly,

becomes a tribute and preserver to his own ongoing

sanity

and the children’s

stability. It is a win-win

for everybody.

You see, the man would go crazy trying to love all those beautiful

women out there. Really,

The only way to love all the women of this world is

to love one woman well, and smile at

all those others. Then say to them:

Peace be with you.

 

Glass half-Full

Haight Ashbury

March 30, 2013

At Haight Ashbury yesterday

we walked through

an I be blinkin thinking

was it raunchy like this

from the beginning?

From 1967 love revolution summer

to devolution sleaze street bummer

the magic’s gone

maybe puff the dragon’s on

methadone

or did the neighborhood fall into some

huckster hole?

Go ask Alice; I think she’ll know.

Was descent from hippish sniffin

to hypish hawkin a given?

like destiny, always there to begin with

in the you-cant-put it-off-forever

headache stems and seeds,

Or did somethin fundamental change between then

and now?

I guess Life magazine left town

when the turn-on tuned out and dropped off;

the radicals crashed, their rose-colored dreams

trashed.

After the serious communards got their fill

of castles in the air and starshine dreams,

after they flipped out on fickle fellow-man,

fed-up with hangers-on and turn-offs,

they flew the coop.

No more roll-another-one-my-friend;

you gotta take this rough life by the scruff, and fend.

 

But then we passed into a Park or Golden Gate–

it was some everland beyond the Haight–

where there is music of the ancient human soul;

there breezes blow and children go.

Their parents’ call out gentle admonitions

that seem to banish old perditions.

And I hear trusty horses as they carousel around,

while mamas give loving nudges in the playground.

Cool breeze beneath sequoia boughs then reassured my soul,

after we had passed through Alice’s raunchy rabbit hole.

Glass half-Full

Rwanda 19 years later

March 24, 2013

Somewhere in the world today, it’s time for gifts to be opened, because the twelve months of Christmas just keep  rolling on and on.  This year,  Samaritan’s Purse presents more than 6 million gift-boxes to children on every continent.  Probably every day of the year, a few of those presents get opened, somewhere.

Last week the celebration of gift-giving was in Kigali, Rwanda. My daughter, Kim, was there; she works for Samaritan’s Purse, the distributor of yuletide surprises that extends generosity everywhere across the world, especially in developing nations.  Kim’s UNC photojournalism training launched her into a career where she could share these moments:

1316RW-D-102

It may not be five golden rings inside the box, or a partridge in a pear tree. But whatever the surprise booty turns out to be, my guess is that the immediate benefit of each shoebox-gift being opened will be a pound or two of joy.

1316RW-B-107

That’s quite a change among the children in Rwanda, compared to the class warfare and genocide that was happening there nineteen years ago.

1316RW-D-153

I would not suggest that Operation Christmas Child is responsible for ending the tribal strife that tore Rwanda apart in 1994; that peacemaking task was surely accomplished by the good people of that country who made some good decisions and then acted resolutely upon them. But now Christian givers throughout the world, whose presents were prepared last fall, are happy to have contributed some fun items there– toys and toothbrushes, jump-ropes, dolls, crayons, cracker jacks and God-knows-what-all, along with the good news of our Creator’s presence among them on this troubled earth.

Glass half-Full

Growth is good, or bad?

September 8, 2012

When I was a young man, I found this seed inside myself, and I wanted to plant it, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to do, so I cast my seed on the ground; I flung it all around.

Then I met my woman, and she received my seed from me and made it into something beautiful–another human being.

And this was good.

Then we made another one, and another one after that.

And these were good.

Life is good, yes?

So we discovered, my woman and I, that working and loving together, we could make the world a livelier place, by bringing new life into it, children, who would grow, and bloom like beautiful, tender flowers, and then grow up to make the world a better place.

Growth is good, yes?

And considering all the stuff we bought along the way, we did our share to contribute to GDP. And considering all the stuff our kids bought and built along the way, they did their share to contribute to GDP.

GDP is good, nest ce pas?

Now along comes my g-generation and makes an announcement to the world. My g-generation announces that, along with all that great prosperity-building GDP–all that good, coveted, economic growth that keeps everybody fat n happy,  or lean and mean as some prefer, there is something else coming out of it all–something that is bad, not good, spewing forth from every exhaust pipe and every flue and chimney, from every power plant and from every rhetorical mouth and every bipolar human heart and indeed from every anus that requires wiping on the planet:

Carbon.

Carbon, which is at the core of every living thing. Carbon, which we send up through the chimney as waste, or spread on the ground to make our roads, or put in our steel to make it stronger. Carbon, that we use to write messages to each other, or to connect our marvelous social networks together. Carbon, which, in its purest, most dazzling form, we cut into a precious gem, and place it on the ring finger to signify fidelity and fertility and creativity and all that is good in this life.

Carbon is good, nest ce pas?

It is as good as life itself.

Life is good, no?

Yes. Life is good. It is for us; how about you? Life is so good that I rejoiced at the revelation of its unique DNA identity– its miraculous beauty, when my errant seed found its destined place of fertility and joy, deep within the love of my woman.

As for the GDP thing–and how good or bad that is–that may change as more men choose to cast their miracles into dark crevices of carboniferous death.

Glass half-Full