Month: January 2021

Until recently, I had no idea Billy Collins has a most-days Facebook Live broadcast.  Not every day, but most days.  Well, I think so–like I said, I just found out about it.

It’s a rambling sort of affair, and I find it to be enjoyable, in a Billy Collins sort of way.  A little of this, a little of that, and there’s also his wife in a producer/director/host role that seems to work well.  Their cat made an appearance today, which was nice.  Clearly I’ve been listening to Billy Collins, as “which was nice” isn’t something I’d normally say.

During today’s broadcast (show? presentation? episode?) he read a poem by Hayan Charara entitled “Ode on an Abandoned House,” and its last two lines have stuck with me over the hours since. 

Charara finishes his poem with, “May you live forever, / may you bury me.”

After reading the work, Collins went on to discuss an Arabic phrase, transliterated as “To’borny” or “Ya’aburnee.”  The phrase translates along the lines of “May you bury me,” and it’s a sentiment of love.  I don’t want to live without you, so I hope you bury me instead of the other way around.  To say Arabic is a poetic language is sort of an understatement, isn’t it?

My counsel to you at this moment? Use the link, read the poem, then hug (physically, if practicable) someone you love.  Reader, I hope this finds you well.

Sometimes I think of the natural world–both flora and fauna, but mostly the fauna part of it–as a joyless place, a place of survival, red in tooth and claw and all that.  Joyless.  Survival.  It’s not a regular thought; it’s rare, actually, but sometimes it comes.  Death is real and ever-present, but so is life. Oh, so is life.

There are two squirrels in my back yard that are doing their best to help me focus on the life part of things.  Which is good, because that first paragraph got a lot darker than I intended.

Coffee, specifically morning coffee with my wife, is a highlight of my day.  I sometimes joke about the day going downhill starting around six o’clock when we get up from it–it’s just that good.  We sit, drink coffee, and talk almost every day.

Death – squirrels – coffee.  Are you following me here?  Good.  

Now, Lisa and I both have our chairs.  They’re not really “our” chairs, as in, “Tim’s chair,” or “Lisa’s chair,” but more often than not, they’re where we sit.  In our chairs…the ones that aren’t really ours.  (They’re clearly not, as my wife naps in mine on a regular basis when I’m not in it.)

Add chairs to the list, right after coffee.

So, it’s morning, the traditional time for morning coffee, and we’re in our chairs, settled into conversation.  The dawn is just breaking, the black becomes grey, and the view through the window just behind my wife’s shoulder is getting more and more interesting.  This happens on a regular basis, given our daily schedules and aforementioned love of coffee and conversation.

I have to say my wife also has a view out the window which happens to be over my shoulder, but I also have to say I don’t think it’s as interesting as mine.

My view has squirrels.

Squirrels that visit most days, probably because of the oak and pecan trees in our back yard.  With my peripheral vision I’m aware of them climbing around, traveling up and down the trunks, and moving horizontally from one tree to another.

I see them with my peripheral vision, because I’m actually looking at my wife, the person with whom I’m conversing.  With coffee.  That’s what we do.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone, though, with squirrels being squirrels and all, that the activity causes me to be a bit impolite on occasion.  There are days when they play in the trees, and I have to just excuse myself and baldly look out the window.  The pair is absolutely flying through the canopy, leaping impossible leaps, ascending and descending with incredible speed, looking like nothing more than two grey streaks.  On the best days, there will even be time for me to suggest that Lisa look.  On those days, she gets to smile at them too.  

There is life in the world beyond our walls, and it is wonderful.  

January 12, 2021

My team lost last night.

I wish they’d won, but they didn’t–the other team did.

For whatever reason (some call it fate, divine providence, chance: take your pick), I was born in Dayton, Ohio. As I understand it, I spent the first few years of my life living in an apartment within the city boundaries before spending the rest of my childhood in what I call, “a suburb of a suburb” some 25 minutes from the place of my birth.  

I don’t have much of a recollection regarding those “first few years” of my life, but I distinctly remember leaving the second house at the ripe old age of 17 to join the Marine Corps, so I’m pretty sure about those later years.

Ohio was a great place to grow up.  

“If I were giving a young man advice as to how he might succeed in life, I would say to him, pick out a good father and mother, and begin life in Ohio.”

Wilbur Wright, 1910

My memories involve snowy winters and hot clear summer days.  A few tornadoes, hiking through the woods in the southeast part of the state, and a relatively uneventful childhood.  It was Ohio, for goodness’ sake.

My team lost last night.

I grew up with one sport in my life: Baseball.  I wasn’t a particularly good player, but I could throw the ball to home plate from center field, so that was the position I remember playing.  (I do have one good baseball story that comes to mind every time I hear Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days,” but that’s about it.)  The Cincinnati Reds were usually competitive during my childhood years, and they were dominant for a few of them (see Big Red Machine). Baseball was and, to a degree, is still my sport.

Football, though, is pretty big around my home here in north Alabama.  It’s pretty big up in Ohio as well, despite my lack of awareness when I lived there.  (One quick anecdote about how clueless I used to be when it comes to football: When I moved to Alabama in 2000, I got my family members Alabama sweatshirts because I thought they referred to the state.  Um, no, Tim, they’re all about the football team.  Oddly enough, I’ve never seen a family member wear that shirt.)

My team lost last night.

Most of the folks I know here in the south are fans of the University of Alabama football team, but I decided years ago to root for the team of my birth state, The Ohio State University.  It just seemed right.  I was born there and raised there.  Most of my family still lives there, and I visit when I can.  

I have a lot of good reasons to support my team.  Despite their loss last night, the OSU football team is a darn good group of players.  They were good enough to score 24 points against the best team in the nation.  Unfortunately, the best team in the nation was good enough, last night, to score 52 points against them.

I’m not one to talk (too much) trash, but I can point out that last time the two teams met some six years ago, my team did win.  And, historically, they’re good enough that they could win the next time they meet in the future.  They’re a good team, a competitive team.  I believe in my team.  

My team lost last night.

We could talk about some possible reasons my team lost last night.  Our starting quarterback took a debilitating hit just 10 days or so ago.  Certainly that slowed him down–it had to.  The Buckeyes were down three starting players due to Covid-19, and they lost their starting running back to injury on his first possession of the game.   

We could also talk about the advantages the University of Alabama enjoyed last night.  Their coach’s name is at home amongst the greats of the game, and–as of last night–he’s won more national championships than any other head coach in the history of the game.  Their starting quarterback is nothing short of top-notch, and one of their receivers won the Heisman Trophy just a few days ago.

Two good teams, great teams, historied teams, and in their most recent matchup, my team lost.  At the end of the night, my team lost.  There will be a post-game analysis, some soul searching, and an effort to do better next time, but last night my team lost.

It’s not the fault of the referees, the field, or the weather.  They lost.  Next time they might win, but this time they lost.  The other team scored more points, and that’s what wins games.  I hope the best for them next time, but this time…well, my team lost.  When one’s team loses, they lost.

Honestly, this post isn’t about football at all, now is it?