Navigating St. Valentine's

With Ground Hog Day passed us, we now have to focus on Valentine's Day. This one is scary. There are so many ways to get it wrong and if you get it right, you have to be careful about your expectations of any reward for having done so.

I like to think of myself as somewhat of a romantic; I'm delusional like that. Last Sunday night, without being asked, I quickly switched from the Super(fluous) Bowl to Downton Abbey. Even if it had been a "good" game, I would have made the switch. When we go out to eat, we go somewhere like Cheevers or Charlestons rather than Rib Crib or Western Sizzler.

Relatively, I'm somewhere on a scale between Ryan Gosling and Homer Simpson. And while I do tend to be left of Okie-Normal politically speaking, this time I lean right. But, I do have good intentions.

Because of that I thought I might try my hand at offering some Valentine's Day advice, humbly and from personal experience of course. So over the next few days I'll put up a few posts here at About POPS. Take it all for what it's worth without any guarantee of success however you might define that.

Think about this: Poetry has stood the test of time. Remember Romeo and Juliet? Remember the Song of Solomon? A long time ago I got over that fear of poetry which was strategically implanted in us in junior high. Not only do I love to read and hear poetry, I still try my hand at an occasional verse.

One of my favorite poets is Billy Collins. I'm not recommending Mr. Collins for a poem to slip into a box of chocolates or write in the steam on the bathroom mirror. There are better poets for this kind of thing. Here's an example, Poem #269 by Emily Dickinson written in the mid-1800s:

Wild nights! Wild nights! 
Were I with thee, 
Wild nights should be 
Our luxury!
Futile the winds 
To a heart in port, 
Done with the compass, 
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden! 
Ah! the sea! 
Might I but moor 
To-night in thee!

Back to the poet Billy Collins. He gave some great advice. It was not in the context of developing a good Valentine's Day plan, but it is useful.

"If at first you don't succeed, hide all evidence you ever tried." --Billy Collins

When making your plan think it through carefully but don't overthink it, lest it seems too contrived.

See I told you this would be difficult.

If you're curious why I might not recommend Billy Collins for your romantic verse, check out this video.

All The Wrong Dreams?

Philip Seymour Hoffman was, without question, one of the great acting talents of our time, playing a wide variety of roles like Truman Capote, which earned him an Oscar, and Willy Loman in Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman on Broadway in 2012. I recently watched a film he did, also in 2012, with Christopher Walken called, A Late Quartet. The title comes from Beethoven's "late" string quartets. Watch the trailer here.

These quartets were written by Beethoven late in life and are amazing, especially given the fact that Beethoven was deaf by the time he wrote them. Did you hear that? He was deaf when he composed some of the most beautiful music ever written.

The play Death of a Salesman is a modern tragedy by Arthur Miller. The protagonist is a guy named Willy Loman who, in the years following The Great Depression, is a firm believer in the American Dream. Without going in to the whole story, suffice to say, it, like all tragedies, doesn't end well. His son at the graveside of his father has this to say of his father's life: “He had all the wrong dreams. All, all Wrong.”

NPR this morning aired an interview with Hoffman about his portrayal of Willy Loman. The interviewer asked Hoffman if playing Willy had had an impact on him personally:

"He has two sons who are kind of impressive," Hoffman says. "They're beautiful, talented, physically gifted, but he's not. He's none of those things. I think Willy probably was like that when he was young, but he had no sense of himself. He's never had a sense of himself. He's been cobbling together a narrative from birth."

Hoffman also acknowledges it's easy to judge Loman and the choices he's made. Early in life, the character might have had an opportunity for adventure, but he turned that aside in order to get security. When he learns, at the end of life, that he can't pay his bills or even hold on to his job, it's heartbreaking.

But Hoffman says Loman's struggle is not without value.

"He really did give his life for his sons," Hoffman says. "He didn't do it in a way that's effective, or got what he wanted, or actually nurtured his sons in a way that was going to help them, but he did."

Hoffman, who has three children of his own, says the play is one that provokes thinking on all aspects of life, including family.

"It really seeps into why we're here," Hoffman says. "What are we doing, family, work, friends, hopes, dreams, careers, what's happiness, what's success, what does it mean, is it important, how do you get it?"

Connecting all these themes together, Hoffman says that ultimately, the play is about wanting to be loved. 

In the movie, A Late Quartet, there is a scene on a subway train where a young girl is speaking. She seems to be speaking philosophically about  old guys. Then you realize she's reading from a poster on the train. I paused the movie to try to read the poster and found it was a poem called Old Men by Ogden Nash

People expect old men to die, 
They do not really mourn old men. 
Old men are different. People look 
At them with eyes that wonder when… 
People watch with unshocked eyes; 
But the old men know when an old man dies.

Philip Seymour Hoffman is dead now. He was not old by any definition; 46. Did he have the wrong dreams like Willy Loman? Could he or did he metaphorically write a "late" quartet while deaf?

There are two things that scare me: tragic endings and poverty. Not just economic poverty, but poverty of the soul--spiritual poverty.

The real tragedy of the poor is the poverty of their aspirations. --Adam Smith

I'm not judging Philip Seymour Hoffman. These questions are just me, soul searching out loud.

I have learned this: Damn addictions. Damn hopelessness. Damn our poor choices.

Blessed are the poor in spirit... -- Matthew 5:3

A Christmas Lesson

One of the holiday traditions around our house is the crafting of "gingerbread" houses. Actually they're made of graham crackers, but who cares, right?

No exaggeration, my Amazing-Missus has made hundreds of these things for kids to decorate over the years. And like snowflakes, each one is unique and a fulfillment of the vision of its creator.

So wafting through our house at Christmas time along with the fragrance of candles, spiced cider, and artificial pine, you can also smell sweets, graham crackers and the distinctive aroma of hot glue guns. Sort of like what you would imagine at Martha Stewart's house.

One of the lessons learned early for our boys is that sometimes the culinary arts are meant to be enjoyed only visually, like sculpture or painting or macaroni art.
Many years ago I documented the learning of this lesson in a three-picture photo journal that we'll call: "Like Birthday Cakes--You Can Have Your Gingerbread House, But You Can't Eat It."

In the first photo you'll notice a young Kyle giving a quick lick to his house. I guess he thought this must be okay because big brother is laughing at him and Dad's snapping pictures like it's some big Kodak Moment or something.

So, in shot two, he digs in--making the enjoyment of this art a full-multi-sensory experience.

In shot three the authorities (his mother) have swooped in and put a stop to the whole thing. Painful lesson learned.

The tradition continues. Now the Grand-Girls enjoy decorating their own houses. Here's the photo journal of this year's work including a shot of the now grown-up Uncle Kyle working on his 2013 model. And now, if he wants to eat it when he's done...

Being POPS: Lessons Learned

In my last post, "Airstream Funding: Creative Idea #1", I appropriately gave credit to one Abraham Simpson for the tontine idea. Well it turns out that Abe Simpson is a "Pops" himself--to grandkids: Bart, Lisa, and Maggie.

Abe participated in a tontine with Homer's boss, Mr. Burns. You can check it out: The Simpsons, Season 7, Episode 22. "Raging Abe Simpson and His Grumbling Grandson in 'The Curse of the Flying Hellfish'"

I came across the Abe/tontine story while doing some research on famous (or maybe infamous) grandfathers. Let's hope this is not an example of art imitating life, or worse yet: life imitating TV, but Abe does offer some fascinating insights into the world of grandfatherhood. 

Abe Simpson

Here are a few lessons I've learned about being Pops. I've used some of Abe Simpsons lines from the show to help make my points:

Lesson #1: Grandfathers get to add colorful details to make themselves seem more heroic, prolific and vital.

"Dang right. Fact is, I invented kissing. It was during World War I and they were looking for a new way to spread germs..." --Abe Simpson.

Lesson #2: Grandfathers get to be an expert on stuff like healthcare because they lived back when we knew how to do our own healthcare.

Grampa (to Bart): "Good news boy, I found a pharmacy that carries leeches. Well, it wasn't exactly a pharmacy, more of a bait shop."

Bart: "Look Grampa, I'm fine. I really don't need anymore home remedies."

Grampa: "Oral thermometer my eye! Think warm thoughts boy cause this is mighty cold."

Lesson #3: Grandfathers get to tell fascinating, imaginative "stories". By the way, my grand girls love to hear me tell wonderfully creative stories.

"We can't bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell them stories that don't go anywhere. Like the time I took the fairy to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe so I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on them. Give me five bees for a quarter you'd say. Now where were we, oh yeah. The important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn't have white onions because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones..." --Abe Simpson

Lesson #4: Grandfathers get to embellish for effect.

Grampa: "I got separated from my platoon after we parachuted into Duseldorf so I rode out the rest of the war posing as a German cabaret singer.[singing] Won't you come home Frantbrelda, won't you come home."

Bart: "Is that story true Grampa?"

Grampa: "Most of it. I did wear a dress for a period in the 40s. Oh, they had designers then."

Lesson #5: Grandfathers get to trust their heroes whether they are heroic or not; real or not.

Grampa: "I say we call Matlock. He'll find the culprit. It's probably that evil Gavin MacLeod or George 'Goober' Lindsay."

Bart: "Grampa, Matlock's not real."

Grampa: "Neither are my teeth, but I can still eat corn on the cob if someone cuts it off and mushes it into a fine paste. Now that's good eatin!"

Thanks for the wisdom Abe, and for the fund-raising idea.