Stories In Ink

I don't have a tattoo--yet. The part I find most objectionable about the whole deal is the prospect of pain. My real hesitation is that, as of this time, I have no image in mind that I'm passionate enough about to submit to the process and the permanence.

Maybe I'm over-thinking it. I do that a lot. But it seems like a tattoo says something about a person and since it's still going to be around for, well, forever, shouldn't you try to have something that will be true for you now and then too?

Several years ago I had the pleasure of meeting Ted Kooser and hearing him read poetry. At the time he was the U.S. Poet Laureate. He is one of my favorite poets and here is one of my favorite poems.

Tattoo

What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories. 

By Ted Kooser from _Delights & Shadows_, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend, WA 2004

Talk about a finding a vivid image in the commonplace. It's like we all know this old guy. While I appreciate his story, I don't want it to be mine. I have enough to remind me of who I think I once was without adding a tattoo to the record.

For those of you who were brave enough to walk into a tattoo parlor, point to a picture and say, "Yes, I'll take one of those and put it right here," Kudos. I know there's a story behind that picture.

Nostalgia: Are You Crazy?!

Apparently nostalgia wasn't always a pleasant stroll down Memory Lane. I was disappointed to read a well-written article in The Atlantic by Julie Beckaug. Disappointed, and a bit disheartened because I really enjoy some quality nostalgizing now and then (not to mention making up my own words).

Turns out there was a time when nostalgia was a disease, brought on by any number of causes including: "A too lenient education, coming from the mountains, unfulfilled ambition, masturbation, eating unusual food, and happy love."

Julie points out in her article that this "disease" first became problematic in the good old USA following the Civil War: "American military doctor Theodore Calhoun thought nostalgia was something to be ashamed of, that those who suffered from it were unmanly, idle and weak-willed. He proposed curing it with a healthy dose of public ridicule and bullying. Maybe this is why most people don't feel nostalgic about middle school."

Maybe I'm in denial about my own nostalgiaism; after all, while I am not from the mountains, I do occasionally eat unusual food and I do enjoy "happy love." But, I want to believe that remembering good times is a good thing.

I once heard a doctor make what I thought was a beautiful point. He said that if someone cuts off, let's say a finger, it is called dismembered, medically speaking. He said that if the finger is reattached it is not necessarily called re-membered but it should be.

That's what remembering can do for us. When we gather at the Thanksgiving table and tell and hear old stories of the family craziness it is like we are being re-membered with all the stuff that makes family; well, family.

You can read Julie's article here: When Nostalgia Was A Disease

Read it. Then be glad we figured out that nostalgia isn't a psychopathological disorder. Then take a few minutes to remember the good times. And if I could make a suggestion, listen to The Beatles "In My Life" while you're re-membering. Then feel free to share a fond memory or two in the comments here.