Soulful Muse

How many times the comment is made when the movie ends, “I liked it, but the book is better.”

The book. Full of page after page of descriptive information and most especially nuances that film can never capture. “They left out a whole part of her life,” says the moviegoer. Condensed into two hours what took hundreds of pages to develop, explore and explain.

How often can we treat family and friends as though we’re watching a movie? We’ve condensed them into characters or isolated situations and freeze frame them. Sometimes, forever. Where’s that fuller context, those subtle feelings and unspoken words that only a book can contain instead of a film that feebly attempts to capture emotions through a glance, a smile, a frown or just walking away.

Reading a book first can wreck your moving watching experience. How about making your relationships like reading a book instead of segmented scenes that we seem to freeze into our minds and hearts. The complexity expressed in the written word stirs the imagination and drives us deeper into the life of the heroine or her villain. Films are linear when the read page brings to life the depth of anger, happiness or separation.

Dad waves goodbye to his estranged young son in the film’s closing scene with his practiced tear. Credits roll, and you’re left with what you think he’s feeling. The book contains the same parting scene, but you’re able to smell and breathe the sensations he was feeling. (Yes, you can smell a book’s words!)

Relationships ought to rightly and justly be about reading instead of viewing. Our lives are about smells, scents, complexities, and wonders. A movie teases us just as our judgments do about someone or even about ourselves. The book of each of our lives is fully human – never to be viewed from a comfortable seat and eating popcorn from afar but front row seats seated next to those we love and care for.

Every thing is working now, except me.

My kitchen faucet said “Farewell” two weeks ago, and it took two weeks for the plumber to charge me $400.00. I couldn’t use the garbage disposal, so I’m hoping it still works. Washing dinner dishes in the bathroom was kinda fun, like being on a camping trip. The toaster still works as long as you’re willing to watch paint dry. My coffee machine stopped providing inviting morning caffeine scents, so the Mr. was replaced with a new Mr. Those wonderful scents resumed.

The wall mounted grandfather clock that I’ve had for over twenty years needed a tuneup. Sadly, I was without his quarterly sounds for a quarter of a year. “My repair man has a day job,” said the owner which ended that relationship. The clock is working again as long as I tuneup it up myself each week.

Relationship. We all love that word. It means connection, investment and a working partnership that becomes a comfortable, predictable routine. “Do your job, and we’ll be happy,” says me in my quiet apartment. Owen, my cat, wasn’t doing his job. He was working at being a happy cat until peeing became a problem. (For me, a $1,400.00 problem.) He approaches me one night and yells out what humans would translate as, “Do something!” I did, and now he’s proficient at the art of relieving himself.

Pens that stop working, I don’t mind. I’ve got lots of them. Setting light timers to work when I want them to has always been a hassle with tiny buttons that either go up or down to turn on or off. Very frustrating twice a year until the beauty of Wifi allowed me to buy Alexia controlled lights. All the lights now obey hers and my commands. (My stupid timers are now available on eBay for those who still watch black and white television.) Speaking of Wifi, I tried Apple TV hoping it would work but I tired of waiting and watching its pizza sign spin and spin right as the criminal was about to be killed.

Cable companies love me since they’ve all worked for me. Even satellite worked for me for a short time. I suspect I have an AT&T record – nine technicians in one month working for me. One of them softly told me just to cancel the service, “It’s just not gonna work for you.” With Spectrum’s strong Wifi, I have a good working relationship with Netflix, HBO, and Showtime for my evening enjoyment.

My fifteen-year-old desktop computer valiantly worked for me until turning it on now sounds like my stomach in the morning. (How do you grieve an excellent, reliable relationship with a machine?!) It still tries but can’t seem to achieve working capability. (Make it now a coffee table so it can continue working?)

I’m not a pessimist, but I swear my water heater will no longer be working, but it is. I wait for the cold to continue but it doesn’t. But I’m still not working. My days stay cold, sometimes lukewarm, but the heat eludes me.

My two cats are sound asleep now, so I guess they’re working in their own way. They wonder why I’m home so much since they’re accustomed to eight hours of freedom. I assure them that it’s okay yet I’m still not working, but the things around me seem to be working quite well.

My new book is “Chiseled Grace,” available at Amazon.com

“I give up,” I screamed to my older brother with my arm twisted around my back so my seven-year-old life could continue a little while longer. The other release word was “uncle” which I still don’t understand since “aunt” could have served the same purpose.

“Giving up.” Americans can be deported saying those two simple words. They are words conveying that something is happening and you really, truly want it to stop. “Giving up” on an important homework assignment means either laziness or not taking right notes in class.

“Giving up” can also be a hopeful abandonment from something out of your control or discontinuing what you’ve been doing. There’s a relieving exhale to “giving up” as though saying or thinking those two words make it magically disappear. Saying those two words in a gangster film spells your imminent death; without a funeral reception but lots of cement.

Two words that spell expectant release appears to release you from you. You feel that the consequences are no longer within your power so you, “Give up.” It’s over in its intention. The policeman quickly arrests you because you said those two words.

Change “up” to “in” and see what changes. Two letters. Those two letters redefine your perception and participation. “Giving up” seemingly separates you from something no longer needed but once was. “In,” does not separate you but affords a yielding, a reluctant consent, a complying. A recurring regret? An unwritten apology letter? That look you ignored from her that may have led to marriage? That setback years ago that lingered back in your mind after the first drink.

The “up” word is foolishly used to free you by declaring that this chapter has ended and it’s now on to the next; with your involvement restored, of course. The “in” word moves and takes you from one place to another. Can we ever “give up” anything? Can we ever be no longer responsible for ourselves or our situations? Or, can we “give in” because a situation or predicament needs our attention and now it has it. Nothing is learned by “up”ing out. “In” makes your next life’s chapter worth reading.

Amid all the aches and pain that age heaps on us, the one absolute great loss is – you wouldn’t believe it – driving a car. “I give up,” says the ninety-year-old mom to her concerned children as she hands over the keys. Whether it’s the control over a machine (soon to be changing) or the motion or freedom of movement, I’ll never know, but the loss is severe. Aches and pains are accepted as the old get older, but the car? (There’s a motorized cart for those who need it in a retirement home, but that also includes a driver’s test! Those hallway turns can be dangerous.)

Alcoholics are to “give up” to a higher power as though it’s now “its” responsibility, however, defined, and you’re a mere responder. Those divorcing feel the same way, but there are still three kids sleeping upstairs. Reflect back on your own life and wonder if an “up” should have been an “in.” And, was it ever an “up.”

“I give in to alcohol abuse and want to partner with my higher power.”
“I loved you once, and still do in some ways, and we have three children to care for.”

That’s all “in” talk.

Even your last breath is an “in.” I “give in” to life, no matter my age, but I will never, ever “give up.” Just say “auntie.”

“Chiseled Grace,”
Fr. Joe’s newest book on Amazon.

My friends told me after my doctor’s visit that it’ll be “Okay.” Interesting word with ambiguous meanings. “Okay,” as in it’s minor or “Okay,” handle it when you know the results? Tomorrow I’ll know the results.

Know? It’s been four days until the results are in and until then it’s been four days of my saying, “Okay” to myself while not believing one letter of that thrown-away word, or is it?

“So, okay,” I say to myself. Am I using that word as resignation or as my friend’s hopeful usage? “Okay,” I also say to myself since I’ve been there before and now may go through that vortex once again. This time, three new doctors since my previous three have retired from knowing my body and I have not. Three new perspectives, along with more tests and varying opinions about my prognosis. And is “prognosis” a result of hope or the reading of my last testament? And, what timeline is linked to that word? Is it that predictable “six months,” doctors always say, that can extend into long months for insurance purchases, or is it a reality that may be even less?

It’s funny (lightly used) because I feel “okay” right now but that test showed otherwise. It’s been twenty years since it occurred and was treated. It appears to be happening again, now. There are so many things I want to do with no limits about time yet this stupid visit tomorrow may reduce those years and days into only months. One appointment at a scheduled time. My friend’s all said, “It’ll be ‘okay’” because it’s either a nice thing to say or the only thing to say something when something shown on a test wasn’t seen again for many years.

For four days I’ve thought of things sixty years ago as well as not remembering what I ate last night. The former is so much clearer than the latter. Since my retirement, I’ve ventured into several fields, both spiritually and professionally. I’ve been enriched by each endeavor hopefully touching many lives along the way. My keen interest now is getting young people to vote. Shouldn’t be such a stretch in a democratic society where voting is the most basic of our beliefs, but it is. “Please sign up and make your vote count and everything will be ‘okay,’” says me. Voting is the next day, and I will be there, and my doctor’s vote is given to me tomorrow.

It’s a day before my doctor’s visit, and I really do feel ‘okay.’ The vortex is no stranger to me, and, if necessary, I’ll submerge myself once again. It’s simply but powerfully that I am “okay.” I’ve always been “okay” and this is no different.

I say, “Go ahead and put that pebble in my sock.” I don’t mind because my friends said that, “I’ll be okay.”

I thanked them for their concern and sympathies, but I already know that “I am ‘okay.’”

Sitting on my porch in early October, I see them all falling around me. Slowly, others faster, sometimes alone and others in groups. The ground holds them as their numbers increase each day.

I considered glue and buying a very, very tall ladder but smiled at its futility. Scotch tape? Same response. It’s happening and has been happening all my life but this time in my life it seems to kinda hurt to see those guys and gals falling from their beautiful branches that made summer so green. Now their green turns to amber, and then finally becoming a rich golden that says to all, “Another season is ending with a new season beginning.”

Like creating an angle in the snow, I also thought of creating my name out of them before they disappear. It’s only three letters, shouldn’t take that long. But then I thought, “Why would I use my name when they are the ones passing from season to another?” I should piece their name together, one leaf at a time until it identified someone loved and missed, gone but not forgotten.

Across from my family home was a vacant lot where my sixth-grade girlfriend and I would create a home out of the greens in the early fall. Flat, but 3-D in our minds, we created a kitchen where good food was served along with laughter and arguments about either religion or sports. Our living room was the smallest because every good conversation occurred in the kitchen, the largest room. Our leaf-created hallway led to each bedroom where our small green-leafed children slept and woke up to this beautiful fall day. We enjoyed our homemaking adventure until the next adventure began.

Spring is all about adventure as much as autumn is about reflection and preserving memories in minds that don’t hold things as well in its autumn years.

I don’t know enough people to link all the fallen leaves. I can think of names or stories read in newspapers over the past year – lives either tragically or peacefully becoming golden. The few loved names closest to me are the ones I’m saving for last. I hope to collect as many of them that I can and place them in my “real” kitchen and watch the richness of what their lives meant to me return to the dust from which they came.

There’s a sadness in autumn but also a rich gold feeling for the green and amber colors shared over many, many years.

Well, after typing, it’s back to my porch and watching how enriching life can be and it’s because of those we’ve loved. They have colored our lives golden with their lives and we now see their color turn to gold.

You’re gonna love this. After two powerful scripture readings about the importance of marriage, the Church asks a single guy with two cats to unfold and unwrap the power and significance of the one of the Church’s sacred sacrament. (The Catholic Church is the only church that holds marriage to a sacramental level assuring that it can never be dissolved.) But that’s the sacramental position. Practically, it’s all about relationships, investments, forgiveness – both to yourself and another; complete with compromise, bipartisanship, always looking and seeking for a greater good beyond yourselves.

Am I now getting political or still talking about marriage? It’s both. The divide in our country these days is dangerous, and we pray for a resolution in finding a common ground. The same hope is held out for those two special people who manage a home with these little things running around it and constantly wanting attention and more food. If you think running a country is difficult, I can imagine what it’s like in a household where white lies abound and espionage is uncovered daily. “Did you finish your homework.” “Yeah, mom.” “Are you on the Internet again tonight.” “No, dad.” He said, she said!? Judge Kavanaugh vs.Dr. Ford anyone?

Well, the single guy with two cats turns to the tried and try given to us in simple principles that we learned – where? In kindergarten. The author is Robert Fulghum, written in early 1980. Try to hold on to two or three of them for the upcoming week of either personal living or in your marriage.

1. Share everything. 2. Play fair. 3. Don’t hit people. 4. Put things back where you found them. 5. Clean up your own mess. 6. Don’t take things that aren’t yours. 7. Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. 8. Wash your hands before you eat. 9. Flush. 10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. 11. Live a balanced life – learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work every day some. 12. Take a nap every afternoon. 13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. (You may wish to re-read that one.) 14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup? The roots go down, and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. 15. Goldfish and hamster and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup – they all die. So do we. 16. And then remember the “Dick and Jane” books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all: “LOOK.”

My number 17 is from a commencement address. “Every morning make your bed.” Even if you have a lousy day, you would still have done something right, and a nicely made bed to see you through the next morning.

There you have it. Your friends say to the newly married, couple “Good luck.” The Catholic Church says, “God bless you, we’re behind you all the way.” I agree with both their wishes. Caring for two cats is much easier than marriage, but so very less fulfilling.

One type of up-man-ship is the obligatory game when growing up. The older teen would dare the younger to swim naked, put horseradish on his ice cream or put a snake in her sister’s sleeping bag during that camping trip.

To fail at these risky teasers would color you yellow and be remembered for as long as a teenager can remember anything. Dare became an acronym to refrain from drugs, but our opium crisis shows how useful creating clever sayings doesn’t promote healthy behavior. “Depletes the populace,” Scrooge might happily say.

Worse than the horseradish episode is the older one calling out the most daring of commission, “I double dare you!” If a single one didn’t do it then surely doubling down would dare any youngster to prove his mustard. (Another good dare, “Put some mustard on your cereal” or your belly will become that lowly color.)

It’s a challenge. Be brave enough. The word dare alerts us. Have courage, the nerve, even the temerity to be so bold. Add audacity to the list, and you’d dare any youngster into submission.

But is dare a submission or a giving over to something or someone greater than ourselves. We can dismiss religion and/or God as though life is a multiple choice game and you circle D, “none of the above.” How often is D chosen out of convenience or laziness instead of the daring that digs deep into our hearts and souls.

Before the “Our Father” is prayed in the Catholic Church, the priest gives us all the invitation. (Invitation suggests choice but I’m not sure about that part.) “At the Savior’s command and formed by divine teaching, we dare to say.”

There you have it. It struck me saying that sentence today at Mass. “Dare.” It is risky to pray and attempt to live that ancient prayer that we could all say even when with fading memories. “Our Father who art in heaven…” The message is packed with all we need to know for this life’s journey and then unpacked in our words and relationships.

It’s not a horseradish or mustard dare, the “Our Father” touches our hearts with hope, forgiveness, and fortitude. God doesn’t need to double dare anyone, but He does dare us to just trying living those words that can be so easily ignored.

     Books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS. all available on Amazon.com
                                                  “Letters From My Cats,”
a collection of humorous and reflective letters written by my cats over twenty years
                                                          “Soulful Muse,”
inspirational reflections on the Catholic Church and U.S. culture
                                                  “Living Faith’s Mysteries,”
inspirational reflections on the Christian seasons of Advent/Christmas & Lent/Easter – a great seasonal gift
                                        “Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings,”
inspirational reflections on the Catholic Church and U.S. culture
                         “Bowling Through Life’s Stages with a Christian perspective,”
Bowling as a metaphor for religion and growing up