"The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it." (Orwell)

.....I understand it; I really do. When Hamas was raining down rockets over Israel, I didn't hear or read a peep from any other country, including our own.  After all, it was only Jews who occupied Israel, and what harm did some rockets do over several months? And, I ask, what other country would stand for such attacks without starting to fight back with whatever power or military might available to them?  No other country is the answer. 

.....Now, I recall Colin Powell's advice about warfare; make certain that if you fight, you fight with overwhelming military power!  Now, Hamas and their sympathizers around the world are berating Israel for using their power to stop the rocket launching terrorist organization. The United States lists Hamas as a terrorist organization.  Now, the complaint is that at least 1000 Palestinians have been killed in this fighting.  Did Hamas and the Palestinians think that Israel was going to bomb them with shishkabab and humus? This fighting is a war--not a skirmish. 

.....So, knowing that there would be many civilian losses, why did Hamas not make any effort to move the civilian population from the war zone knowing that their lives were in danger?  Why did Hamas build tunnels that opened on Israeli soil?  And then complain about their destruction without halting the rocket launching?  If Florida was being attacked (by a hurricane, of course) would the people with homes on the east coast remain there--or go to a hotel in Naples? I understand it; I really do.

.....The Russians have annexed the Crimea, and all the world has done is to wring their hands (...a mixed metaphor?).  So, why can't Israel kick Hamas out of Gaza and annex the damned place? What can they do? Start an inter-farter? Bring it on!

 

.....Well, I certainly do not want to continue pontificating on my personal soap box, so the best thing to do when I realize it, is to change the subject.  I have no power to affect worldly issues, and so I might as well get used to it. But I reserve the right to sulk and to brood when the mood washes over me.  At times like these, I recall Wordsworth's lines, "...I'd rather be a pagan, suckled in a creed outworn; so might I, standing by this pleasant lea, have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."   (...these lines fully symbolic, of course. Figure it out; I don't have the time nor the inclination to do it for you.) OK. Now I feel better. So, now to the mundane things--what else can you do when you're 90 and 5 months?  What's for dinner? What's on TV? Do I have clean underwear? Why do I see even more pills in the container? Shall I write a post for my blog today? Do I have one more book in me? Will I be around for the summer Olympics? Do I need to go to the bathroom? Have a nice day.

 

 

"Fled is that music; do I wake or sleep?" (Keats)

 .....The hospital I went to claims to have been voted one of the top fifty in the country.  Perhaps the employees were told that it was one of their assigned duties to do the voting--as many times as possible--or else report to the unemployment office...

As far as I was concerned, it ought to have been voted one of the bottom fifty in the country.  While I was there suffering from who knows what, I received no care whatsoever.  The flyer on the wall in my room claims that the patient was to receive care for any of the "special" needs the patient required.  Perhaps the need to use the facility is not deemed to be of any special importance, because when I rung up the nurses' station and told them I needed some help in getting there, I had to wait 45 minutes and still no one came.  When I rung them up again, I conceded that they were busy and I offered to get off the bed and crawl to the bathroom on my hands and knees, and then crawl back to my bedside and stay on the floor until someone decided to come with the assistance I required--an elbow to hold on to.

.....Another "special need" I have is the need to sleep in the dark, and so to keep the bright light in the hall from flooding my room I asked that the door be closed behind anyone leaving after having to enter the room to tend to the guy in the next bed.  And this guy snored all night, leaving the TV on.  Did anyone think to turn it off?  Apparently the night watch people did not have thinking as one of their skills.

 

.....And then there is the "special need" I have for sleeping from 11pm to 7am.  I take a sleeping pill before nodding off. But then during those hours, a nurse comes in, wakes you up in order to take your "vitals".  Then you try to fall back to sleep, but 10 minutes later, you are wakened again so that they can "take some blood".  I began to believe they were vampires.  Then you try to fall back to sleep, but 10 minutes later, you are wakened by a nurse who insists it was time to take medication--pills--.  What is the need for that at 4am?  But, of course, when any of these so-called caregivers leave the room, they leave the door open and the hall light floods my area once, or twice, or three or four times again.  I asked the nurse why I needed the sleeping pill when I actually could have used some opium--like Omar K. in his "Ruby Yacht".

 

OK. I could go on and on about the "care" I got, but decided instead to offer you my sulking poem:

What hostile wind in time's spinning vortex
Blew pain into my life?  What sullen lark
Gave up its joyful song?  What Cain slew
My way in wavering mist and seeling dark?
And all my love, like wine or blood, has drained,
And heart-red hues to ashen white have turned.
The tender seeds so lovingly engrained
Wither in my earth, dust-seared and burned.
Where have they fled, the sparkling springtime years,
The buds of May and summer's damasked roses?
What god's ambrosia mingles with my tears
As sun-vined August droops, and night encloses?

Poems and Poetry--and the difference.

.....Cuz Ruthie may put to music anything that pleases her; she took me to task for my remarks about her current occupation; that is, putting to music the poetry of some poet I'm not particularly fond of.  It is my problem, not hers. Oh, he writes poems, but in my view they do not elevate the spirit or evoke deep emotions, maybe the music will help it along.  Yes, in my previous post I began to define the difference between "poems" and "poetry".  The first requirement of poetry, I feel, is word choice.  It is very important to find the right word of all those that are available and then to put it in the right place.  Not easy to do. Faustus upon first seeing the most beautiful girl in the world called Helen of Troy, says, "Is this the face that launched 1000 ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?" Christopher Marlowe doesn't write "Is this the girl" or "Is this the woman..." He uses the word, "face" because it emphasizes her beauty and because of her, the Trojan War began. Ilium is the word he selects because the name carries with it the destruction of Troy. And Marlowe in two lines of poetry elsewhere captures the world and the soul when he writes, "Where both deliberate, the love is slight, Whoever loved that loved not at first sight." It's an emotional and a powerful statement, not a question. It gets one to thinking, and that is poetry, and poetry makes you think. And a poem makes you say, "Oh, isn't that cute!" I'm not finished so stay tuned.

 

*******************************************************************************************

JULY 14, 2014

 

.....Tomorrow we have to get up too early for me in order to catch the bus here to go on a City of Hope tour to Naples. I'm not too fond of this trip because all you get to see are the Everglades, and occasionally a bird.  Then when we arrive, I suppose this bus, filled with about 60 people and an old man, will stop for lunch, but I don't know where.  I hope it's not Wendy's, Burger King, nor McDonalds.  There's nothing to eat there. After lunch, we'll be taken to a Mall where we can shop.  Whooopy!  Once we experience that exciting event, we'll all go the see, "Joseph and His Coat or Something", and then on to the hotel where we will stay overnight.  The following day we'll be riding home and stopping at the Hard Rock Casino where Rh+ and I can visit our money.  We are taking this tour just to get out of the house. As for me--there's little else to do now besides working on this blog--which I've been doing for 7 years.  Since I've turned 90, I've given up driving and Rh+ has to take me wherever I have to go--which usually is to see some doctor.  I have a cardiologist, a dermatologist, a neurologist, an internist, a urologist--and this doesn't count the doctors I see at the VA.  Oh, well, I guess they are keeping me alive.

 

.....Those of you who are not interested needn't continue because I want to add to my definition of poetry.  So far I've written that poetry requires the right word in the right place.  Secondly "poetry" makes you THINK; "poems" do not.  For a poem to become poetry it must also create some kind of emotion--excitation, passion, and even, at times, despair. Witness Byron's "She Walks in Beauty, and "Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night."  When the reader shares the poet's emotion, that's poetry. There is more, but so far these are enough challenges for the poet to create poetry and define it. Now you can make me immortal, Ruthie!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 



"Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." (Julius Caesar)

.....Well, the World Cup games have been interesting and weird. Whoever heard of a team like Brazil losing 7-1? Who would believe that Spain, England, and Italy would not make it out of the group stage? How could the number one team, Spain, lose to Chile of all countries? I thought Chile was a Mexican appetizer.  Well, let me say that I filled out a bracket before the games and I picked all the winners, with the exception of Spain.  I picked Germany and Argentina to be in the final, and I picked Argentina to win the World Cup.  I hate Germany as much as Brazilians detest Argentina.  Argentina claims that Maradona was better than Pele. I don't agree. I just love the lyric, "Don't cry for me Argentina...".  (I have no idea why Ruthie Grimsley, my adopted cuzzin, is setting the poems of William Barnes to music. What then? Has the Apocalypse come?)

 

.....As long as we have just brought Ruthie into this monologue, she claims in a comment on the previous post, that no one has ever succeeded at defining poetry. I never sat down with the purpose of writing a definition of poetry, but I know it when I read it and hear it. There is a difference between a poem and poetry. Hallmark cards are loaded with poems--but are devoid of poetry. "...the moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on. Nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line; nor all your tears wash out a word of it." is poetry. But "...poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree" is not.  If Omar had written the words, "bring it back" instead of "lure it back", the whole phrase is damaged.  If he had (perish the thought) written the word "erasers" instead of "tears", his poetry becomes a bad poem. If he had used the word "hand" instead of "finger" you could send it to the dumpster!  From what I have written here, one can begin to define poetry. 
...And, someone, tell Ruthie that I can succeed in defining poetry, and if no one else has, then I'm the first!  But then, again, who cares?

 

.....I can say for certain that aging is not conducive to writing poetry, except perhaps, the poem "Death be not Proud" (John Donne) or "Do not go gentle into that good night." (Dylan Thomas). But when Woody Allen says, "It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens," I can't say for certain that what he says is "poetry"! Perhaps Ruth Grimsley can give us her opinion. Who else, but Woody, can come up with an expression like that?

 

 

"Foul deeds will rise, tho all the earth oerwhelm them to men's eyes" (Shakespeare)

Friends, Acquaintances, Readers, Commentators, & Cuzzins: Just to demonstrate how even handed I am, that I not only publish long lists of Kudo-ers who come here with their encomiums of me, I also publish (on occasion) something, perhaps, that Mike Herbstman might have written.  But no, the following letter (from 1982) was dusted off by daughter number 2, Bonny Sue:

 

…..Dear Friend…..As you have undoubtedly heard, our beloved (?) colleague, Dr. Norman Ross has announced his retirement as of June.  In order to make sure that he doesn’t try to back out at the last moment, we are having a “Norman Ross Retirement Dinner” at our house on Saturday, May 1.  Since you are among the very small group of people who could possibly be expected to be willing to tolerate him for an entire evening in a relatively confined space, we are inviting you.  Actually we are BEGGING you to come because, otherwise, we’ll be stuck with him alone for the entire evening.   If you have any compassion for us fellow sufferers, you’ll come!  This wretched affair is scheduled for 7:30 P.M. and will consist of a full Chinese Water Torture…er, Chinese Dinner and mercifully, plenty to drink.  RSVP by April 24 since, if attendance will be too sparse, we’ll be forced to leave town.  By the way, if you don’t show up, we will never speak to you again under any circumstances  !$#%**#@

                                                                Sincerely,    Carole and Dick Eustis

 

.....The ? after the word, "beloved" means, I suppose, hopefully, that it should not be taken in the pejorative sense.  I was actually beloved by my mother. In truth, I was invited to this "wretched affair" and so were the school janitor and a couple of bus drivers.  It's a wonder, and is a fine example of my good nature, that I didn't fire Dick Eustis--whom I generally referred to as Dick Eusless. Well, to end this discussion, I have been beloved (?), to this very day by many students and colleagues. But for the benefit of non-believers, I've forgotten their names.

.....Yesterday, I witnessed the incredible destruction of the Bazilian Myth. Never before had they been beaten on their own soil, until Germany fired their missiles at them and came away with a 7-1 blitzkrieg!  It was like a "friendly" between a pro team and an amateur.  The back line of Brazil were like whirling dervishes as they watched the ball find the net. Seven to one? In a World Cup semi-final? Obviously the Brazilians had more sex than sleep the night before the game.  I can think of no other explanation.

 

 

 

                                             

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet" (Shakespeare)

.....I got telephone calls yesterday from Bonny, Robin, and Katrina.  That adds up to two daughters and a granddaughter who has been kind enough to supply Rhoda and me with two great grandsons--Huston and Brooks Owen.  Of course their surnames will be Hudgens which does not carry on the name, Ross, by any means.  There remains only Adam Ross who is now 32 and seems not to be in any hurry to start a family with his bride, Tucky.  One day I'll learn how she came by that name and it would interest me to learn her Thai surname.  I may not be around long enough to have great grandsons named "Ross" by Adam and Tucky.  In fact I may not be around long enough even to see Brooks, although Robin did indicate that she and Bonny and perhaps Katrina and the babies may come here before year's end. 

 

.....Although the name, Ross, may be in short supply for a short while, my name, until I changed it after WWII, was Rosenberg, a name of which there may be many because my cousin, Peter, from New Jersey produced a couple or even several boys who are spread around the country.  My father's brother, my Uncle Morris was, of course, Jewish, but his wife was Catholic, and that is how their children were raised--Catholic if you didn't hear me.  So, there are all these Rosenbergs, Catholic second cousins with Jewish names, who are carrying on the name I was born with, which is not of great concern to me.  Just a matter of interest.

 

.....Their has been some weird events during the last several days in this house.  One day the TV in the living room blacked out for several minutes, and when the picture came back it came with no sound.  A real bummer trying to keep up with the closed captions.  However, on the following day, the sound returned.  Then my printer stopped working just as I needed it, followed by the computer which shut down with only the words, "No Signal" on the monitor.  This event required for me a Tylenol and a Xanax.  The printer still doesn't work, but the computer was fine on the following day.  And life in retirement goes on.

"He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends" (AYLI)

.

Mike HerbstmanJuly 5, 2014 at 10:39 AM

Your glaring omission of my name in your latest blog, naming your good friends, forced me to take a particular action. I have removed your name and picture from my FaceBook Page. I attempted to mitigate the consequences of this act, but could not find any other method that make it seem less severe, but in the end, your photo and name were directed to cybernetic banishment simply by the stroke of my cursor.
This will not effect the future possible restaurant excursions we manage to maintain. I cannot see withholding the critiques that you so require from time to time, so your punishment will not seem that atavistic.
The omission has put me in a precarious condition, possibly lowering my fellow condo commandos outlook toward my pragmatic and forward thinking.
An apology might be accepted when published in the same venue.

Baron
....Mr. Herbstman's feelings were damaged to a fault; I don't like to have my picture removed from anyone's Facebook because it's a punishment beyond belief.  In fact it is shameful to suffer such a slight.  And all because, no doubt, he read  in my previous post about my loss of friends, and though he will, on occasion, honor  us with his presence at Longhorn's where he always tells the waitress "Separate checks, please."  Quaint.

.....I call him "Mike" because I do consider him a beloved culinary type friend, and I offer him a tearful sea of mea culpa apologies for leaving him off the kinds of friends I had growing up and sharing puberty with them.  If Mike has a modicum of puberty in him then I will place him high on my list of the Kelly Street Apaches of which gang I was a member.  Oh, I forgot Jack Richman and Al Oran.  And Normie Davidson was my mentor; he told me what happens when you masturbate for a few minutes.  I'll be forever grateful to him for this advice. 

 

Baron

....I got an email today from my beloved Bonny who always thinks of me.  So she sent me an article about how people with PAD (peripheral artery disease) can walk further if they eat a bar of chocolate before walking.  A couple of researching doctors discovered this aid, but they needn't have gone through all that trouble if they only asked me about something I already knew.  Ooooo Oooo, I'd love to have a couple of bars of dark chocolate with dark chocolate ice cream and corn on the cob for an appetizer and then dark Kentucky Fried chicken for dinner.  After 90 years, I cannot change my eating habits. After my beloved wife read the article, she  sent the following email to Bonny and my beloved Robin:
 

RH+
.....That article is very interesting, but your Dad ONLY eats dark chocolate and has been doing that for as long as I know him.  It's probably why he was able to run 2 marathons.  I think age has something to do with his problem and also peripheral artery disease, which he does have.  I'll just have to feed him more dark chocolate, but the results may be that he only gains weight, which we don't want him to do.




 

Thissa and thatta

.....It just took me about a half hour to reset my password.  It seems that every time I try to access my blog, I have to reset the password.  This subject is not very interesting, so I'll change the subject.  I have a second great grandson whose name is Brooks Owen Hudgens.  He makes son Bobby Lou Ross a second grandfather, and I think Bobby's name has a little more zip to it. Brooks' name sounds though it came out of a Dicken's book--like Ruth Grimsley for example. So mazeltov son.

.....Well, our USA soccer team could not score a goal from Belgium in the regular 90 minutes and waited until the 30 minute overtime to do it.  But Belgium managed to score twice.  My feeling is that fatigue was the dominating factor against us.  One cannot experience or feel the enormous pressure to win on the guys on both teams. And to carry that awful burden around with them for 120 minutes is unbearable. Watching Brazil and Colombia was hard to bear because they both are the "elete" compared to the US team.  But we have four more years to wait before the next World Cup and four more years to find and develop new talent.  I am predicting that soccer in the US will become more popular than baseball.  It's safe to say it now, but I am also predicting that I won't be here to listen to the laughter when it doesn't happen!

.....Yesterday was the 81st year since my father died. It's very hard to grow up without a male figure around the house.  I was only nine years old at the time, and we moved from New Jersey to the Bronx and lived in my maternal grandparents' apartment. It had lots of cockroaches that lived there also. They made me sick.  I don't know why it was so hard for me to make friends or maybe I was somewhat different from the guys on the street.  Even now I have not any friends to talk to about what was going on in my life. Not one real friend; they have all passed away--Murray Weinstein, Leo Hartman, Normie Davidson, Irv Forman, Eric Gurien. Gone. The friends I have now are the ones who make comments on my blog.  But they are interesting friends--but cyberfriends are not the same you can hang out with now.