The Use of Talking

There is no end of things in the heart.

Archive for May 2014

September Song

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Well, it’s a long, long time
From May to December.
But the days grow short,
When you reach September . . .

That song has always been a favorite of mine. I’m a fan of the bittersweet, be it chocolate or songs. This May, though, the song hits closer to home. Back in October I officially become a “senior citizen.”

Nicholas_Roerich_in_Tibetan_RobeThe thing of it is, I don’t feel like one. When I look in the mirror, I don’t feel resigned or indignant; I’m incredulous, wondering where this old man with the white beard and the neck bands (that’s what Google says they are) came from. I’m bewildered when someone offers me a seat on the subway. Can’t he see that I’m just as capable of standing as he is?

At sixty-five, I ought to be wiser than I was as a twenty- or thirty- or forty-year-old, at least a little. But somehow I find myself repeating the old mistakes and making new ones.

At sixty-five, I should have accumulated a useful stock of knowledge. After all, I’ve lived with (and in) books all my life, and I’ve always used them as both a resource and a refuge. Instead, I’m constantly reminded of how much I don’t know, of the deep waters I really can’t swim in. (The internet makes it worse; I discover my limitations there every day.)

At sixty-five,, I ought to be able to look back with some satisfaction at what I’ve done. But even my genuine accomplishments (and I do have some, starting with my five children) can be sources of regret for things not done or not done as well as they should have been.

Now, being sixty-five does have its advantages. There all those senior privileges: discounts at museums, on carfare, even at the opera; kind young folks giving you a seat on the subway even if you really don’t want one. And there are the drawbacks as well, aside from having a closer look at the guy who played chess with Max von Sydow in The Seventh Seal.  It may be because I was so late coming to that road I was talking about, but I’m pretty tired of people looking at my son and me and complimenting me on my good-looking grandson. And then there are the disappointments—believe me, not retiring to Florida or Arizona isn’t one of them. In my feyer moods, I thought I’d give myself permission to be eccentric—all right, more eccentric—when I reached this milestone. I saw myself parading around the neighborhood in oriental robes, like Nicolas Roerich (that’s him on the upper left), or at least wearing a homburg and carrying a walking stick. But Mrs. C. put the kibosh on that. Maybe when, Deo volente, I turn seventy, she’ll relent.

Oh, and if you have a homburg or a walking stick you’re looking to get rid of, drop me an email.

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Written by hans castorp

May 2, 2014 at 5:57 pm

Posted in Autobiography

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The Pope

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Last night I dictated a post about Pope Francis. It was cranky, mannered, and not entirely coherent. Fortunately, when I tried to transfer it to WordPress, it disappeared. I’m not going to try to reconstruct it now. But let’s just say I’m puzzled and even a bit frightened about what’s been going on in Rome. Try as I might, I can’t warm up to Francis. The daily homilies, the omnipresence in the media, the (maybe not so) off-the-cuff remarks, the protracted tease about communion for the divorced, and now the rehabilitation of Fr. Fagan; it’s all too much for me.

No doubt a lot of this is a reflection of my own insecurities. Most of the time, and especially lately, my faith seems tenuous. I feel like I’m desperately trying to hold on to allege that juts out over an abyss. Maybe I’m looking for a kind of certitude that just isn’t in the cards. Maybe so much of my mind and heart is taken up by frustrations and anxieties that I can’t help projecting them everywhere. So I can’t credit myself with seeing particularly clearly. But I can be pretty sure that it would be very, very hard for me to become a Catholic today.

For now, I’m just trying to live with my uncertainties. The alternatives to the church of Peter, as far as I’m concerned, just don’t exist. But for me, at least, these are hard, hard times to be a Catholic.

 

Written by hans castorp

May 1, 2014 at 9:31 am

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged with

Coming Back

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It’s been a long time since I posted here. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say, but that I’ve had a lot of trouble figuring out how to say it. And, of course, there has been my constant, but usually losing, battle with my demons.

Anyway, I’ll leave the explanations for later, if I make any at all. What, after all, is the use of talking?

Written by hans castorp

May 1, 2014 at 9:28 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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