the rix mix

Labels: Atlantic City, boardwalks, holidays, postcard

Labels: holidays, postcard

Labels: George W. Bush, holidays, love, Mahalo, postcard

“A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth.” Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence, April 1967 speech.

Labels: birthday, holidays, human rights

Labels: holidays, postcard

Labels: Christmas, holidays, New Jersey, Newark NJ, postcard

Labels: holidays, postcard

Felix Unger was asked to remove himself from his place of residence. That request came from his wife. Deep down, he knew she was right, but he also knew that someday, he would return to her. With nowhere else to go, he appeared at the home of his (childhood) friend, Oscar Madison. Sometime earlier, Madison's wife had thrown him out, requesting that he never return. Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy?

Labels: holidays, music, TV

Martin of Tours and the Beggar by El Greco. The story is that Martin, a low-ranking officer in the Roman cavalry, gave half his ample cloak to a beggar. The beggar is, of course, Jesus. They all are. The lesson is that there's enough to share, & no one need freeze or go hungry. Today is his day, the day the first Armistice was signed in 1918, stopping World War I. I knew that growing up, but not the connection to Martin of Tours, Martinmas.

Although having a day to honor veterans is right, I wish we had established a separate day for them & kept Armistice Day, which was about the end of a war & the establishment of peace. A day devoted to peace. Rarely see the word "peace" in print anymore, why is that? I was born on Armistice Day. It was changed a few years later. "Ami" in my mother's maiden name Amidon has meant peace or a quality of peace all the way back into proto-Indo-European language. God's joke on a hot-tempered child whose growth spurt screeched to a halt at 5'6", but endowed with a scorpio's penchant for creative, patient revenge. Oh yeah, in case I inherited the gift of blarney from the Irish side, I was given a stutter that didn't subside to a controllable level until I was in my Twenties. You have to learn to write poems, kid.

Signing a truce is not the same as making peace. It's better than fighting, but it does not reconcile. Nations make & observe truces, as do families  & individuals, but use them to avoid getting to the heart of the matter.

 Rules for 21st Century War  

 Prevent a free press from learning the truth & it won't need to be censored for trying to report the truth.  

Never reveal who is getting rich from a war. 

The true costs of a war are so mind-boggling high that hardly anyone finds them believable. Don't worry about it. 

When stirring up the populace for a war, in no case predict & include the costs of the aftermath of a war, which are paid for by citizens for 100 years after the war in the form of medical care & survivor's benefits. As of March 2013, two children of Civil War veterans were still receiving very modest annual payments.  

Ship bodies of fallen soldiers home quietly & quickly disperse them across the country. Hide the most grievously injured.  

 Call veterans "heroes" but keep them so patriotically stirred up by slights both real & imagined that they'll cheer cuts to social service programs without noticing  vets & the V.A. are getting screwed too. The vets of WWI & WWII didn't fall for this scam. Know your history. 

Labels: birthday, holidays

Labels: holidays, postcard

Labels: holidays, postcard

Gold Star Mother, to you
the honor of a white Cadillac
at the front of the parade.

Your slow steps
escorting the wreath
up the gray slate path
to the war monument
by the public library.

Each clang of the fire engine bell
is the face of someone's son.

Four old soldiers aim
rifles at the blue sky,
a nervous boy plays "Taps."

They rest there for weeks,
your ribbons & fading flowers.


 

Labels: growing up, holidays, poem, war more war

Labels: holidays, New Jersey, postcard

Labels: holidays, postcard, religion

Labels: Atlantic City, boardwalks, holidays, jersey shore, postcard

Yesterday I was thinking about how I have very limited tolerance for Riverdance, don't like the Three Irish Tenors, don't like the Three Irish Sopranos, have no interest in old  I.R.A. songs, become bored after ten minutes with the New York City St. Patrick's Day parade on TV.  Taverns are awful on St. Patrick's Day. There's no such thing as being "Irish for a day." I knew Irish-American families where the drinking was not a subject for humor. I wish I could pronounce the Gaelic words I read.

Labels: holidays

Labels: holidays

Labels: holidays, New Jersey, postcard

Old maid?
She's an old beat poet,
a surrealist painting on the wall,
a great stove, the bird cage is Trompe-l'œi,
& my guess is she has
a fabulous record collection
& a shelf of "art" photograph books.
Give me her phone #.

Labels: holidays, love, postcard

Labels: holidays, postcard