We Have a Red, Red Sky Tonight

And it is beautiful

My mother taught me this. I'm sure you've heard it.

Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.
Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

So tonight's sky would delight the sailors. I do not know any. And I cannot know why we who are not sailors keep the saying in our store of knowledge. It may be taking up space that could well be used otherwise. Who knows?

But as soon as I saw tonight's red sky I thought of it, said it aloud to be sure I remembered it correctly. Oh yes, I want to get it right.

Is it human nature? Or just my nature?

Quote of the Day/Memory of the Day

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.
- Groucho Marx

I like this kind of thinking. Sounds like something Wayne might have said.

Besides, I think Wayne and I used to watch Groucho once in a while on "You Bet Your Life." Groucho, by the way, was never without his cigar. Yep, it's true, right on live television. Handsome George Fenniman was the show's announcer. Couples were the contestants, not necessarily married couples. I don't remember the premise of the game, but I do remember the duck.

That strange duck would be lowered, carrying the secret word in its bill, then be pulled up out of sight. All this before the contestants came out. Then Groucho would tell them, "Say the secret word and collect $100." If you ever heard Groucho say it, you know he said woid, not word.

That's a long, long time ago.

The Messiah

Are there words to describe it? Here's a try.

Handel's Messiah. Glorious, inspiring, humbling. I know it well and love it just as well, having listened to at least three recordings of it every year since I was 12. Having sung parts of it a few times myself.

But last night was better than that. Last night I sat with thousands of others in a packed Morrison Center on Boise State's campus as we heard and were thrilled by it. The Boise Philharmonic and the Boise Philharmonic Master Chorale--in which Lola sings--and those four excellent soloists played and sang their hearts out.

And so our hearts were filled.

We came in a snowstorm and drove in snarled post-Humanitarian Bowl traffic to get there--the people who sat next to me had driven up from Bruneau--but from the first note to the end of the Amens we forgot all the outside world.

I know. It's just Boise. Just Idaho. But people could be surprised by the high quality of this performance. People were.

I hope Lola's dad could hear it. I am thankful she has this experience in her life. I am thankful I was there last night.

Nuts Added

I just slid the pan of yum-yums into the oven. I'm taking them to the party tonight.

But here's the thing. Because none of my children, and clearly not my husband, will be eating them, I put nuts in them. I like nuts in cookies and brownies and yum-yums. I also like my family, and they don't like nuts. For them nuts prove the ruin of many good things. So I leave out the nuts for their sakes.

But tonight . . . well, the nuts are in there. And I'm pretty sure no one will ask--and certainly not in that strange slurred way Wayne sometimes used for being funny--"Does it have nuts in it?"

More from my mother

My sister said something the other day that came from my mother. No question about it. And I've never heard anyone else say it--outside our family. In fact, Lucile and I may be the only ones who ever use it now. And probably she says it more than I do. (Does all this matter?)

"It's cold as billy heck." (Or is it Billy Heck?)

No idea where it comes from, who Billy Heck is, or what. But if I hear it, there's Mama, right there in my, you know, mind's eye.

Also, if my mother ever said, "Far be it from me to . . . " whatever. It didn't matter what came after, I just knew she was mad.

My Husband

Wednesday mornings I work in the temple. And we wear name tags there. Yesterday a woman approached me as she was about to leave the temple. Probably I helped her earlier. She asked if I was related to Wayne Schiess. I answered yes.

"How are you related to him?"

"I am his wife."

"Oh, I wondered if you might be his wife. He was my high school Spanish teacher at Middleton High School."

"That's a long time ago," I said.

Here's how long, it was 1966 when he taught at Middleton High School.

She said, "Yes, a long time ago, but I never forgot him. He was a great man."

"And a nice guy," I said, wishing I had said something more significant.

She said, "He still is a great man."

Then I said, "He is no longer here, you know."

"I know. He died too young. He was a great man."

So maybe you don't know how good it is when someone remembers him. And speaks to you about him. And like that.

Just Thinking

Certain things you can only see with your eyes closed. Why is that?

Is it because the things are not real? Because open eyes see too much of the peripheral, the non-essential? Perhaps open eyes are blind to the spiritual, the things of the heart's deepest desire. Or perhaps with our eyes open our mind's eye closes.

My friend Bruce has no minds' eye. He says he remembers me, for instance, but can never see me in his mind's eye. Wow is what I said. Or something intelligent like that. It made me feel sorry for him, at first. Now, considering how I look these days, not so much.

But it doesn't mean Bruce has no imagination, does it? No spatial sense. It can't mean that. He's been an astro-physical engineer at Pasadena's Jet Propulsion Lab for 35 years. World renowned, published hundreds of times on subjects that challenge my imagination and spatial sense. And I have a mind's eye.

I know little, maybe nothing, about Bruce's spirituality. Besides, this is not about Bruce.

It is about what we sometimes see when we're not looking, not with open eyes anyway. It is about those things, the ones we want so much to see with our eyes open but never do. It's about my husband, my mother, no surprise here, who are dead. I want to see them.

I thought about all this stuff again last night as I sat on my bed, closed my eyes, and tried to bring my husband back to that place where I saw him those few years ago. It was clear to me then that if I opened my eyes, he would be gone. It was also clear to me last night that I could not simply will him back. I tried. And I don't know what that means either, that I could not simply will him back. Perhaps it means this whole phenomenon is relegated to the workings of the imagination.

If it has anything to do with the mind's eye, I guess Bruce will never be able to bring a dead loved one--like his father--back and see him.

This is not about Bruce.

If it were I would tell about his young lawyer father, how the family, Americans, lived in Los Angeles, how they were "put" away in Manzanar, the internment camp on the Mojave desert, near Lone Pine, California. Bruce Tsuritani. He was two years old.

I've been to Manzanar, and I have seen a picture of the young Tsuritani family taken by Ansel Adams. I have the book. I can bring that picture to mind, see them in their very spare small room. I can see them in my mind's eye whether my actual eyes are opened or closed.

Funny.

But it's different. It involves memory and I know Bruce is not here. (Of course, it would be weird if he were.) When I saw Wayne it was not memory. Memory and my mind's eye can bring that incident back and I "see" it again. But that is not the way it was. It was like this: I half thought he might really be here. I had not willed him here, perhaps was not even thinking about him. Although those times--when I'm not thinking about him--are rare. It was like when I saw my mother, like she decided to come. That is the way it was when I saw Wayne, as if he decided to come for those few moments. In the end, I guess, I had little to do with his being there. I just know I was glad to see him, and I felt some comfort. That's a good word.

I read a poem today by Carolyn Forché, A Bridge. Her last four lines seem appropriate here, although they are not quite what I'm talking about. You'll see.

The carrick is a foothold in the distance, a stone in time,
When we reach it, not only may the salmon return
but you will be alive again.
Wake me when we reach the carrick.

It's not exactly what I'm talking about because I was not asleep when I saw my husband. Same theme, though. Many of us know the theme, know the wish, hope, heart's deep desire. Come back. Be alive again. That's the theme. That's what this is about.