I'm Ready to Rage

Years ago, while watching a funny but low brow comedy movie, Back to School starring Rodney Dangerfield, I was confronted with what would become one of my favorite poems.  I say confronted instead of introduced because the message of the skillfully crafted lines really did hit me.  The poem is, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas (the same poet that Robert Zimmerman took his stage last name from—yes, Bob Dylan).  “Rage against the dying of the light became an anthem with me.  In my younger days, it seemed to apply more to the dying of the light of truth than of life itself.  That is starting to change, however.

It was believed that Dylan Thomas wrote the poem for his failing father in 1947, though his father did not die until shortly before Christmas of 1952 (very close to the day I was born in fact).  Dylan followed his father in death only the following year.  Wow!  However, I have since seen people I love age and die.  Currently my siblings and I are watching over my father as he goes through the slow fade of dementia.  I would beg him to rage, but in his condition, he would not comprehend the concept.

The meaning of the poem is changing for me, not because of my father or others that are passing, or have passed, however.  It is changing because, I must now face the fact that I, myself, am aging.  I remember being young and seeing people at my current age of 64 and thinking that they were ancient.  As a very small child, my grandparents, only in their fifties at the time, seemed beyond old.  But, now they are gone, my mother is gone, my father is fading,, and I look in the mirror at a man much older than I could have ever comprehended.  The light seems to be on the verge of dying.  You may say that I’m a bit premature, but there are reasons for my feelings.  I retired last year.  It was a bit earlier than I had planned, but it was time.  Just that word, “retired” has the tendency to make a person feel older.  I don’t know why.

Along with the retirement came a few other “aging” things to help drive a few more nails in the coffin, as it were.  I have developed hereditary knee issues and had to have one replaced.  It works great, now, but it took most of a year to fully recover.  That coupled with the preceding years of limited activity due to the knee's painful deterioration, and along with some other activity limiting things in my life, have left me totally and completely out of shape, physically.  I also have the normal aging body things going on.  Yes, I hurt in places I didn’t used to hurt and don’t want to hurt.  My right knee is on it’s way out…thanks, but no thanks.  That shoulder I separated in a bicycle accident as a child rears it’s ugly head at times.  A few joints just hurt for no other reason than the fact that they want to hurt.  All of this is to say that it is hard to motivate myself into moving either for the reason of getting back into shape, to do things around the house and yard, or even to do the woodworking and mechanical projects that I love to do for a hobby.  And, of course, there’s that unwanted houseguest of depression that comes to visit now and then, making it hard to get up and move.

So, I’m 64, retired, and out of shape.  That means, if I live to the natural age length of my predecessors, I have maybe 20 years left.  That bugs me, because the last 20 years went by in a flash!  I know a lot happened, but it seems, in reflection, that it just flew by.  Will the next 20 go even faster?  Probably, if the reflections of the “ ancient” ones before me are to be believed.  I’m not liking the sound of that.  It’s been getting me down as of late…almost to the point of immobility.  Honestly it has been an emotionally difficult year and I feel like I’m on the downhill side or slide of my life.

But…and it’s a big but… I just recently heard that poem again.  “Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”  And with the coming of spring to the tundra, the words take hold and remind me that it is my choice to give up or not.  I am older.  I am a bit arthritic.  I have some developing eyesight issues.  I am fat and out of shape.  But! I can still choose to not go gentle into any night that is ahead of me, good, bad or otherwise.  I still have dreams and abilities and I can and will rage until my last breath against the dying of this light…my light.

Yeah, I’m ready to rage.  

We're Going to Miss the Clowns

The news recently came  that The  Ringling Brothers, Barnam and Bailey Circus, The Greatest Show on Earth! is shutting down for good.  This news came with cheers from many, who have noted and protested the treatment of the animals in their shows.  I understand that and agree, based on what facts I have seen.  This public pressure wasn’t stated as the reason for the shut down, however.  The reason given was financial.  Attendance has dwindled over the years and the Circus is no longer a money making proposition.  I can understand that, too.  I haven’t gone to a circus for years.  I did, however, see many circuses in my time.

One of my favorites was the annual Boeing Christmas Party put on in Wichita, Kansas.  My Grandfather worked for Boeing when I was young and their annual “Christmas Party” was an actual full blown circus at the local indoor arena every year around my birthday.  Grandpa would secure tickets for our family and we would go and have a ball.

Along with that, it seemed that every school I attended made an annual field trip to the circus when it came to town.  I even earned a trip to a circus for some special participation in school.  Being many years back, I don’t remember the deed that earned the trip, but I do remember the circus.

Being a child of the 50s and 60s, I used to watch circuses on TV.  There was even a special series hosted by Don Amici highlighting varied circuses throughout the world.  And finally, I took my wife and her youngest sister to their first circus when we were dating.  My wife, not her sister.  She was only 4 or 5.  The sister, not my wife.

Alright, now where was I?  Oh, yes.  Let it be known that I’ve seen many circuses in my life and I truly enjoyed them.  I enjoyed the acts and feats of daring and precision, especially the trapeze acts.  I enjoyed the acrobats, the trained horses and dogs.  And, with apologies for my younger ignorance, even enjoyed the trained wild cats and elephants at the time.  But no circus was ever complete without the clowns.  I loved the clowns.  Everybody loved the clowns.  Those wacky outfits and painted faces enthralled me as they performed their slap stick humor with each other and the audience.  How did they get that many in such a small vehicle?  Once, during a time of stress and tension between me and my parents, I took them to see Emit Kelly Jr., pictured above, in a public appearance.  During that short time, we were able to put aside differences and enjoy a moment of joy with an icon.  Yes, I love the clowns.

It seems the circus is the main, if not the only place to see clowns.  What will happen to the clowns?  It seems that their proper spot is at the circus and without a circus and it’s crowd to perform for and make laugh, what is a clown to do?  I’m sure the profession of being a clown has been slipping for years.  Ringling Brothers once had an actual Clown College for the training of clowns.  That shut down some years back, possibly a harbinger to the closing of the circus.  We need the clowns to help us laugh.  Their humor wasn’t high brow by any measure, but they could take us away from whatever pressure life was putting on us for a short time and make us laugh out loud.  They could, for a short while, make things child like again.  They would invite us into their antics and play.  The world has always needed clowns.  We still do, we just don’t realize it.

Today we have replaced clowns with such things as Honey Boo Boo, who along with her mother are close in many ways, but the fantasy and whimsy have been replaced by what is being called reality.  We have a lot of clowns out in our world at the moment.  We find our modern day clowns in politics, in religion, in what passes for music, and many other places no respectable clown would ever be found.   Yes, I’m being sarcastic, but that’s because I mourn the passing of the clown.  The true clown is becoming an anachronism, and it makes me sad.

The Circus is closing.  That means no more animal cruelty, which is a good thing.  It also means no more clowns.  Not such a good thing.

The old quote goes, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.”

Take my word for it, we're going to miss the clowns.

Why I Hate Cats--Reason #1

When In college, I played the part of Snoopy in the Musical, You're a Good Man Charlie Brown.  To quote a line from Snoopy, "I hate cats!  To me, cats are the crabgrass on the lawn of life.  I am a cat hater, a cat despiser, and a cat loather."  I may not go so far as my stage persona did, but I am really not a fan of cats.  Many people agree, but others ask why.  Here is reason number one.


Many years ago, I got a new fishing reel in early spring while living in Northern Minnesota.  The ice was still on the lakes, and since this was a "bait casting" reel I needed to practice to avoid getting a backlash every time I cast and embarrassing myself in front of my fishing buddies.  I tried some practice casting in the yard.  Our cat thought I was doing this for her pleasure as she would chase the practice lure back and forth while I cast and retrieved it.  The yard was small and scattered with trees, so I walked the one block to the small lake down the street.  Yes, it was still frozen but lacking all obstacles that my yard presented I could cast better and farther.  As with many Minnesota lakes in very early spring, there was about a one to two foot width of open water between the shore and the edge of the ice.

Unbeknownst to me, the cat had followed me and her toy to the lake.  As I noticed her presence, I could see she wanted to chase the lure as I practiced casting, but was deterred by the water.

Finally, she could resist the temptation no longer and lunged toward the flying object. Sploosh!  She not only hit the near freezing water, but sunk to the bottom.  The water was shallow, but deep enough to totally submerge her completely.  She, in a panic sprung off the bottom and out of the water, only to find herself sure footed, but on the ice side of the water.  A wet, panicked and disgusted cat can take on a look that is indescribable.

Now that she was on the ice, she realized that she needed to be on shore.  Not knowing what else to do, she lunged once again, not getting good traction on her launch and, once again took a polar dip in the water.  She came up with an even worse look on her face and howls of annoyance to accompany it.

Feeling sorry for her, I picked her up, protected her from the elements the best I could and took her home to dry her off and get her warm.

I look back on this as being one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed.   So, why, you may ask, would I use this to illustrate the fact that I hate cats?

Simply, because the little ingrate, acted like the whole thing was my fault, and she never let me forget it.  Why not?  She was, after all, a female.


It wasn't my fault!

I hate cats.