A Sad Little Lunch

Today all I had for lunch was a couple of pieces of leftover frittata made from roasted poblano peppers and diced potatoes. That and a little over ripe kiwi. The frittata was one that my family took one piece of to be polite. Still, that's more nutrition at one meal than many people get in a week. I am grateful, even for leftovers. I realize as I get older my finances may be slimmer and I may not have as much to spend on groceries.

Invictus

Len and I rented the movie, "Invictus" starring Morgen Freeman and Matt Damen the other night. It's about how Nelson Mandela helped to unify South Africa by supporting the beloved rugby team, the Springboks, in their bid for the 1995 Rugby World Cup.

Early in the movie Nelson Mandela meets with the Rugby team captain, Francis Pienaar (the Matt Damen character), and chats with him about leadership qualities. Nelson tells Francois about when times got hard in prison he would read a poem to get him through his hardships. Later on in the movie he gives Francois a copy of the poem, "Invictus". It was at this point I felt emotional and cried.

Back in 1963 we moved to a new state into a furnished rental house in the summer while our house was being built. There was nothing to do. I was thirteen, knew no one and my mother was reluctant to let me out of the house on my own in a strange town. She didn't let me out much anyway.

But the people whose house we rented had books there. I became attached to a slim volume of poetry called "101 Famous Poems." in fact, I memorized most of those poems that summer, for lack of something to do. I read them to my little sisters who listened because they had nothing to do either. I took the book with me when we moved to the new house. It is the only thing I can recall stealing.

Over the next few years, those poems took on a life of their own, comforting me during very hard times with my dysfunctional family. I clung to their words, researched their meanings, read about their authors. I incorporated the values of the poetry into my own belief system.

Later, I had to go back and change some of those values.

One of the poems I kept returning to for support was Invictus, same as Nelson Mandela. Imagine that. Me and Nelson Mandela reading that same poem for strength and courage to get through a difficult time. Thirty years apart.


William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) wrote "Invictus" from a hospital bed at age 25 in 1875. He underwent a below the knee amputation for tuberculosis of the bone that he contracted at age 12. Little did he know that his poem would live on to inspire many people, great and small to live good lives. Here is the poem. The word invictus can be translated from Latin, meaning "undefeated" or "unconquered".


Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Read a Book From Back to Front

Reading a book from front to back has never interested me. Better to flip through,  reading a line here and there, a paragraph on this page, then skipping to the next chapter. Read the last page first; skip to the index and read all the "R" topics. Go back and view the table of contents. Is there a bio of the author? Read that. Read the review blurbs on the back cover or one one the first inside pages. Eventually the book is completed. Now the book has richer meaning than if you had read it the conventional way because you've gained curiosity and insight by mixing it up a bit. I love reading this way, fiction and non-fiction. 
What's wrong with the world is that someone is always giving out rules that aren't necessarily valid. Do things the way they work for you.   

I Finally Figured Out My Password

When you are sixty, you forget things. You don't write passwords down that you've changed. Two-thirds of my sixtieth year has gone by. But now I will restart this blog. I have alot of writing to do.

Why I Leave the Car at Home

Last year we downsized to one car. This year we are trying to use the car as little as possible. This means schlepping in the rain on foot, on bikes or by buses and trains. My friends think we're crazy.

Portland public transportation excellence rivals that of New York City. Bike paths run everywhere. You can't find another city in the United States that is more bike-friendly than Portland. 15% of all bridge traffic into downtown Portland is by bicycle. That's pretty impressive.

Len has this commute thing down to a science. Most days he bikes to work in combination with the train. I'm not so righteous.

Bikes ride on the train and buses with you. That's something you couldn't do in The City when I lived back East.

So many older folks are home bound solely because they are unable to drive. They can be socially isolated. We put ourselves in a living situation that keeps us mobile and social whether we are able to drive or not. Who wants to depend on a good neighbor or your adult children to take us places? We are practicing independence for the future.

A typical commute for me is a ten minute walk to the bus stop in the morning. I climb up and down three sets of stairs going over the overpass footbridge. That's a pretty good warm-up workout.

At the bus stop I see the regulars. We acknowledge each other with a half smile or a comment about the weather. The bus is always full. Nobody speaks much but we are all in community. Riding the bus is a great equalizer. The suits and the down-and-out; traveling to our destination. It is a time when I am literally close to my brothers and sisters in this world. Or at least in this town. It's a good place to be.

Today I rode the #4 downtown to pick up some hooks for our kitchen rack. When we got to the Rose Quarter two Native Americans were waiting for the bus. One was carrying quite an impressive bright yellow fishing pole, one you might use to catch a very big fish. His friend was carrying a bag holding quite an impressive fish, half as big as he was. The fish's tail was all fan-shaped and beautiful. The bus driver took one look and hollered out the door,

"If you think you are getting on this bus with that fish, you're crazy! You're NOT getting on this bus with that!"

The driver closed the door and moved on.

Left those guys standing there with their big fish.

I thought, if that guy just had a bigger bag, one that completely enclosed the fish, he and his friend could have boarded the bus and everyone would have thought they just smelled bad. No one would have said a word. I felt bad for those men. I wonder how they got home? Did they have to call a cab? It was rainy and cold outside too.

As a symbolic gesture, I ran a short distance from my apartment to Russell St. and back. The run is downhill at the beginning and uphill on the way back (duh).

Total milage 1.8. Total minutes 28. 12 down and 16 back up the hill.

I consider this a moral victory.

Lenny rode with me on the bike, handing me a water bottle every so often.

Rocky Balboa.

Da da da. Da da da.

I am off to a good start.

This Year Will Be Different.