So, you think there are no castles here

Well, there is no denying the Royal Castle across the street from my apartment in Warsaw was significantly more legitimate, more historic, more solidly constructed -- pretty much more everything -- than the would-be castle across the street from my leased-for-the-summer townhouse in Minnesota. But, you cannot argue the point. There really is (at least, was) a castle across the street from me here in Minnesota, too. Perhaps, castles are to be found wherever I go; an interesting point over which to speculate. Whatever …. the view from upper-level windows often is intriguing and fascinating. Of that, you can be sure.

Forever Fram the Fortunate

Part 1 of (maybe) 2 (or more)

During the immediate eight or nine months before I went to Poland, I had dropped eighteen pounds which had crept up on me during the eleven or twelve years since I had quit smoking. While I was in Poland, I lost another eight or nine pounds. Since I returned from Poland, I have gained those eight or nine back, and a few people have commented that I look both better and younger carrying the extra weight.

Why am I mentioning this? Very simple. Because, during the past few weeks, I have been in a phase of spending too much time thinking about stupid, trivial, unimportant, nonsensical things rather than about the important matters in my life.

It is not that fretting about what possessions to keep and which to throw away is an easy or a welcome task, or that my opinions about reincarnation or love have no relevance in my life, but it is that I have been failing to put my life into perspective and to prioritize the chores that are confronting me at this point in time.

Where do I want to be a year from now, or should I just hoist sails and go wherever the wind takes me? Who do I want to be with a year from now, or should I move over into the "love the one you are with" side of the ledger? I think these are the only two real questions confronting me, and they are facing me in that order. I have two months to reach some major decisions in my life.

All right. That said, take one more step. What in god’s name am I doing writing (i.e., whining, crying, complaining) here?

I could be married to an evil, mean, gold-digging woman -- but I am not. I could have a job I hate and a boss who makes my life miserable -- but I do not. I could have a serious, even a life-threatening illness -- but I do not.

When I was a school boy, I slept in a snow/ice cave for ten nights and had no food except for what I shot with a rifle. When I was in the Marine Corps, I slept on rocks anchored to a slope so I would not fall down it into a ravine and, more than once, slept tied to the branches of a tree so I would not fall out of it. I have the strength to do this yet, and would neither care all that much nor complain if I had to do it again right now. So, why does my life seem to be in turmoil today when compared to living life like that in the past? Absolutely no logical explanation.

Like many before me, I have looked into the eyes of death, closed my own and leaped into it with a smile and a laugh -- then collapsed into sleep after living through it, only to repeat the exercise a day or two later. So, what is important enough in my life right now to match that? Absolutely nothing.

My only issues are where do I want to live next winter (or, maybe, even longer) and, if fate wills it, who do I want to live with in "momentary" (sorry, I could not resist) happiness. You know, it is quite possible I am a very, very lucky man, but simply too dumb to realize it. I suppose that is what love can do to you: Confuse you, put you into a state of bewilderment, keep you off balance in terms of the other elements in your life.

Think about it. I soon will be literally unencumbered of any albatrosses around my neck and free to "go my (your) own way" to a significantly greater degree than I was a year ago -- or, even than I have been at any time in my life since I was eighteen or nineteen. Maybe, there will be no one for me to go to, but will that be the end of the world for me? Not quite. Love most certainly is a two-way street, so why give it if you do not also receive it? Life goes on, and so will I -- with or without a companion by my side.

A young lady in northern California wrote to me recently that she has reconciled herself to the thought she probably never will find the ideal partner with whom to share the rest of her life. It could be that I need to "grow up" in that sense, too, and then accept probability as fact that I will be living the rest of my years with no love greater than that which friends can offer for each other.

When a man is young and inexperienced at life, there is every reason to be wary and nervous, but I am older and have swung a sword a number of times. I suppose it might be understandable when a man drifts off into a daze during his weaker moments, but, when all is said and done, there should be no problem for him eventually to remember what he has accomplished in the past and who he is because of it and what he is capable of doing tomorrow and the day after.

And, most importantly, there should be no problem for a man to understand that there really is absolutely nothing at all in this world to fear. Life can do no more to him than kill him, and it most certainly will do just that, sooner or later, no matter what.

I frequently have been accused of being too introspective and of taking myself too seriously. Well, perhaps. No matter. I wonder .... possibly, I will be fortunate enough to find a castle to lease for the winter ....

(To be continued ....)

Castles in the Air" by Thomas Love Peacock

My thoughts by night are often filled
With visions false as fair:
For in the past alone I build
My castles in the air.

I dwell not now on what may be:
Night shadows o'er the scene:
But still my fancy wanders free
Through that which might have been.

Waiting for the last man -- and longer

Yes, it is the real thing. The uniform, I mean, but, I guess, I mean the bottle of wine, too. The uniform is mine, and dates from the U.S. Army of 1917. It has been in places like New York, California, Ireland, England, Belgium and France. It has crossed the Atlantic Ocean by ship, and America, England and Belgium by train. The wine is of more recent origin, having been purchased in 1934. It -- the wine, that is -- once was the property of a group of men who had fought in France during World War I and returned to their homes in Minnesota. Now, it is mine, in a sense. It still belongs to them but, through fate and accident of birth, I am entrusted with caring for it at this moment in time.

Our war to end all wars

At least one person noticed a subtle difference about the bottle in the center foreground of the photograph that accompanied the piece ("Pleasing memories & a drink to worship") two days ago in which I wrote about my developing taste for Benedictine. She sent me a note asking about it. The bottle appears to be a bit older than the others in the photo -- vintage, as people say when talking of antiques or wine.

Yes, it is old, I suppose, by some standards. This particular bottle was purchased in 1934 by a group of veterans of World War I who belonged to the American Legion.

The American Legion was born in the aftermath of World War I by returning veterans of that "war to end all wars" as a means to maintain the camaraderie established through the common experience of being soldiers fighting in a war far away from home on foreign shores. The next paragraph comes from the organization itself:

"A group of twenty officers who served in the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) in France in World War I is credited with planning the Legion. AEF Headquarters asked these officers to suggest ideas on how to improve troop morale. One officer, Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., proposed an organization of veterans. In 1919, this group formed a temporary committee and selected several hundred officers who had the confidence and respect of the whole army. When the first organization meeting took place in Paris in March, 1919, about 1,000 officers and enlisted men attended. The meeting, known as the Paris Caucus, adopted a temporary constitution and the name The American Legion. The Legion held a second organizing caucus in St. Louis, Missouri, in May 1919."

There probably is not a historian who can say with accuracy when the first "last man's club" was organized among veterans of wars. I know they existed among a few units which fought in the American Civil War. But, there almost certainly were such groups of men among Roman Legionnaires, Viking raiders and the remnants of Napoleon's ill-fated invasion of Russia.

In any event, by the early 1930s, American Legion clubs existed in cities and towns and villages across the United States. Some of them began their own versions of a "last man's club."

Some of these clubs obtained a bottle of expensive Scotch or a bottle of imported French wine. The concept was that this bottle would be held in trust until only one man remained alive among the members of the respective "last man's clubs." The bottle would become the property of that last survivor, who would open it and then drink a toast to his departed comrades.

In 1934, in my tiny, country village, the World War I veterans of the American Legion post bought a bottle of ordinary, inexpensive, American wine. No fabulous Scotch or imported French wine for these men who, at this time, were living in the midst of the "Great Depression" and were second- or third-generation descendants of Norwegian and German immigrants.

Well, I now have that bottle of wine in my possession. This container of "pleasant and refreshing Virginette Special Wine," bottled in the far away state of Ohio, was not opened by the last surviving member of World War I veterans in my home town. I have no idea why he did not open it. I did not even know the bottle existed until three or four years ago.

When the last man died, the bottle was kept by his widow. When she died, it moved along to her son. When he died, it came to me.

I doubt this bottle will ever be opened -- at least, not by me. My belief is that it still belongs to a group of American warriors whose era has come and gone. All that remains of them is one old bottle of wine, now held in perpetuity by me -- by a man who carries their blood and treasures their memory.

"Reincarnation"
by E. Wyndham Tennant
(Ramparts, Ypres, July 1916)

I too remember distant golden days
When even my soul was young; I see the sand
Whirl in a blinding pillar towards the band
Of orange sky-line 'neath a turquoise blaze -
Some burnt-out sky spread o'er a glistening land)
- And slim brown jargoning men in blue and gold,
I know it all so well, I understand

The ecstasy of worship ages-old.
Hear the first truth: The great far-seeing soul
Is ever in the humblest husk; I see
How each succeeding section takes its toll
In fading cycles of old memory.
And each new life the next life shall control
Until perfection reach eternity.

Pleasing memories & a drink to worship

Pick your poison, as we used to say once upon a time in the wild, wild, old West. Scotch, a couple of bottles of Benedictine and a couple of cognac, Southern Comfort, brandy, Kahlua, Amber Cream and a few varieties of wine are available in this batch. There probably are a few more types of whiskey and wine around here, too, on the chance that you care to wait while I look around. In the meanwhile, if you are curious about the meaning of this photograph, read on.

A very pleasing memory

A few days ago, I referenced my blog description of my concept of how an individual meets the "perfect" companion: "I learned romance might exist, but depends upon whether a man and a woman can tread the maze (of living life) individually and reach its center at the same instant in time."

A comment emerged from a reader which brought me back to that thought, and it is one I have had not only in terms of the beneficial intersection of a man and a woman, but in terms of time and place for matters ranging from the trivial to affairs of life and death.

For instance, a trivial event: I am walking down the street with a friend. He looks down and sees a twenty-dollar bill blowing in the wind along the sidewalk. Lucky him for passing this way and looking down at that exact moment. Why him and not me? I could use an extra twenty just as much as he can.

For instance, a life and death issue: I am walking on line with a squad of Marines and a sniper's bullet stops the man next to me literally dead in his tracks. Again, why him and not me? It is an ever-present question in combat that has no answer except among the type who possess a large enough ego to believe god has spared them for some specific purpose.

Being at the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time is the centerpiece of our lives, I think, and not one of us has a single bit of control over it. It is fate. It is destiny. It is life and there is nothing to be done about it.

The comment from the reader was something like this: "Or..when you actually find someone you really love..that person is not ready..Strange? I don’t know.."

While I was in Poland with my mind focused entirely on one woman, two other women displayed more than a passing interest in me. Both were very attractive. Both were well educated and, in fact, although they were Polish, spoke the English language with greater grammatical skill than I do. Both were financially secure and well-traveled. One of them went so far as to invite me (more than once) to go on a holiday with her for a week. I declined.

This episode, of course, is related to what I mentioned two days ago in the post titled, "A theory, a poem, an opera." My comment was this: "I have been wondering lately how many women have shown an interest in me and I walked away from them without giving them much (if any) consideration as a potential companion in life ."

I am not sorry I stopped short of becoming better acquainted with either or both of these two Polish young ladies because I was completely involved with another young lady at the time, but the simple fact that it happened causes me to return to the words of Robert Frost still one more time: "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both." Was it fate or destiny? What caused me to choose the road that I did?

Some people would tell me my "inner being" would have known if either of these two women were right for me, and since it did not, my decision not to pursue either or both of them was the correct decision. As for my own thoughts about the matter, right now I am more inclined to think my inner being is a fool.

Oh, well .... at the very least, these two encounters provide me with a very pleasing memory. Each and every one of us appreciates being wanted by another.

Deo Optimo Maximo

Since returning to America in April, I have developed a taste for the liqueur known as Benedictine.

This is a description of it pasted together from three sources: "Made with a cognac base, Benedictine was born during the Renaissance when a Venetian monk at the Abbey of Fécamp, Dom Bernardo Vincelli, created an elixir from twenty-seven herbs, roots, spices and sugar. Originally used to revive tired Benedictine monks beginning in 1510, the term D.O.M. on the label stands for Deo Optimo Maximo, which translates into 'to God, most good, most great.' One of the best ways to taste the distinct flavors of Benedictine is in a B&B, in which the liqueur is mixed with brandy."

My "usual" drink is brandy, with an occasional cognac. Perhaps, that is the genesis of my new-found taste for Benedictine. Perhaps, I was an Italian monk or a French grape grower in a previous life.

Now, that I really do doubt.

I am not extravagant when it comes to liquor (come to think of it, I am not extravagant when it comes to anything), so the idea that I actually buy and drink Benedictine is somewhat of a shock to my psyche. I literally can buy four bottles of the brandy I drink for the cost of a single bottle of Benedictine.

I wonder what is happening to me.

Windy Nights
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.

With or without us, life goes on

Companions yet for a few more weeks, a Chevrolet Suburban and an Audi rest half-hidden in the garage at the townhouse I have leased for the summer. Whether the two vehicles signal that their owner has a split personality or represent some other facet of his character is any one's guess. The Suburban -- large and capable of carrying a considerable load, although purchased in Minnesota, bearing South Dakota license plates. The Audi -- small, sleek and a fast runner, displaying Washington state license plates. Yet, the pair "reside" in Minnesota -- for now. If you can figure out the significance of these disparities, tell me, will you?

Chained to a temporary abode & waiting

In my temporary residence, there are three bedrooms.

In one, I have a chair, a footstool, a liquor cabinet which also serves as a storage unit for coins and assorted rifle and handgun ammunition, a couple of end tables and a rather large television. I usually sit in this room while I eat, watching television, mostly the news. Sunday afternoon, I watched an entire baseball game. It was the first time I have been in the room for more than about thirty consecutive minutes since I rented the townhouse way back on May 14.

In the other bedroom, I have two tables, each with a computer, a television usually tuned in on a cable news channel, and a futon cushion spread out on the floor. It is my bed. This is a "bachelor pad," remember? And, a place to stay for a man who often has proclaimed he can sleep anywhere, even on rocks, at anytime. And, a home for a man who currently is a very inactive one in terms of guests. I am not in the mood for guests (for rocks, either, for that matter), but comfort is not requisite. I only want to get my affairs in order so I am ready to depart for "whateverland" at the end of August.

The third bedroom and the living room, plus the downstairs bathroom and laundry room, are my designated "dispersal centers" -- the places where packing and re-packing and stacking boxes in preparation for storage takes place.

Of my former furniture, only seven bookcases, a few tables and a few chairs remain. Two vehicles still reside in the garage, the Chevrolet Suburban which I purchased on May 4 and the Audi which I have had for a few years and which soon will belong to another. Since my return to America in the final minutes of April 9, I have disposed of three handguns, two rifles and one shotgun, but purchased two additional rifles. To me, this is funny. Buying, selling and trading firearms is the consistent inconsistency of my life.

In the bedroom that now serves as my television room, one of the former residents had attached an automobile bumper sticker to the wall which reads: "Life is Good." Considering the fact that the two occupants were a pair of university students who quite literally fled town after passing bad checks and committing a few other indiscretions, I am not certain of the logic behind the bumper sticker. They even had removed the house numbers from the townhouse in an attempt to confuse anyone who might be "looking" for them.

Life might be good, I suppose, but it could be better for me. I do not like living alone or being alone. I do not want to eat in a restaurant alone, or go to a film, or to an auction, or for a walk or do most things alone -- except, maybe, to canoe alone at times, especially on stormy days, or to enter the woodlands by myself on occasion. Which is not to say I do not like having a certain amount of time to myself -- preferably at night while others are sleeping -- and, I think everyone needs private space and time to be alone when they wish to have it.

Evidently, I am not the first man who does not like to live alone: "And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him." This is from Genesis 2:18, in case you are interested.

Yes, yes. Whatever ....

I am uncertain if anyone understood the primary point (or even read the post, for that matter) that I was making in my commentary two days ago under the title of "When ice meets fire." I was trying to express a dilemma, without being blatant about it, regarding love. Why bother with it? Why worry about it? Why even think about it? Life would be made considerably more simple by following the path of Tannhauser.

Another philosophical question: Does it matter if love is a sacred love or if it is a profane love as long as it is real and exists in some form? Is "life good" under either circumstance? Or, even good with the total absence of love?

Meanwhile, here I am in self-imposed chains waiting for the end of summer. What is life if it is not waiting, for something or for someone? Life is good, I suppose, but sometimes I wonder and, for sure, it usually could be better.

All right .... life goes on, whether we are in the center of it or on the sidelines .... back to the packing and the re-packing, packing and re-packing, packing and re-packing ....

But, first, the music

It is not the norm for me to comment about my music selections, but I do want to mention the video of Elvis Presley singing "Unchained Melody" in South Dakota only a few weeks before his death in 1977.

I never cared at all for music by or from Elvis, but to watch this video is to watch a man who knew who he was, what he was and where he was going. This, in a sense, makes him admirable during his final months of life. His performance is pure pathos, painful to watch. He was only 42-years-old, and his life was done. I think even he has tears in his eyes by the end of the song.

Then, to compare his performance to that of the same song sung by Kristy Lee Cook, who is young, has a beautifully powerful voice and is singing for tomorrow rather than for yesterday, the dichotomy of our mortal existence is very evident.

My thought is, "The King is dead; long live the King." In terms of American music and culture, Presley really was something special, like his music or not.

Some lines from "The Prisoner of Chillon"
by George Gordon, Lord Byron

The other was as pure of mind,
But form'd to combat with his kind;
Strong in frame, and of a mood
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,
And perish'd in the foremost rank
With joy: - but not in chains to pine:
His spirit wither'd with their clank,
I saw it silently decline -
And so perchance in sooth did mine:
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,
Had follow'd there the deer and wolf;
To him this dungeon was a gulf,
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.

When ice meets fire

In the cosmology and mythololgy of the Old Norse, the universe was born from the collision of fire and ice -- direct opposites. Under the human condition, most "creation" seems to begin with fire meeting and merging with fire.

A theory, a poem, an opera:
Once again it is demonstrated
there is nothing new under the sun

Post-epilogue

The Old Norse believed the Earth was born from the meeting and merging of fire and ice, heat and cold. When you think about it, this is a rather folksy way of describing the "big bang" theory of cosmological creation. Which means, believe it or not, these old sword-swingers knew what they were talking about.

In the case of human relationships, here meaning between men and women, more often than not the situation seems to involve fire meeting and merging with fire. This is particularly true among the young. Those who are the most physically attractive seem to receive the most attention. Over a matter of years, however, those with a degree of insight actually come to learn the meaning of the words, "beauty is only skin deep."

As people become more experienced at living life, security seems to be a big factor in the contest of human relationships, especially among women who have been "burned" by men once or twice along the way. In theory, as wisdom grows, so does the focus on seeking out a companion who offers security in every sense: Financial, emotional, physical.

Many other factors, of course, enter into the mix. While opposites often attract, my belief is that those who have the most in common have the greatest chance to maintain a successful relationship. While there are exceptions in every instance, similarities in age, religious beliefs, political philosophies, recreational activities -- to mention just a very few -- would seem to indicate greater odds for success among couples seeking to form a lasting relationship than among those who have disparities in these and other regards.

I wrote those words, understanding them and believing them to be reality as it exists, but absolutely certain in my heart that any obstacles can be overcome if two people wish to be together more than they wish for anything else.

Moving from the general to the more specific -- meaning that I want to talk about myself now -- I have been wondering lately how many women have shown an interest in me and I walked away from them without giving them much (if any) consideration as potential companions in life . Or, viewed from the opposite side of the fence -- how often have I looked into a woman's eyes or talked with a woman or gone out with a woman and tried to indicate my interest in her, only to be given a "thanks, but no thanks."

Sometimes these rejections have been because of physical attraction (or, the lack thereof), or from having different interests, different backgrounds, different beliefs in this or that or, again, any number of all too often very superficial reasons (i.e., excuses) for not at least spending some time exploring the possibilities.

If I recall correctly, the divorce rate in America is somewhere around fifty percent. If one adds to that number all of the couples who have tried and failed to live together without the benefit of a marriage contract, probably ninety percent or even more of us fail to maintain a lasting relationship. This certainly is my case.

I have been married twice, both times the marriage ending in divorce. There are four other women who I believe I could have made an emotional commitment to had things been just a bit different in our lives and had we been able to reach agreement regarding the future direction of our lives together. One of these women, I would have "pledged my troth" to on the spot.

In some ways, my life parallels that of Tannhauser, a 13th Century Teutonic knight and poet, probably only known today because of the opera bearing his name composed by Richard Wagner. In a mythic sense, the pathway of Tannhauser is the course of life open for all men who have ever walked the Earth and sought some manner of redemption through pure love.

Whatever ....

It is evident in my posts that my tendency is to "overthink" my past -- to overly analyze my personal history. By this, I mean that I often tend to second guess decisions I have made in the past, or, if not actually second guess, at least to wonder who I would be and where I would be had I chosen that path rather than this path. In the words of Robert Frost: "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both ...."

Fire also is a primary ingredient in the Old Norse cosmology regarding the end of the Earth. The sky will burn and fall into a pit of flames, while the land will sink into the sea. But, one man and one woman -- Lif and Lifthrasir -- will survive by finding shelter in the branches of the ash tree known as Yggdrasil. And then, the Earth will rise again from the sea and flourish.

Regeneration, replenishment, rejuvenation -- even reincarnation is implied, but enough of that. Since the Old Norse were right about the creation of the Earth, I have little doubt they will be correct about its end. And, since I know I can survive anything and everything, all I have to do is to keep my eyes open for Lifthrasir.

Some lines from "Laus Veneris"
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Ah God, that love were as a flower or flame,
That life were as the naming of a name,
That death were not more pitiful than desire,
That these things were not one thing and the same!

Behold now, surely somewhere there is death:
For each man hath some space of years, he saith,
A little space of time ere time expire,
A little day, a little way of breath.

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun,
His day's work and his night's work are undone;
And lo, between the nightfall and the light,
He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.