Listening ~ Hearing

It happened this evening. I was sitting in concert listening to a Haydn String Quartett when I felt the music changing everything around me, the sounds full of secrets and mystery. It was as if a door were opening into a white room and there was harmony and tranquility there and the feeling that everything I had ever hoped for had come true. And for a short moment I felt as if I were so much more than myself.

Acquiescence

In restaurants they took away all the ashtrays. And now even forbidden smoking in the bars. Have heard no complaints.

Gasoline sells for $7.10 a gallon. Everyone drives, and pays.

The railroads and subways go on strike once a week. Commuters take it in stride.

Envy

While driving this morning I listened to an inspired Clara Haskil play a Piano Concerto by Mozart and couldn't help but think how flabby my emotional equipage is in comparison with theirs.

First Illusion ~

Mama was still in bed. We gave him a picture of her but instead of eating his breakfast he spent the whole time kissing her behind the picture glass.

Morning Visit

The red ball of rising sun shone across our lawn this morning to a bowl of geraniums at the dining room window and lit them with a soft, heated glow. During breakfast we felt their warmth and couldn't help but marvel at their radiant beauty.

Letting Go of Summer ~

Where has the summer gone? I see it now in the brown fields . . and feel it as I walk on the carpet of damp leaves under my feet on my path.

God's Little Wonder

My son, Martin, and his Barbara just had a baby. We sped to them. I held the little fellow in the palm of my hand and fingered his black hair. Overwhelmed by the fresh arrival from heaven.

At the same moment I had to think of my father's head which I held for ten minutes in the palm of my hand until the heat had gone out . . .

St. Francis of Assisi ~

Francis, the man who wanted to possess nothing . . . so that he could better love.

Plucked Away ~

My sister Nancy phoned to tell me that her husband, Rick, had died suddenly.
I thought back to our jaunt on a sunny Saturday just six weeks ago in his red convertible when he said: Come on, I'll take you to see your Perry Como. We were both in such high spirits.

Feast of St. Augustine ~

"Too late have I come to love You, O beauty so ancient and so fresh; too late have I come to You", you said. 

And centuries later I learned to love Him early, Augustine, sitting there as a teenager, reading your words, in the seminary chapel.

Frankfurt, Germany ~

I stepped onto the train in Frankfurt and it sped off to the south. The people seemed different, I heard the first sounds of German again. They were not Americans, they were going other ways, thinking other thoughts. Nevertheless, somehow I knew that I belonged here with them. It has become my home. . . Those whom I love are here. That, I know, is everything. What more could I want?

Over France into Germany

Ready for the new day I looked at the wing of that stalwart Boeing 777 and paid my thanks and respect to her for what she had done. Somehow I felt one with her. Descending slowly now, I knew she had brought me back.

Over the Ocean

Purring through the night across the ocean at an altitude of 12,000 meters and speeding at 850 km/h I sat in stillness writing these impressions. When morning light came I looked out across an endless majestic carpet of clouds on which landscapes of hills, towers and mountains were formed, all energized by a bright light only seen up this high. I thought the psalmist must have imagined a sight like this when he was composing his praises to God for his wonderful creation. With him I thanked God for all the beauty that He had allowed me to see.

Over the Ocean ~

The two ladies that sat behind me spoke with such a charming, lilting Southern accent that I had to cock my ear and listen. They talked until late into the night. All the while it seemed as if a gentle music were coming from behind.

Over the Ocean

While flying over Canada and Newfoundland I had a little bracer — a Jim Beam on the rocks. Then, a short time after, a delicious meal along with a California red.

Flying back to Detroit

She was 87, the lady beside me, heading for Raleigh, North Carolina. Grandchildren there, and elsewhere. She could drive it, she said, but likes to fly. Gets me around faster, she whispered, with a twinkle in her eye.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania ~ Departing

Stayed overnight with Nancy, my sister. We took our morning walk together. It was raining. Under umbrellas we walked in silence but each of us knew what the other one was thinking. We had breakfast, a little extended agape. Talked about Mother and Dad. The way things were. It had stopped raining when we walked out the driveway. I looked up at the trees. Then we got in the car and were off to the airport.

Butler, Pennsylvania ~ Departing

My brother Jack's house on Washington Street. I stand here looking. Jack's Ann is fighting her battle with cancer. When Jack dies the last of us will have been taken from this spot on the globe, our earthly home. Oh, dear little town of Butler where my fondest memories lie entombed . . . it is hard, ever harder to leave you, not knowing whether I'll return.

Butler, Pennsylvania

She invited us for drinks, Catherine, whose husband Bill, my teaching colleague at Point Park College and golfing friend, left her five years ago. She talked lovingly about him. Showed us the rooms she since has redecorated. Bill's too. I noticed she still had his bathrobe hanging there on a shiny brass hook.

Butler, Pennsylvania ~ St. Paul's Church

Sunday Mass at St. Paul's. Sang with the choir. Looked down at the sanctuary where I spent my boyhood serving at this altar. Through younger eyes I saw only green marble steps, candles, the Gothic arches. But then I thought I was standing in the modest church in our little village in Germany where, through older eyes, I would now be gazing down upon an altar and see surrounding it, the great wonder and the mystery.

Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania ~

Found a quaint little restaurant where delicious homemade cherry pie sells for $1.00 a slice.

Butler, Pennsylvania

A few people still know me at home, but I notice how the memory of my parents is fading as the younger generations coming on.

Butler, Pennsylvania ~

Drove by the beautiful home we lived in for so many years. What is it like inside now? Does Mother's, does Dad's spirit still linger there? Should I knock at the door and see?

Butler, Pennsylvania ~

Stood at gravesites of mother and father. There are no flowers. Just grass. They are alone. Nearby, our obelisk. There is room for me and my family. The question arises: Here? Or there?

Philadelphia Street ~

She pranced across the street that morning, a stand-out beauty, elegantly dressed in black, postured high above the others it seemed. She walked briskly, exultantly. I watched her turn the corner, disappear. First class Philadelphian, for sure.

My brother and I walked through Washington Park and then on to Walnut Street on our way to City Hall when I happened to see her again, sitting on a bench close to the street curb, her smooth, bare legs crossed, leafing, blasé, through a magazine, waiting for a pick-up.

State College, Pennsylvania

Stopped at the University of Pennsylvania on our way back home. A wonderful sprawling campus in a valley surrounded by woods. 43,000 students. All on vacation. But the football team was practicing for the upcoming Notre Dame game. We walked in to Arts Museum. There in the entrance, a Chihily, fulgent with color. I walked over to it like to an old friend.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

My brother was celebrating his birthday so I took him to one of Philadelphia's oldest restaurants, Bookbinder's. Sedate oaken dining room, excellent food. The maitre d' treated us as honored guests. Recommended German wine. The couple at the table next to us were celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. Asked what had held the marriage together for all that time: I like his shaving lotion, he likes my perfume!

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

At the motel I refused to watch television. In America you are bombarded with commercials. They are insidious, yes, a curse.

Philadephia, Pennsylvania ~

Caught in the swirl of throbbing Philadelphia I thought about the quiet peace of my Black Forest village where, devoid of distractions, I feel myself so much closer to those things in life that really matter.

Jottings inside the Museum of Fine Arts ~

Art is busy trying to express realities in ways more understandable than the reality itself.
The poet asks: What words must I conjure up to make beauty lift her veil?

Philadephia, Pennsylvania ~ Museum of Fine Arts ~

She was seen in a church hall in her traditional Black Forest costume but instead of a prayer book she was holding a musical instrument she was about to play for the birthday celebration of the local parish priest. I remember the demure glance askance, the modest dropping of the eyes.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

Others wouldn't stop but a friendly black girl went out of her way, asking two other couples for information, to tell me where I should catch the bus for the museum.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

A Chinese couple stood beside me as I read the original Declaration of Independence.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

People waited in long lines, patiently, to get into the rooms where our Founding Fathers debated and brought forth the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. How close the figures came: Washington, Ben Franklin, the redheaded Thomas Jefferson, John Adams. One makes a pilgrimage to a cradle like this. It is a hallowed place.

Lancaster to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~

On the train we passed through the lush Amish country. Beautiful farms. Men working the fields with teams of horses. Modest stone homesteads. White barns. Nothing has changed in the last 200 years. No electricity, no cars. Devout people. I felt they were close to the earth, and by being so, close to God.