Joyce Kilmer Was Right

So I made it to Salem, OR.  I'll be here for a week doing research for the American West Center, while my very sweet husband continues to keep things running back at the ranch.  

I have to admit that my hotel is absolutely unscenic.  The room is huge and comfy enough but it has a right off the freeway location with a charming view of the parking lot.    However, the drive down here from Portland, the one I was so nervous about, was beautiful.  There's still plenty of fall color here and that combined with the pine trees makes for some stunning scenery.  I forget how truly lovely it is out here.  I have to admit it's taking quite a bit of will power not to play hooky and make a break for the coast :)  There's a reason the photo above has been my blog banner for so long.

And if you're wondering what on earth the title of this post means see the link below:
http://www.bartleby.com/104/119.html

Interesting quote today

This is kind of a long story, but bear with me.

I'm usually not one for turning sports figures into heroes (in fact a person I work with and I were complaining about Salt Lake's John Stockton Blvd. just this week), but before I married a guy who didn't like football and before it was slightly painful I was a huge San Francisco 49ers fan, and as such, a fan of Steve Young. After one particularly brutal game with multiple nasty injuries, the commentators began to talk a little trash about Steve Young. At the time I was writing lots of poetry and the game got me thinking about the way in which our society sometimes looks at failure or adversity as a sign that someone isn't really worth looking up to. So I wrote this poem, and while the poem came to be about much more than some football players, it was originally inspired by that game:

The Hero

Heroes are human,
The dismal conclusion
They come to when he’s been knocked down.
He’s broken and bruised,
Tired, confused and
Picking himself off the ground.

But it isn't on victory, on pride, or on glory
That the title of hero should rest.
For it’s easy to shine when you win all the time
Triumph’s no true heroes test.

So when he climbs to his feet
When it seems he’s been beat.
Don’t say, “He should give up the fight.”
He’s got class under fire, courage, desire
And a vow to champion the right.

In spite of the pain he’ll commit once again,
Even though he has his doubts.
And he’ll give you his all
Come win, lose or fall,
Because that’s what a hero’s about.

I've been thinking about this poem a lot over the last few weeks, as Tracy and I deal with different challenges, reminding myself that hard times give you a chance to really see if your as faithful and hopeful as you claim to be.

Then today in an article about Steven Young speaking at some sort of business gathering here in Utah, they quoted him saying this, "Those of you that own businesses, those of you that have professions, in this tough time, find out if you're a pro and see how good you can be. Because I can tell you, over time, looking back on my whole career -- in business, in sports, in family -- the real, true test is I will find more about what I did in adversity than I ever did in success."

Poem

I used to write poetry all the time, but its been a long time since I tried my hand at it. A couple of weeks ago I bought this teeny tiny notebook when Tracy and I were wandering about downtown. The other day I took it with me when I went to eat my lunch at work. Maybe it was because such a tiny notebook seemed the right size for poetry, or maybe it was my general moodiness of late, but a poem just kind of appeared. Strangely enough I hardly ever write poetry that rhymes, especially serious ones, but this one just kind of came out that way. Anyhow, since my Mom and John are always asking if I've written any new poems I thought I'd post it.

Stir
Dripping and slipping, sliding away,
The failing of light at the end of the day.
Stark scattered snow and skeleton trees,
An echo of mountains on the frigid tight breeze.
Unstructured longings and half-informed dreams,
Stir. Nagging for life at my raveling seams.