Tuesday, February 24, 2015
The id Post: The Great Society & Me: Part Two -- My Education (...
The id Post: The Great Society & Me: Part Two -- My Education (...: by Irene Daniel My formal education began in Florence, Arizona; the County Seat of Pinal County and 'The Cowboy Cradle of the Southwes...
Thursday, February 19, 2015
The id Post: The Great Society and Me: Part One -- Childhood (F...
The id Post: The Great Society and Me: Part One -- Childhood (F...: by Irene Daniel There has been much talk lately about income inequality, greed, welfare and the role of government in our capitalist syste...
Thursday, February 12, 2015
The id Post: The Great Purge
The id Post: The Great Purge: by Irene Daniel I stayed and left And left and stayed Cleaning up The mess I made Newness and Experimentation Led me back ...
The Great Purge
by Irene Daniel
I stayed and left
And left and stayed
Cleaning up
The mess I made
Newness and
Experimentation
Led me back
To my foundation
The great sweat
To toxin-free
And the true physical
And Spiritual essence of me
And now it's time
To move along
To dance and sing
My unique song
And there will be
Future purges
Cleansing the toxins
Of human urges
For none of us
Are all one thing
A human is a
Complex being
So sail the cycles
Highs and lows
Nourishing a soul
That grows
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved
I stayed and left
And left and stayed
Cleaning up
The mess I made
Newness and
Experimentation
Led me back
To my foundation
The great sweat
To toxin-free
And the true physical
And Spiritual essence of me
And now it's time
To move along
To dance and sing
My unique song
And there will be
Future purges
Cleansing the toxins
Of human urges
For none of us
Are all one thing
A human is a
Complex being
So sail the cycles
Highs and lows
Nourishing a soul
That grows
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved
Thursday, February 5, 2015
The id Post: My Friend Olga and Her Big Brother Tommy
The id Post: My Friend Olga and Her Big Brother Tommy: by Irene Daniel Tommy Cathemer, Jr. died. To the residents of my hometown of Florence, AZ, those words fall on very heavy hearts. To those...
My Friend Olga and Her Big Brother Tommy
by Irene Daniel
Tommy Cathemer, Jr. died. To the residents of my hometown of Florence, AZ, those words fall on very heavy hearts. To those of you not granted the priviledge to know Tommy Cathemer -- you just missed out!
Tommy was a lot of things to a lot of people in this town: cowboy extraordinaire (in a place crawling with cowboys), all-star athlete (who was nearly an Olympian), son, father, husband and friend. But he was something else altogether to one very special person -- my beloved childhood friend, Olga Marie. And she has been in my head and in my dreams lately, beseeching me (and anyone who knew Olga can attest to the unrelenting nature of her beseeching) to tell you about her big brother Tommy.
It went something like this: Tommy adored little Olga, several years his junior. He was in high school when she was born. He would gladly walk over glass for her and would do anything within his power to protect her and keep her safe from harm. Everyone in town knew better than to mess with Tommy Cathemer's little sister, especially being that Tommy was quite handy with ropes, knives and guns.
As for Olga, she basically worshipped the ground that Tommy walked on, and wasn't ever shy about letting everybody know just how much. Pretty much as God intended for doting big brothers and beautiful baby sisters, don't you think? The specialness and protective nature of their relationship was even more enhanced, as they lost their father, Tom Cathemer, Sr., when Olga was just 13 months old.
They lived in their own universe, those two. And in their sacred space there were no parents, no teachers, no children or spouses, uncles, aunts or cousins, or even best friends. Oh, you might be invited to hang out with them and tag along for the ride, as I was many times; but it was always clear that I was merely a visitor in their mutual lovefest. Each one had their own child-like impishness, and when you put the two of them together, you could get a contact high of naked joy just from being around them.
I remember one such day I shared with them when Tommy broke Olga's new colt, practically right outside Mrs. Cathemer's kitchen door. Olga was about 10 or 11 years old and I was a year younger; and we just sat there for -- 3 hours? 4 hours? All day? I really don't remember how long it was, but it was a long time. And we just sat there, Olga and me, and watched Tommy work his magic with this wild horse with just a rope, cowboy savy and his own physical strength, which was always considerable. He was never violent or aggressive with this wild animal, who was trying to stomp him to death. He just outlasted him and knew when to throw his rope and where. I still have a vivid memory of Tommy, with that cowboy shuffle of his, gently leading this horse away, just as the sun was going down. His face shone with a rugged, yet gentle, peace. I was in complete awe, and I don't think I ever remember seeing Olga more gleeful than she was that day.
Of course, no one ever actually asked Mom if Olga could even have a horse. Or where are we going to put the horse? Or what and how are we going to feed the horse? Tommy just showed up with it one day. Olga wanted a horse, Tommy got her one. And it never mattered how much trouble either one might be in, or who was mad at them or why; Olga and Tommy always adored each other and had each other's back.
Those of us who knew him, remember how Tommy was always quick with a joke, or a good story to tell. But when Olga died in the Spring of 1990, I saw Tommy struggle with his grief. The words didn't come so easily for him then, talking about his little sister. I remember a conversation I had with him that Christmas after Olga died.
My oldest brother, Gilbert, had died several months before Olga did, and the intersection of Stewart and Matilda Streets, where our families have lived 2 doors away from one another for over half a century now, was a sad little corner of Florence. So, Mrs. Cathemer, in her infinite wisdom, decided to chase the blues away with another fabulous Cathemer Christmas dinner. She got out the fine crystal and silver and her finest china, and we feasted and laughed and made merry.
After dinner, Tommy and I were sitting at the table and we started talking about Olga. His beautiful blue-gray eyes began to well up with tears as I was telling him how I couldn't stop thinking about her sometimes. I recounted how, one day, as I had just finished a low-tide run on the beach that past summer, I could almost hear her voice -- and Gilbert's. The sun was setting over the ocean and it was so beautiful. It's as though I could hear them with my heart, telling me to love this moment, and to live and love every moment. Live fully, because we can't do it anymore. Live!
So we decided that the best way to honor the memories of our departed siblings was to live each day to the fullest; not that Tommy hadn't been doing that from the moment he exited the womb, but I hadn't. And we raised our glasses, and I said, "Let's drink, Tommy, to your little sister, and to my big brother." And we clinked glasses and he winked at me with that cowboy impishness that could melt ice. I cannot tell you how much that memory has sustained me, or how many times I have drawn upon it in the last couple of decades and, especially, in the last couple of months. How often, when I felt like giving up, those words and that promise moved me forward. Thank you, Tommy.
The physical atoms that made up the person of Tommy Cathemer for the past several years bore a poor resemblance to the Tommy Cathemer that I knew -- Olga's big brother, the cowboy. When I think of him, I remember him as that doting big brother, who just showed up with a horse one day because his baby sister wanted one. And it brings me great joy to know that he is free of all of his human limitations and suffering.
He's on a horse somewhere -- reunited with his father, his son Reed and his beautiful little sister, Olga Marie. Undoubtedly he's still winking at beautiful women.
That's our Tommy. To know him was to love him. And it has been a sweet, sweet privilege for me to know and to love my friend, Olga Marie Cathemer and her big brother, Tommy.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
Tommy Cathemer, Jr. died. To the residents of my hometown of Florence, AZ, those words fall on very heavy hearts. To those of you not granted the priviledge to know Tommy Cathemer -- you just missed out!
Tommy was a lot of things to a lot of people in this town: cowboy extraordinaire (in a place crawling with cowboys), all-star athlete (who was nearly an Olympian), son, father, husband and friend. But he was something else altogether to one very special person -- my beloved childhood friend, Olga Marie. And she has been in my head and in my dreams lately, beseeching me (and anyone who knew Olga can attest to the unrelenting nature of her beseeching) to tell you about her big brother Tommy.
It went something like this: Tommy adored little Olga, several years his junior. He was in high school when she was born. He would gladly walk over glass for her and would do anything within his power to protect her and keep her safe from harm. Everyone in town knew better than to mess with Tommy Cathemer's little sister, especially being that Tommy was quite handy with ropes, knives and guns.
As for Olga, she basically worshipped the ground that Tommy walked on, and wasn't ever shy about letting everybody know just how much. Pretty much as God intended for doting big brothers and beautiful baby sisters, don't you think? The specialness and protective nature of their relationship was even more enhanced, as they lost their father, Tom Cathemer, Sr., when Olga was just 13 months old.
They lived in their own universe, those two. And in their sacred space there were no parents, no teachers, no children or spouses, uncles, aunts or cousins, or even best friends. Oh, you might be invited to hang out with them and tag along for the ride, as I was many times; but it was always clear that I was merely a visitor in their mutual lovefest. Each one had their own child-like impishness, and when you put the two of them together, you could get a contact high of naked joy just from being around them.
I remember one such day I shared with them when Tommy broke Olga's new colt, practically right outside Mrs. Cathemer's kitchen door. Olga was about 10 or 11 years old and I was a year younger; and we just sat there for -- 3 hours? 4 hours? All day? I really don't remember how long it was, but it was a long time. And we just sat there, Olga and me, and watched Tommy work his magic with this wild horse with just a rope, cowboy savy and his own physical strength, which was always considerable. He was never violent or aggressive with this wild animal, who was trying to stomp him to death. He just outlasted him and knew when to throw his rope and where. I still have a vivid memory of Tommy, with that cowboy shuffle of his, gently leading this horse away, just as the sun was going down. His face shone with a rugged, yet gentle, peace. I was in complete awe, and I don't think I ever remember seeing Olga more gleeful than she was that day.
Of course, no one ever actually asked Mom if Olga could even have a horse. Or where are we going to put the horse? Or what and how are we going to feed the horse? Tommy just showed up with it one day. Olga wanted a horse, Tommy got her one. And it never mattered how much trouble either one might be in, or who was mad at them or why; Olga and Tommy always adored each other and had each other's back.
Those of us who knew him, remember how Tommy was always quick with a joke, or a good story to tell. But when Olga died in the Spring of 1990, I saw Tommy struggle with his grief. The words didn't come so easily for him then, talking about his little sister. I remember a conversation I had with him that Christmas after Olga died.
My oldest brother, Gilbert, had died several months before Olga did, and the intersection of Stewart and Matilda Streets, where our families have lived 2 doors away from one another for over half a century now, was a sad little corner of Florence. So, Mrs. Cathemer, in her infinite wisdom, decided to chase the blues away with another fabulous Cathemer Christmas dinner. She got out the fine crystal and silver and her finest china, and we feasted and laughed and made merry.
After dinner, Tommy and I were sitting at the table and we started talking about Olga. His beautiful blue-gray eyes began to well up with tears as I was telling him how I couldn't stop thinking about her sometimes. I recounted how, one day, as I had just finished a low-tide run on the beach that past summer, I could almost hear her voice -- and Gilbert's. The sun was setting over the ocean and it was so beautiful. It's as though I could hear them with my heart, telling me to love this moment, and to live and love every moment. Live fully, because we can't do it anymore. Live!
So we decided that the best way to honor the memories of our departed siblings was to live each day to the fullest; not that Tommy hadn't been doing that from the moment he exited the womb, but I hadn't. And we raised our glasses, and I said, "Let's drink, Tommy, to your little sister, and to my big brother." And we clinked glasses and he winked at me with that cowboy impishness that could melt ice. I cannot tell you how much that memory has sustained me, or how many times I have drawn upon it in the last couple of decades and, especially, in the last couple of months. How often, when I felt like giving up, those words and that promise moved me forward. Thank you, Tommy.
The physical atoms that made up the person of Tommy Cathemer for the past several years bore a poor resemblance to the Tommy Cathemer that I knew -- Olga's big brother, the cowboy. When I think of him, I remember him as that doting big brother, who just showed up with a horse one day because his baby sister wanted one. And it brings me great joy to know that he is free of all of his human limitations and suffering.
He's on a horse somewhere -- reunited with his father, his son Reed and his beautiful little sister, Olga Marie. Undoubtedly he's still winking at beautiful women.
That's our Tommy. To know him was to love him. And it has been a sweet, sweet privilege for me to know and to love my friend, Olga Marie Cathemer and her big brother, Tommy.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
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