Saturday, July 8, 2017


Hi There!

So, let's welcome back Caly McCarthy.

Caly has graced us before with her Mary Oliver-like spirituality.

She just graduated from Dickenson College and is now doing a year of service

at Camphill, in Capake, NY.

The Dickenson Review 2017 features  a recent piece of  Caly's.

It is about a daughter/dad love.

It's divine love personalized at a supermarket.


                                                            Caly McCarthy

There was a great commercial
a few years back
of a dad
purchasing tampons for his newly bleeding daughter
while she sat
in the car.

I take care
of my own menstrual products,
but I know
that my father loves me
he buys me yogurt.

My father has worn
a self-appointed uniform
of khaki pants,
a collared,
blue and white pinstripe shirt,
and a Land's End,
navy blue,
V-necked sweater
for the last twenty-seven years.
He readily admits
that he cannot multitask.
and, yet,
he buys me yogurt.

In the supermarket parking lot
he deposits twenty-five cents
to release the contraption
that locks one cart
to the next,
jangling the chain
and freeing
the reinforced
chicken-wire on wheels.
Probably he doesn't need it.
It's overkill
for thirty-two ounces
of strained milk,
but he
is a man who appreciates ritual.

He follows the perimeter
of the store,
the refrigerated path
to the promised land
of culturally-appropriate bacteria.
Arriving in Aisle Twenty-One,
he consults his list.
It says:
Stonyfield Greek,
vanilla yogurt.
He consults the wall.
It says:
organic, fruit-on-the-bottom, with almonds, sans fat, gluten-free, bound to
        make you joyful and
prosperous, please consider reading The Paradox of Choice.

The refrigerator case
is a matrix of variables,
a prime application
of conditional probability statements.
My father has never
excelled in math., but still he skims
the non-fat selections.
He cannot find one to my specifications.

He pulls out his phone.
It is a newfangled
piece of technology,
capable of telling you
about predicted humidity levels,
and giving you directions
to the nearest gas station
that sells diesel,
and calculating gratuity
for when you go out to eat.

He dials it.
I am in his"Favorites" list,
but he was born
in a generation
when you learned
the phone number
of your friends.

I don't pick up.
My phone is on vibrate,
and I am in class.

He leaves a message,
asks me to call him back,
he wants to make sure
that he's looking
for the right thing.

He walks around the store,
takes his blood pressure
at the machine
near the pharmacy.
It's 110 over 78.
He writes it down,
will tell us at dinner
how impressive it is,
especially for a man his age.

He checks the phone.
I haven't called back.
He walks to the Courtesy Desk,
explains that there's no
Stonyfield Greek,
vanilla yogurt
in Aisle Twenty-One.
On their loudspeaker
they interrupt Maroon Five
to ask Someone in Dairy,
to Call 2-4-5 Someone in Dairy,
to Call 2-4-5.

Dairy calls 2-4-5.
They have yogurt in the back.
How many do you want?
My dad requests six.
He's always believed in buying in bulk.

My dad doesn't care for yogurt,
but he fond
of oatmeal raisin cookies,
and I am fond of him,
though I don't care much for shriveled grapes.
I think that I
will make a batch
of Quaker cookies
to remind him
how much I love him.


Cosmic Love happens locally!!

Cosmic Love happens personally!!

Thanks to Caly for visiting us.

Glad we were able to be together today.

Look forward to seeing you next week.

Holding you in God's Dear Love.

                  John Frank

For folks new to "frankly speaking,"

a new post goes up toward the end of each week.