Tuesday’s Child is Full of Grace

Merciful!  Did you ever take on something great on a Tuesday? It would appear that not many opinion setters ever crowned Tuesday with outstanding achievements. It hardly seems logical to condemn Tuesday to a day of inconsequence. Perhaps I need to change my search engine?

The Stock Market crashed on a Tuesday. By now the Stock Market has crashed on enough days to shake Tuesday from its infamous place.  In 1987 the world chose Monday October 19th, which Time Magazine described as THE CRASH. Yet, stock market historians usually select Black Tuesday to scare us with the risk of loss of wealth. The Dot-com bubble reached its height on March 10, 2000 and began its decent spectacularly thereafter. So do we blame Monday for that crash as well? Friday’s record took the infamy as well.

Songs selected Tuesday for the mundane. Good Bye Ruby Tuesday – who could hang a name on you? The Rolling Stones mused about Tuesday and granted a rather unassuming existence there, where nothing is gained or lost.  Similarly the Beatles featured Tuesday in its song  of Lady Madonna. It claimed Tuesday afternoon is never ending….how could we interpret Tuesday as anything but boring.  Today’s modern lyrics for Tuesday are largely disappointing. I think Drake’s song and Chris Brown’s dedicated to Tuesday should have fast forwarded to Wednesday.

So let’s propose instead Tuesday is Triumphant. Tuesday can’t be all that bad! It is past time for a Tuesday makeover.

I searched tuesdaypoem.BlogSpot.ca and found the poem, “The Great Dying”, by Kathleen Jones. It is poignant. However, the poem was certainly not dedicated to Tuesday as a day of triumph. For those who enjoy poetry, I recommend a regular visit to Tuesday Poem, it provides the poem chosen and an interview of the poet. Let Tuesday’s poetry let your mind soar!

Perhaps, if I was Shakespeare,  I would set a scene for Tuesday. But I am only a poor mortal of meagre poetic talent and scripted the following:

Can Tuesday be compared to any day?

Thou hath the strength of any seven.

Tuesday art greater than a Monday,

Without Sunday’s determination to deliver heaven.

Romeo or Juliet would agree to live their passion on a Tuesday,

Potions measured to restore lovers to each other‘s embrace,

Tuesday’s pact is then retold but for happiness to pay

Two duelling families surrender to wedded grace.

Cannot a Tuesday produce its super moon,

For all the world to watch in splendid wonder.

A Tuesday tempts but its lovers yet to swoon

Without the havoc and torment of heaven’s thunder.

So gather up the greatness of Tuesday’s beauty

While expectant couples follow poetic honour to its duty.

Surely my beloved Shakespeare would have written a Sonnet to iambic pentameter, that with poetic certainty would have saved Tuesday from its place as a dreary flower that never was to blossom into life’s sweet fruit.

I also searched more poetry sites to find a suitable poem. Fortunately, I was able to find a worthy poem by Charlotte Emma Lewis titled “Tuesday” and found on http://www.hellopoetry.com.  The poem made me grin even though the minutes of Tuesday were quickly expiring. Please visit that web address to enjoy her words. “If I were to be a day of the week, I would be a Tuesday. Not a Monday, bright and yellow……”

My fervent wish is that Tuesday be released from the vines that strap it to its current wretched place. The week must shake the frozen Tuesday from its grasp and raise it to the sun, and let its ice moisten the fallow Tuesday field. Let a field of lupins address next Tuesday, growing tall and plentiful, bringing us safely back to early spring and the promise of a happy summer.

Secret

I grew up singing the Beatles song, “Do you want to know a secret?”

This was the song of connections. It was the symbol of belonging, being trusted, being loved. It was the epitome of transitioning into adulthood from mere adolescence.

As a mere thirteen year old, I had lots of secrets, but no one to tell them to. To admit your dreams, fears or horrors was to diminish your popularity. Heavy secrets were a ticket to internal isolation. Nice secrets were lame and a sign of weakness.  Love secrets were imaginary at best.

No wonder John Lennon and Paul McCarthy asked, “Do you promise not to tell?”

What do we say today? It no longer is considered healthy to keep secrets.  In fact, there are academic research papers that are devoted to the physical burden of harbouring secrets. For those of us who have taken on the responsibility to carry that load, we have done so with a cost.  Secrets are by definition something we are less than willing to share, largely because we expect negative reaction.  The type of secret wages its own cost.  It boggles the mind to read some of the research papers as they equate the burden of carrying a secret to temperature, to weight and the variability.

Having just read the book, Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, I was provided the fictional portrayal of living a life of secrets. It was a painstaking description of a young man, who made stereotypical mistakes of a male youth in a world of plenty that then collided with the outcome of a traumatic event. The book depicted the cost of carrying deep secrets that the owner believed could not be shared as he battled with the desire to be youthful and also to be a sincerely good person.  The internal conflict was cataclysmic. In real terms, the burden of carrying the secrets equated to the ability to engage in real and meaningful relationships, to carry on trustworthy and calm relationships, the ability to sleep, to avoid addictions and cope with day to day activities.  This piece of fiction versus the authority of research may not be so far apart as they seem.

Fortunately, for the vast majority, secrets do not carry that high a cost. Yet, for those who carry them as lifelong secrets, shared primarily or solely with themselves, they will take their toll.

My advice is do not let secrets take ownership of your life. You have your today to live. Find your release.  Perhaps you can write it down, place it in a bottle and bury the bottle in the back yard.  Let the ground and the bottle take the burden. The secret belongs in the past and tomorrow is not equipped to change the past.  Give yourself permission to accept that the past cannot be changed and therefore in the future it loses its relevance. Imagine the contents of the bottle has rotted and floated away on its own and has left you whole.

Do you want to know a secret, oooo ah oo?  No, I have willingly forgotten my own.

I wish you peace.