NO DO-OVER: DAY 288

  I wish I could say something special about New Year’s Eve this year. If I stay away from Covid-19, Black Lives Matter and the pathetic saga of Donald Trump and the myth of his stolen election, more over the unapologetic, blind-leading-the-blind devotion from his army of misled admirers, all that is left to mention is that tomorrow will be a new day. Right now, every wakeup is well received. I nurture hopes that I’ll be safe to travel again, maybe sooner than later. At any age, mine in particular, spending a year in self imposed lockdown is a big chunk of time. Time spent is irretrievable, no go-backs, no do-overs. I have noble intentions to accomplish something affirming today but I also know that good intentions can die on the vine without any symptoms so I’m not holding my breath.
As drawn as I am to quotes it’s a natural thing for me to go there when my mind slips into neutral and I find myself coasting. Aristotle got credit for noting, “Nature abhors a vacuum.” Of course they couldn’t agree if a vacuum can exist at all so the whole point may be lost. Still, I would suggest that even with the caveat, the vacuum Aristotle alluded to was a metaphor to begin with. In like fashion my mind abhors a blank page. When I get one, familiar quotes begin to blow through like low hanging cumulus clouds in April. 
While writing just now, something stirred a memory and I recalled my favorite William Penn quote. Penn died before the American Revolution so he is not thought of as a founding father. Still, his fingerprints are all over that government of, by and for the people. He said, “I expect to pass through life but once. If, therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow-being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” Any kindness or good thing. . . do it now. 
Spiraling off in another direction, George Lakoff wrote a little book in 2004 that compares/contrasts parenting styles as metaphors to illustrate conservative vs progressive world views. “Never Think Of An Elephant” I’ll not review the book but I do recommend it. In Lakoff’s research a reliable Republican resource shared a fundamental, conservative assumption. On the whole they see progressive liberals as ‘Do-gooders’ and that was not a compliment. From their perspective, doing good equates to assisting people who are either lazy or who choose poorly and that serves no worthy purpose. Winners win, losers lose and that’s how the world works. To the winner go the spoils. Bleeding-heart do-gooders would reward failure and perpetuate sloth. Conservative propaganda sounds really good if you already believe it but under scrutiny, it is as full of holes as a tennis racket.
‘Do-gooder’ language does strike a chord with me, comes across as an insult. My world as a child was framed at every corner with the moral principal, make your own way, earn what you get, get what you deserve. Being deserving was about integrity and industry. Play fair, work hard, don’t cheat. Charity was a double edge blade. Nobody wanted to be on the receiving end but everybody would graciously sacrifice something to others in need. So for me, a do-gooder was someone who flaunted good fortune in the guise of generosity and that was prideful sin at its worst. 
Nature has equipped us with a need to cooperate within small groups and for those same small groups to compete with other groups. That worked very well for hunter gatherers but civilization has surpassed that simple paradigm. We all belong to several/many tribe-like (small groups) which facilitates conflict at every level. How does one find balance when religion is in conflict with career, in conflict between competing political and social loyalties? What then about the free market agent exploiting inherently vulnerable friends or family. Treachery under any flag is an abomination but in the name of ‘Self Interests’ exploitation becomes ‘Good Business’ and that is what we should all aspire to (I’m told). 
What I believe isn’t all that important. I’m not selling anything today but I do like Wm Penn’s quote. If that makes me a do-gooder then I’ll think of it as a righteous update to an old, out of date software package. Do good! Time spent is irretrievable, no go-backs, no do-overs. If I have to hang my hat on just one hook it would be the hook of: We’re all in this together, we need each other, take care of each other. If I blow my chance here today, I shall not pass this way again.

ARRIVING LATE: DAY 282

  Christmas morning: yesterday my family came together-apart on a zoom call. It was so, so good to see all those faces in one passing glance. Spending so much time alone, depending on technology to keep in touch, a metaphor that doesn’t live up to the expectation but still we milk it dry. In the last two days I’ve indulged myself with feel-good reflections and wistful thoughts of better days. When you grow old maybe that’s better than leaning forward, into the grinder.
Night before last I watched Dickens Christmas Carol, the Patrick Stewart version. He is so good: carried the film all by himself. But the good-feel-good was there. You know the story by heart but it’s timeless: hard edged, cheerless people are touched (the metaphor again) and they change. Human nature would take us on a bumpy, troublesome ride but, I must concede, the human condition is blessed with a gentle, forgiving, uplifting spirit. By impulse and neuron the brain gets the message. It prescribes first then synthesizes dopamine, the natural high and things begin to look up, you feel better. The effect will wear off but for a while, life is sweet. Last night, I watched The Polar Express again. Youngsters who were already saddled with unfair circumstances plunge ahead through the most wonderful, exciting ‘Chase’ experience ever captured on film. We sense going in that the train will arrive on time, safely but the Mach-2 journey keeps one on the edge from start to finish. I love the sound of the steam engine and the drivers turning the big wheels. Every year, the message I get is the same, a simple reminder that bridging the void between hope and belief is therapeutic, good medicine. Like ‘Hero’ Boy & ‘Hero Girl’, whose names we never learn: he the willing but jaded doubter and she, the trusting believer, I climbed onboard as well. I always need some of that magic. 
I am honestly enjoying this Christmas morning, by myself at home, coffee & cookies, only a text message away from all those I love. Having an awesome Solstice gathering on my patio with three, safely distanced friends was a rare but familiar blessing to be sure. It put me on a most perfect trajectory for, “Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin’, in the lane, snow is glistenin. . .’  The story of my life has been one of arriving late and unprepared. Still, there has always been a way through and a compass that could point true North. So I am happy with the movie selections, with the zoom experience, with the text message, email and with food to seal the deal. I think it was Abe Lincoln who said, “People are just about as happy as they choose to be.” I know for a fact, every morsel of condescending wisdom is debatable and this ‘Happy as they choose. . .’ thing is no different. But I’m still in a Tom Hanks frame of mind, on the train to the North Pole. Hero Boy got a silver bell that wouldn’t ring until he bridged the ‘Belief’ gap. I’ve had my bells for years and years but just dug them out recently. They ring a little sweeter today. Maybe it’s because my doubts about Santa Clause are in remission. Belief in the Clause-man will fall out of good stead by the end of summer but I’ll reboot again with the right movie and maybe we can hug again in 2021. 

CHOCOLATE & BRANDY: DAY 279

  Today is the first day of an often repeated, new beginning. Centuries before the great pyramids of Egypt were built, early Celtic people took comfort and confidence in ritual and ceremony to mark the sun’s return. Even though their civilization was primitive, they were accomplished students of the heavens and certainly to the angle of the sun’s arc as it signaled the changing seasons. In June, at its highest point, the summer’s season of plenty would soon follow. For the next six months the sun’s course would sink lower and lower in the southern sky until mid December. Measuring the length of shadows they identified the shortest day with the longest night. That signal was both grim and reassuring. It meant that the winter season would soon be at hand and with it, hardship and want. But with that harsh prospect came a harbinger of hope. The longest night forecast winter’s cold but also affirmed that the sun would begin its return, rising each day, higher and higher in the sky. It wouldn’t stay cold. Summer’s plenty would come around again. It was like a promise from the gods. Some of those old Celts were my forbearers and something about that identity appeals to me, even in modern times when others have either forgotten or turned in favor of newer gods. 
Last night was the longest night of the year. We know for certain that grain fields will lie fallow and fruit trees will go dormant for a long, cold spell. But the promise hasn’t changed over all this time. Every day, the sun will rise higher, daylight hours increase minute by minute, every day. Spring will come again as will the time of plenty. What we need do is to patiently prepare and trust the sun to find us.
Several of my friends came to visit last evening, at about Dark O’clock, on my patio, social distanced and masked. Even though we follow no particular pagan religion there is a comfortable fit with old ways. Perhaps the oldest ritual in human history is the lighting of fires to call back the sun. Bundled up in warm clothes, we sat around the fire. Sunshine was the musical theme, singing along with famous recordings, and borrowing from Christian tradition we communed with chocolate and brandy. Fellowship and the practice of community do not require the necessary doctrine and hierarchy that come with traditional religion. All it takes is willing souls and the desire to make connection. After several hours, the fire burned down to glowing coals, we bid each other ‘Happy Solstice’ and called it an evening. 
Winter Solstice is a favorite holiday. Those of us who actually celebrate the day are few compared to the many whose mid December holiday hangs on stories of shepherds and wise men but that’s alright. Whatever one needs to feel spiritually fulfilled, they should have it. But if what is deemed Spiritual must conform to popular political, or racial, or patriotic, or ethnic, or narrow religious priorities, it looses its salt. The gods of every major religion stem from universal respect and adherence to the Golden Rule; do unto others. Beyond that it’s just man made mythology that exploits fear and rewards obedience. 
My connection to those old Celts is both physical and spiritual. Some of their genetic influence is scattered across my chromosomes and passed through me to my descendants as well. Ancestor worship was simply the veneration of those who came before. There was nothing mysterious about the linkage between generations. All the way back to the beginning, whenever, wherever; life begat life. Everything that defines me has been funneled through the preceding generation, and likewise through my generation into future generations. We live in the present but carry the hopes and dreams of ancestors as well. No less, we bear a responsibility to those yet to breathe their first breath. Venerating ancestors doesn't sound so bad. That is a story that I can understand and embrace. 

PP&M: DAY 269

  Kansas City has just experienced several days of unseasonably warm weather. Whether or not it measures up to ‘Indian Summer’ I don’t know but by mid December, three balmy days in a row is remarkable. Even with global warming and rising average temperatures you don’t take Indian Summer for granted. Rain today, wouldn’t you know. Writing about the weather; what am I doing, you’ve got to be kidding. But yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as though they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday. I wish it were that simple, write a song that laments the passage of better days. Perhaps a fond recollection can soften the moment and the fall. 
I just wrote several paragraphs about Covid and American hubris. I don’t hesitate to point out flaws and faults that seem uniquely American. As a nation we suffer from, ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall - we are fairest of them all’ syndrome. MAGA looses its mojo when its message turns out to be fabricated fiction and fear mongering. With few exceptions, that’s what Trump rhetoric amounts to. The biggest, most wretched lie to come out the mouths of those elected/appointed bigots is that they care about the world they leave for their grandchildren. All they care about is themselves and right now. So I deleted it; piss in the wind.
Last night I watched a PBS special, Peter, Paul & Mary at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1963. It was in black and white but the sound was clean and clear. In ’63 I was in my mid 20’s. PP&M were to us what Justin Bieber was to teenagers a decade back. I don’t know how well Bieber’s music will hold up but PP&M are still relevant, powerful and their stories are timeless. I think about those days and wonder how we made it through. Between an unpopular, unwinnable war and civil rights bubbling in a pot that could not be quelled, the country was in turmoil. We had patriotic racists pitted against egalitarian activists and nobody was going to budge from their perch. PP&M were out front, flag bearers if you will for a new generation. “Yes, and how many years can some people exist, before they’re allowed to be free.” I still had loyalties to the military and a shred of trust in government but the music was a hardwired channel to an undeniable reality. “How many seas must the white dove sail, before she sleeps in the sand?” 
In 1962 I took my girlfriend, (later wife) to see them at Municipal Auditorium in Kansas City. ‘If I Had My Way’, ‘500 Miles’, ‘If I Had A Hammer’, ‘Where Have All The Flowers Gone’; OMG. I’ve never done drugs but that euphoria must be similar. Forty five years later in 2007 I was in Washington D.C., went to see Paul Stookey do a one-man show at Wolf Trap. He is a storyteller with songs that slip into and out of the PP&M days. At the time, Mary was fighting cancer and Peter was performing some other place. She would lose her battle and pass away two years later. But the music is still there, just a finger touch away. Watching, listening to them last night was to feel their energy again. Mary was so animated she looked like a cat twitching before the pounce. Then the slow songs, we were moths and they, candles. I still love them, never left them behind, I have kept them with me. I love James Taylor too, Judy Collins, Van Morrison and Susan Tedeschi as well but what good is love if you keep it to yourself.
That wasn’t so bad. Had I labored over the new normal, both pandemic and politic, that would be for naught. As it is, I defaulted to a previous ‘New Normal’, one that felt unreconcilable but we plunged ahead without knowing our fate. Had we known how profoundly the 60’s would change everything we might have stopped to ponder, stumbled, lost our way. The lesson learned was, whatever lies in wait, young people will sieze their day. Their music will see them through and then, before they can change the channel, a new, younger generation will have picked up the struggle. Kids will have grown old if they’re lucky and those before them even more so, wrinkled and gray with an attitude. In the end it doesn’t end, just keeps on, and on. We play musical chairs until the chairs are all taken and we be left standing, watching from a distance, leaning on each other. 

GOD BLESS THEM: DAY 264

  In the last week I have received several text messages and two emails from my opthalmologist telling me I am way-overdue for my next appointment, “Call us immediately.” I had cataracts removed 9 or 10 months ago, just before Covid and I passed those followups with an A+. I bet other patients like me are either responding with “no thanks” or not at all. I replied, “I’ll call you when I think it’s safe.” The ones I really want to help stay employed are the curbside ladies at Walmart. They do my shopping for me off my online order. Then when I pull up to the curb they check to make sure the order and the customer match. A short shuffle-transfer into the back of my truck and I’m on my way home to put my groceries away. God bless them and all of the employees who work for low wages, in harm’s way. 
I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’ve slipped a cog with the casual reference to God. When you think your truth is chiseled in stone, you forget that change is the nature of nature. Maybe ‘perception’ is the better word than ‘truth’ and one’s perception can change like the weather. I make the distinction between disbelief and unbelief. Belief is not an either/or thing. Disbelief is a negative belief paradigm of its own. Unbelief is an idealogical vacuum. So with nothing to gain or lose, I don’t get in arguments or debates. Extreme Belief can have a mind altering affect not unlike some controlled drugs. I think, if you need the drug for a better life, you should have it. It is also my belief that one can overdose on Jesus just like on opioids. The euphoria is apparent, maybe harmless but most likely pathetic as well. I am an unbeliever of the 1st Order, the classic Agnostic. I don’t know, don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Buddha said, in so many words, whether or not there is a god is irrelevant. I put a lot of stock in what The Enlightened One had to say. 
“God is a metaphor for that which transcends all levels of intellectual thought. It’s as simple as that.” Joseph Campbell is the source of that little treasure but I employ it frequently. There are after all, situations and phenomenon that leave me in awe. When I experience something that I know is both real and profound, that is totally beyond my comprehension and I must react in some way, I chalk it up to the metaphor. I have neither the wiring nor the capacity to tap into the mystery. Some things I’ll never know and that’s alright. I would rather concede to my ignorance than to a myth. 
I don’t know how I got off on Belief/Unbelief but the voice inside my head keeps giving me the words and I do the rest. I have learned, when that voice talks, I listen. I know it’s just my subconscious talking to the conscious me but the chasm it has to breach is one of those awesome, profound experiences that I can’t explain. If it doesn't get my undivided attention it may go away and never come back. 
Day 264, Covid is kicking ass from the Dakotas to Texas and Rhode Island to California. Incredibly, at the same time there is a serious outbreak of ‘Head-Up-Ass Syndrome’ with people who still believe the virus is a hoax, the election was rigged and wearing a mask in public is an act of treason. I actually do understand the malady. Conspiracy paranoia dates back to tribal identity/loyalty that actually worked for clans and tribes, way back maybe 12,000 years ago. Civilization has moved on with levers, electricity and smart phones while our heads are still equipped with brains that evolved to create stone tools and kill anybody that might possibly be a threat. E.O. Wilson got it right: humankind is cursed with, “Paleolithic Emotions, Medieval Institutions & Godlike Technology.” Whomever we elect, it’s like giving your Corvette’s keys to a 5 year-old with the expectation they can keep it up-side-up between the white lines. 

MY HEROES: DAY 260

  That I collect quotes is not a secret. They can come from anywhere but usually a famous person or, for one reason or another, a noteworthy source. But the quote itself has to stand on its own legs, something profound, ironic or clever. Then, we are drawn to quotes that reflect our own values and sensibilities. This morning I scrolled through several websites that catalog quotes by their source or content. I was curious to see what quotable people had to say concerning ‘Patience’. Not surprising, many quotes dealing with patience came from preachers and the like who thought patience a righteous virtue. They correlated patience with obedience and reward which seemed more like pandering than wisdom. But there was one that I liked and it lacked the wannabe morality. “Patience unresolved becomes cowardice.” 
Sometimes a new, unfamiliar quote moves you to think, ‘I wish I had said that.’ They are the ones you want to keep on a short leash. I think of Willie Sutton, the famous bank robber. When asked why he robbed so many banks he answered mater-of-factly, “That’s where they keep the money.” I can’t resist Yogi Berra quotes, not because they are funny but for his unpolished phrasing and unspoiled persona. If anybody else had spoken such, it would not have raised a ripple. Who but Yogi Berra would say, “You can observe a lot just by watching.”  If I want to wax profound I turn to someone like Carl Sagan who, unlike Yogi, was about as sophisticated and refined as humanly possible. He made the distinction, “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”  He also noted that, “We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.” Milking a little more of the profound I concede to Joseph Campbell, “Life is without meaning. You bring the meaning to it. Being alive is the meaning.”
The nature of quotes you are drawn to creates a good window into the psyche of the collector. It allows one to discover the scope of their own humor, their own moral compass and just who their heroes are. I never really thought I had heroes, certainly not sports figures or movie stars. Still by whatever hook you hang them on, they are the people who model in the flesh what you aspire to in theory. 
Back in the 1990’s, the fad was rubber wristbands embossed with WWJD. People bought and then gifted them to others who noticed and inquired. I worked with another teacher who wore half a dozen on each wrist. I didn’t then, don’t now have a clue what Jesus would do. At the time it was less about love and forgiveness and more of exclusive inclusion in a self righteous, privileged culture. I don’t think he would have approved what they were doing in his name. A WWMTD wristband would have suited me better. Mark Twain would be another hero, steeped in a clear eyed, skepticism of his own life and times. Now I’ve done it, compiled a list of heroes. I can’t leave out Kurt Vonnegut; “Scum of the earth as some may be in their daily lives, they can all be saints in emergencies.” A treasure trove, he also left us with, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
I have often referred to what I do as, playing with words. When others play that game so well that we collect their toys, it honors them and the toys themselves are great to have at hand, like canned sunshine for a dismal day. With pandemic looming like Damocles’ sword, I take comfort in my heroes.