SAME OLD BONE

 
“I write as much to understand as to be understood.” Ellie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and Nobel laureate is a hero by any measure. We have something in common, writing for the sake of our own understanding. I write to help me understand and every time I sit down to write it always crosses my mind. 
I am growing weary writing about the human condition and our long, evolutionary backstory. There are two views and mine is not the popular, self-aggrandizing version. If I believed that civilization was following a fixed path, that someone was in control and we (human beings) are predestined to prevail; then we could all sit together and sing Kumbaya but I don’t and I won’t. In the last thirty years I’ve worn myself out wrestling with the myth of human superiority. It is my considered opinion we are highly evolved animals. Our history of attributes and accomplishments is long and impressive. Still, like proud artists who write their own reviews we wax praise rather than an objective critique. What self respecting singer or artist calls attention to their own shortfalls and failures? 

        Elephants and whales are highly evolved mammals too and their attributes work for them as well as ours work for us. People write poetry and whales cannot but how long can you hold your breath. The difference between elephants and people is obvious to the educated person but only a scant few skilled experts are connecting and analyzing data as to how much we are alike. If you’re a whale, holding your breath is a very important attribute. We all do the best we can with what we’ve got. The whale cannot duplicate our natural talents and that makes us superior but neither can we do what the whale does and nobody thinks we are the less for it. Human nature would have us believe what we want to believe: Mirror mirror on the wall which species is superior over all? I believe that civilization is peopled by creatures that practice to some degree, self-worship. The fact that we follow our creative, problem solving nature may be no more profound than elephants that stand in the shallows and take a shower on hot afternoons. 
Misanthropes are people who dislike (or hate) and avoid humankind. I am not one of those; I love people for the most part, some more than others but we belong together either way. We are social animals. As a species we need each other. Solitary animals do very well living alone but humans do not. The axiom, “It takes a village to raise a child.” could not be more true. So I am not here to beat up on humankind. Still I am disappointed that with all of our logic, creative thinking and ability to cooperate in large numbers we still wage wars for the sake of greed and power. We still practice racism and misogyny. 
For many thousands of years our predecessors lived together in small clans that were more or less isolated from other clans. Scratching out an existence was difficult but the group would be egalitarian rather than authoritarian as every person was too important to the group to diminish their role with a vertical hierarchy. It wasn’t until civilization began to develop around 10,000 years ago (at different times in different places) that we got agriculture, towns & cities, division of labor, specialized skills, authoritarian rule, social classes, etc. Civilization improved the quality of life for many but also suffered poverty and discrimination on many others as well. Having specialized jobs resulted in many of them being strenuous, repetitive that literally wore people out before their time. Women were for the most part relegated to child care and needing a man to depend on. I’m not saying civilization is bad but it has resulted in bad side effects that were never encountered in the hunter-gatherer culture that flourished for 35,000 years. An interesting idea (food for thought) is that people flourished without civilization for over 35,000 years but civilization cannot survive without people who translate out as fuel to drive the process and function as a piece of the machine. The civilization construct needs highly organized people who conform to time, space and purpose or it dies on the vine. People who live off the land in small groups have never needed civilization to survive and sustain a stable breeding population which in evolutionary terms is the definition for species success.
I am not ready to give up my pickup truck or the interstate system or my smart phone or toothpaste but I am beginning to feel like the corner piece of a gigantic jigsaw puzzle that only fits in that particular space, farthest from the center and irrelevant to the picture on the completed puzzle. Self-aggrandizing is a uniquely human business and I have to stay self aware not to go there. Before the industrial revolution (1830) and the mass burning of fossil fuels, the species (Homo sapiens) was no more significant on the planet Earth than dandelions or mosquitoes.  But I am tired of chewing on this same old bone and I need a better distraction. After all, This world is broken, I didn’t break it, I can’t fix it. So I’ll take comfort wherever I can and be glad.

FEELING GOOD

 
Yesterday I took a long nap in the late afternoon and when the movie I watched finished at 10:00 p.m. I knew not to go straight to bed. So I watched some of my favorite music on YouTube and checked concert schedules and ticket prices. The Tedeschi Trucks band will be in Morrison, Colorado at Red Rocks in a couple of weeks and still have a few general admission passes  at ($230 each) but I don’t really want to go alone and the price is steep. It was midnight so I turned the AC off, opened windows and turned on the attic fan. 
My alarm went off at 6:20. The streets were wet from last night’s rain but it was clear and cool. I had dreamed or dreamt, I think both are correct, it was  a long dream that went on and on. I was riding-bike; not to be confused with riding (on) a bike. Riding-bike you and the machine become one, integrated system. Make the distinction between a two wheel kid’s toy and the legitimate mode of travel. In the dream I was with several others, dressed properly with lycra shorts that come almost the knees, shoes with toe clips, gloves and helmet. We transitioned from hills to winding grades, to the flat, went through a little rain shower and took turns riding up front. It was awesome.
I rode my bicycle seriously from 1978 until 2018. There is nothing like a 20-25 mile ride to satisfy an inherent need to be in motion. You have time to focus on technique: the spin, frequent gear changes to hold a steady RPM, small shifts forward and back on the seat, standing up and leaning forward on inclines, changing grips. It spreads the work across all of the muscle groups and for an hour and a half you stay fresh. All the while you check your mirror for traffic, take in the sights and sounds, spook wildlife you surprise as you roll up silently and people going about their business who miss you altogether. It’s almost like being invisible.
I was still biking in my mind in the shower; can’t remember when I woke up feeling so good. In 1983 I took my 11 year-old twins and 9 year-old daughter on a week long trek up the Lake Michigan shore from Kalamazoo to Traverse City. By then they had good bikes and were accomplished riders. With a small tent and two sleeping bags we camped, ate at delis along the way and made new friends at every stop. Nine summers later we were living in Missouri. My then 15 year-old daughter and I were the only ones not working but we both had great bicycles. We put those bikes and the same old tent in the back of the pickup and went to the West Coast for July and part of August. Between camping and visits with friends and family we took in Yosemite National Park and biked most of the Southern California’s beaches from Huntington Beach down to San Clemente. 
Time either flies when you’re having fun or it can drag through the doldrums but either way it will pass. So there I was in the shower, remembering details about bicycle technique and about happy, joyful times on the road with my kids. I turned 50 that summer in California. I have a photo of us on our bikes, on the beach in Newport Beach and I take a lot of comfort in old photos. They speak to another time with crystal clarity: yes, that’s us and this is how it really was. That was a great day and I knew it even then. Today is a great day as well. I woke up feeling not new but certainly better than my years might suggest. 
Early July and the Tour de France is underway. Super Bowl is an American thing that gets a lot more attention than it merits. The money it generates is remarkable but it’s business, more about the the money than it is a sport. The Tour de France is a 21 stage bicycle race (21 days, 21 separate races) with a global following, competitors and teams from all around the world. After 4 days the individual leader is Mathieu van der Poel, a Dutch rider. A typical stage race can last from two to five hours and cover long, grueling, steep mountain grades or straight, flat stretches between villages with their hairpin corners and crowds spilling onto the course or challenging combinations of both. What I like about the Tour is that all the riders belong to a team of 6 or 7  and they work as a team to protect their #1 rider and move him to the front as the race nears the finish. Not negative but I prefer the leg-pumping, elbow bumping on the steep climb to the finish line. I tend to fall asleep with NFL and NASCAR business. 
Getting back to waking up feeling good and keeping that happy thing going, I was informed by a friend who should know, “Do what you can with what you have, fix what you break and find the joy.”  Joy; a feeling of pleasure or happiness. It is after-all, a possibility made real. Finding the joy is not about getting what you want, it’s more like getting lemons and making lemonade. “You want joy, if it doesn’t come knocking on your door then make some from what you’ve got.” I have to look for it under every stone, in the darkness as well as the light. I have to treasure every tiny little shred of happiness with the full blown weight of the greater joy I seek. Sometimes I lose my way and sh*t happens but you start over, look under a new stone or grope in the dark for a new beginning. I still get up on days I don’t feel this good because time doesn’t stand still and I have high hopes for 
tomorrow’s wake-up. 

A SHORT REACH

  An interesting aspect that comes with aging is that you have so many years of acquired experience to reflect on. My neural hard drive has never been updated but the memories keep dropping in, looking for a cozy corner. In the late 1940’s World War 2 had spent itself but the aftermath was slow to heal. Its death toll estimated at 85 million souls both military and civilian still touched most everyone in Europe, Asia and North America. The U.S.A. was spared the destruction of bombing and occupation by foreign armies so our social fabric was strong. Infrastructure (buildings & roads) were in tact; banks, industry, work force, transportation, agriculture, none of it had to be reinvented. Europe had to print and spend tons of money on social programs, trade unions and such, rebuilding for several decades before their economies were able to compete. The popular liberal stereotype for European culture traces back of necessity to the post WW2 recovery. Shifting gears from a wartime economy to a free market culture was easy in America. After only 4 years of fighting (our allies had been fighting for 6 or more years) we ran amok with an economy that never had to be reinvented, only retooled and turned loose. We were very good at what we did but the global prosperity we enjoy these 80 years later is to some degree a lingering testament to the (right place & right time). With enough head start even I could win a gold medal at the Olympics. 
In 1948 my dad was up before dawn and off to work before my brothers and I woke up. Breakfast was usually on the table by the time we hit the kitchen, two poached eggs on toast and milk, sometimes hot oatmeal and bacon. It was the first year our school district had a school bus. It stopped, honked if you weren’t outside waiting, honked again and started easing away. The consequences for missing the bus were real and we made it out the door before the second honk, even if I had my shoes under my arm and left my lunch on the table. 
We had a radio but I didn’t get to pick the station or even when we listened but it was how we got the news. Sometimes we got a copy of the Sunday news paper but news was basically what we overheard at the dinner table. Dad was a Tool & Die Maker for a company that made Coca-Cola vending machines. We were Yellow Dog Democrats which means we would vote for a yellow dog before any Republican. Even though I thought I wanted to be something else (a father/son thing) when it was all said and done, at the bottom of every hole I’ve ever dug in I find my blue collar values. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I have a built in pull to the left on any issue that has a moral caveat. 
It’s ironic I still remember what I had for breakfast when I was 9 and the name of the first girl who kissed me on the lips; I was 12. Billie Jo Davis wasn’t my girlfriend and she never did it again (must have been on a dare) but still. Along with other mundane memories I specialize in random trivia. By the time I got to high school the news was the Cold War. People were burying bomb shelters in their yards and every time you get the news it was about a nuclear bomb test on a Pacific island or in Siberia. I didn’t pay much attention to the news. I couldn’t change any of it and I had a girlfriend by then. 
More recently, this century; I find myself tuning out when news breaks. Back in the 70’s & 80’s we got sports scores  and local news and that was alright. Racism, misogyny and the class divide (invisible poor) were still a shameful legacy for the Land Of The Free & The Home of The Brave but they were so deeply entrenched in our national culture we didn’t take offense, it was our normal. Popular sentiment in the mid 2020’s seems to favor a self obsessed focus on those same character flaws. Our leaders keep their aggressive, malcontent followers ginned up with hateful rhetoric and punishing the wicked as a cure-all. I have a friend with a PhD in philosophy and a few classes at the seminary who ministers to a liberal congregation in Grand Rapids who told me privately: “The world is broken, you didn’t break it and you can’t fix it. So be the change you want to see, fix what you screw up, pay attention and find the Joy.”  That kind of accountability appealed to me then and passing years haven’t dimmed its glow. 
I really do avoid media news. News is a business and that means sell advertising that means identify a target audience. In this case you get extremes on both sides and a slim few who try to balance their reporting. Recently, on one of the few networks who try to keep that balance, they reported on a new (organized) movement that touts former Fox News anchor Tucker Carlson as a spokesperson. The feature was not a report as much as simply soundbites from the (Carlson) podcast. Their issue is that manhood is at risk due to liberal influence. Men are being emasculated in the work place and in the home by advances in women’s independence and opportunity. Sperm count is down, birth rates are down and men no longer need protect their families. There was interest in framing a plan for cash rewards to families with 6 or more children. Keep moms making babies  so men can be real men again. AYKM (are you kidding me); that’s what Hitler did in 1943 to guarantee his super race. I would think the low sperm count issue better identified as the Save the Self righteous Penis. It would be laughable if it were funny. 
I am familiar with using the radio or television for background noise to offset silence. I have over a thousand songs uploaded into my smartphone and the phone itself is linked to my hearing aids. I don’t have to hold the phone up to my ear or select the speaker mode. I get a clear, edgy tone both incoming and outgoing. I can also select my I-Tunes AP, set it on random select and listen to music all day. KCUR is the NPR station in Kansas City and I can anticipate their news breaks if I want to skip the rhetoric; it’s a short reach to the mute button. 

ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE

  The difference between Read and Study is profound. Fiction will entertain but study requires reading or listening with the ability to stop, take notes, review, reread and even start over. Since they took my keys and reassigned my classroom to a younger, more affordable teacher I have plenty of time to read or study as I choose. Long story short; when I was going into the business it was an insatiable curiosity and need to know that drove me and not so much an appetite for entertainment. Now, when I sit down to write I seldom get very far before I need to research something I had not expected and am drawn away from my original idea. That puts me digging in a new hole and it takes some discipline to stay on task. 
I was trained in the school of science and critical thinking. The whole idea is relatively new, only a few hundred years since Galileo turned that corner and tradition is slow to change. Myself, I’m not all that smart but I pay attention to scholars who count molecules and know where to look for the human genome. Fear and imagination combined are still entrenched in the human condition. Both belonging and fitting in are usually more important than challenging the myth or pushing the boundaries. 
I find it irresistible, what it means to be human and our collective backstory. Whenever I find a reliable source that clarifies that meaning or expands that story I start taking notes. A good definition seems a good way to start. Anthropology; The study of human beings and their ancestors through time and space and in relation to physical character, environmental/social relations, and culture. In my notes I would emphasize; (through time and space). As a disclaimer I want to note that time is not an objective reality, but rather a human-made system for organizing and understanding the sequence of events. Without a way to measure and apply that sequence we could not function as we do. I had to find ways to appreciate if not visualize so many zeroes. But you have to find a way if you want the view to fit the frame. 
I want to imagine what I might say to one of my ancestors if I could bring us together in that slice of space and time. If I figure four generations per century (a plausible estimate) the math is easy. If I could restore even for an afternoon all of my maternal grandmothers going back in time to when Christopher Columbus set sail; how many places should I set at the table? Take a head count from then until now; 4.5 centuries times 4 = 18 grandmas. Compound those numbers another 4.5 centuries and there are 36 grandmas (all in the same line) stretching back to about 1066, William The Conquerer and the Norman victory over Anglo-Saxon rule in England. That 36th grandma on my mother’s side, she would have been alive somewhere. My takeaway is the small number of grandmas and the long stretch of time; not all that many conceptions to get maybe a few of her genes down to me. 
Still, that long, unbroken line of procreation is linear with a beginning that reaches back a lot farther in time and grandmas than 900 years or #36. The human backstory goes back at least forty thousand (40,000) years to small clans of hunter-gatherers who sustained a stable culture for 400 centuries; times 4 and somewhere lost in ancient prehistory there I have about 1,600 grandmas on my mother’s side. 1,600 generations in 400 centuries, not that many when I think about it. They were all born, grew up, lived, gave birth and died as the way of this life has always required. 
I find it ironic that the universe is birthing new stars and planets as others are turning super nova and being consumed by black holes. Here on Earth eight billion humans have been persuaded that something mysterious is in control and we are more special than the planet itself. I am reminded that life, all life from fruit flys to blue whales, from bacteria to giant redwoods; it sustains only as long as conditions strike that happy balance. Life requires light and water and climate that meets our needs. The chemistry of that narrow, thin little layer of air and water that supports all life is not guaranteed. Change is the nature of nature. How long can you hold your breath? 
I am shutting this down now with a shoutout for Carl Sagan’s quote about The Little Blue Dot. I recommend it. You caN GOOGLE it. 

REALITY CHECK

  When my dad was just about my age now he told me that he hated being old. He had been living alone for five or six years since my mom passed and he wasn’t handling that well. I was living far away which compounded things. His friends were aging out and dying off and he wasn’t making any new ones. Grandchildren had grown up and moved on; not that they didn’t or don’t care but life has a way of overflowing all of the space available. It leaves little room for grandparents and he was lonely regardless. I couldn’t help with that but I took it as an omen, a cautionary reality-check; not unlike the reckless driver who passed me a few miles back and I catch up with them later, pulled over by the police and instinctively I think; Not good, don’t do that. So here I am, same age (85) but I don’t hate it. There are drawbacks but without the Yin-Yang and Karma factors I couldn’t appreciate good fortune when it treats me better than I deserve. 
This is a story that was born in my preteen years. Sleeping outside on a hot summer night I woke up to a bright light and a voice coming down from the treetops. It said when I was being born I was delivered to the wrong planet and they were here to rescue me, to take me home where I belong. Then my mother’s voice called from her bedroom window. She told me to stop with the noise and go to sleep. In the still that followed, both the bright light and the voice had disappeared. It felt so real I couldn’t let it go, begging the question that has never been satisfied. I dream dreams, maybe not every night but often, still I don’t remember any of them. The one in our front yard when I was 10, I still remember it clear as a bell. 
Not wanting to sound like a fool, still it’s is generally accepted that the subconscious mind (which is unavailable to the conscious one) can and does bridge that gap with thoughts and ideas (language) that we have no control over. A thought, out of the blue that just hits you between the ears; artists and writers in particular refer to this inspiring phenomenon as the ‘Muse’. If you treat it with denial (WTF) then what you see is what you get. I pay close attention when I get those little flashes of inspiration, afraid if I don’t it will give up on me and go away for good. I am patient but never closed to an insight that has otherwise eluded me. 
Getting back to the hot night in the front yard, I still chew on that unresolved question. Certainly, across my lifetime I harbor reservations about being a human being. Sometimes, everything in my experience tells me that I don’t belong. I know,I know, I’m stuck here and nothing foreseeable to remedy that. Still this life has always given me a path where I could both learn from failure and try again, and again. I should be grateful and I am but it is in our nature to want more and better than what we have even when it comes at the expense of unfortunate others who are trapped in a working underclass. Here in the U.S.SA. we have the best government money can buy, where Liberty is confused with License and you get just as much Justice as you can afford. I certainly am grateful. If not for White-Male privilege it is extremely unlikely I would have ever seen the inside of a university library.  
I made it my life’s work to know biology and evolution, to realize the power of applied math and data but in my culture it’s not something you want to take seriously. Our leadership is content to popularize conspiracy theories, cook the books and blame each other for the shortfall. This could unfold as a rant against political parties and religious deities but they have joined at the hip and you can’t tell where one stops and the other begins. 
If I have a bona fide hero it would be Astronomer Carl Sagan, 1934 - 1996. He understood the frailty of life on this planet and the vast expanse of a universe that doesn’t care at all if we flourish for thousands of years in hunter-gatherer clans or perish in a civilized attempt to be the temporary Lords of an ordinary planet. For as long as I am remembered by anyone, for any reason, I don’t want to be lumped together with egomaniac narcissists  who can’t see beyond the next election cycle, who profit from building walls to keep their base happy as they worship their own image in the mirror. 

WHOOP-DE-DOO

  I’ve been reminded that it’s been a long time since my last journal entry and ‘Stones’ post. The last few months have been a busy time but ‘Busy’ comes in different packages. Some leave you smiling but others are no fun at all. Movie Star Betty Davis (1908-1989) gets credit for this ubiquitous observation; “Old age ain’t for sissies.” Leon Trotsky (Russian Revolutionary) shared a similar revelation; “Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man.” He had big plans and plenty of time but surprise-surprise; he woke up one day too old to keep up. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. 
I’m old but I saw it coming. I can’t speak for others but the future is now and I don’t want to squander it on making plans. One’s days are numbered and thankfully that number is unknown. It makes the present all the more important. So I’m writing again but too much time on the computer is a stressor and I need to be moving my feet. 
Max Ehrmann was an American writer, poet and philosopher from the first half of the last century. He is best known for a poem he wrote in the late 20’s titled ‘Desiderata’. It’s an easy read, I recommend it. Toward the end he advises, “Be gentle with yourself.” I’ve learned to do that without a prompt but it’s also a good example to set for others. In so-many words he assures us that the universe is unfolding exactly as it should and to be at peace with God, however you perceive it. As I age I find some of my peers relating to Ehrmann’s insight. I don’t formalize prayer as I don’t recognize a traditional God but I think Ehrmann’s poem makes righteous meaning any time, under any set of circumstance. 
My granddaughter got married day before yesterday; it was planned to perfection. The venue was small but there were enough chairs to seat everyone. Long white dress with a train, flowers in her hair. I know enough of the backstory to appreciate how weddings can soften old grudges, bitter enemies agree to share the moment. What started out as a choreographed ritual transitioned through a cascade of photographs, an awesome dinner then toasts and speeches and concluded much later, the bride dancing with all of the significant men in her life. When I left the dance floor was crowded, the music loud and my side of the family carrying on with strangers as if they were new-best friends. I even danced with my own daughter (the bride’s aunt) did some turns dips and a whoop-de-doo with no consequence. 
So here it is the end of May, Labor Day weekend. Out-of-towners heading home, locals gearing up for a short work week. On their way to New Orleans the honeymooners are making memories. Weddings are a highpoint for good will, high hopes and new beginnings. The collective euphoria won’t last long and gravity will reassert its rule. From my perspective I would default back to ‘Desiderata’ and a truism that I have come to trust; “Life is short: eat dessert first.”

THEREFORE I AM

George Burns is credited with the line, “Age, it’s just a number.” but someone else said it first. The “. . . just a number.” thing is Word-play; it makes us feel clever but the calendar doesn’t lie and it is more than just a number no matter what they say. What Burns did say was, “You can’t help getting older but you don’t have to get old.” Burns word-play was about the way one sees themself and how being relevant supersedes age. I am 85.586301 years old today. Tomorrow I’ll be 85.590141 years and those are just numbers. I used to have a schedule and you don’t want to be late for an appointment or a duty but as I’ve grown older I have more time to think about things than I have things to do. If it had been just me a career as a full time student would have been awesome but it wouldn’t pay the bills. But now I can study history, language, human behavior and how the brain works. It’s easy with the internet. I can take notes and then study my notes, review and connect the dots. I can study the scholars who write the books and judge for myself if they are pretenders who distort a kernel of truth to promote what they want me to believe or the real deal scholars who follow the crumbs wherever they go and my heroes are real deals. When I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep I can review my notes, study again. Kids are supposed to experience the joy of discovery between the 4th and 7th grade but I was preoccupied. The joy of discovery, what a profound idea. I didn’t have to be told but then I was a 25 year-old kid in Biology 101, couldn’t help myself and I’m still hooked on learning and a high probability of knowing and I want to know. 
I take after René Descartes or at least I like to think I do. I think therefore I am and that is a good start. So I study, read and reread before I take notes then reread my notes. It’s like juggling and I need to keep at least 3 ideas in the air or I forget. In graduate school I wrestled with Statistics 401 but it left me with a healthy respect for standard deviations and numbers with lots of zeroes on either side of the decimal point. If I don’t keep working with them it’s easy to lose the handle. How do I get my head around a trillion raindrops from a single cloud or a membrane 0.001 mm thick?  
        In the USA there are about 6.5 million people age 85 or older which works out to about 1.75% of the total population. Staying relevant is a lot like pushing a rock up the hill since most of my century-mates don’t expect much from me. Many if not most of these 85+ seniors are tucked away, warehoused in facilities for those who are aging out. I have not been warehoused yet and I don’t really like the idea but maybe it’s the price we pay for living a long life. 
How can I know anything for sure; maybe it’s too much to ask but given the variables we can calculate probability down to a simple ratio, either yes or no and I can burn as many zeroes as it takes. I have a wonderful education over roughly 31,237 days of both formal schooling and life-experience so in the spirit of René Descartes, when the probability of something happening turns out to be either 0.99:1 or 0.009:1 then I can know with some confidence whether or not to hold my breath.
But if I’ve learned anything it is that people respond to (passion) strong feelings long before they resort to reason and logic. I fall into that same trap and I suffer the consequence. But I know better. It may not keep me from taking the bait but if I keep repeating thee same life-lesson, eventually I default to reason. It means I have to change the way I feel about the way I feel. 
If I want to boil this life down to a few absolutes I would begin with the Golden Rule. Every known religion on the planet has a premiss that equates to the Golden Rule which tells me that religion is not going to save us. Religion simply lumps us into groups who discriminate between who we reward and who we punish and it uses that leverage to manipulate its own followers. Government is a mirror reflection of religion that preaches, ‘To the victors go the spoils’ in lieu of the Golden Rule.