THERE BUT FOR . . .

  How do you deal with beggars at intersections with disclaimers in magic marker on scraps of cardboard; God Bless, Viet Nam Vet, Haven’t eaten, etc.? I will vent my own disclaimer here: I give up. I do not give money to desperate people who may or may not be what they appear to be. But my mother did a thorough job with me. Any time, every time we encountered someone who needed a helping hand or suffered a grim affliction she whispered in my ear; “There but for the Grace of God go I; and you too.” I got it; the only thing between ‘Lucky’ me and a wretched beggar was God’s Grace. At our house charity and forgiveness was the price of God’s Grace. The downcast suffer enough, don’t send them away hungry.
So I don’t give money to downcast people but I do feel compelled to feed them. Today my appetite called out for chicken salad. I didn’t have any celery so I drove across town to the grocery. Just down the line a young woman stepped out from between parked cars. I don’t think you can grow this old and not see a shakedown coming. She was clean and dressed to fit the weather, a little chunky. Her hair had been bleached some time ago and the dark brown had grown back in several inches. Well spoken and very proper she began a story how she and her little girl had not eaten since the day before yesterday. I watched her lips move but I was paying attention to body language and to my own dilemma, what should I do? I believed her then and I believe her now; she was hungry, what ever else she might have been I couldn’t know. I told her I don’t give money to strangers, period, then asked her, “If you had money, what would you buy?” She thought for just a moment and told me; bread, eggs, milk and some apples. I asked her if she was safe, did she have a safe place to stay and she volunteered that she was safe and that things should get better next week.
Then I asked her, “If I go in and buy your groceries for you would you wait here for me to bring them out?” She said she would; I added her items to my list and told her, “You wait here. Don’t go away. I’ll be back in 20 minutes.” As I walked away she added, “White bread.” It took all of 20 minutes but when I got to my truck she was nowhere to be found. I waited for another 20 minutes and still no-show. I felt a little foolish but why so; she may have thought I would report her to store security or she may have been with some other person who didn’t like the deal. But she was hungry and I believe she had a hungry little girl somewhere, I’d bet on it (I guess I did). 
Now I’m stuck with a large loaf of white bread and a half gallon of 2% milk: who in the world eats white bread! I volunteer with a (Hunger Outreach) group that puts sandwiches together one night a week for the homeless and food insecure. We host a big picnic feed twice a week at a downtown park and our Thursday night assembly line turns out maybe 300 (maybe more) ham & cheese sandwiches from donated supplies. Sometimes we feature lasagna or stew along with the sandwiches and we don’t hear any disclaimers, just ThankYou, up and down the line. That’s when I hear my mom’s “There but for the Grace of God.” She was a true believer. I think it a metaphor and a good one for people at their best, for the convergence of charity and forgiveness in the same space. The eggs and apples will keep several weeks and I can work them into my diet but the white bread will probably be enjoyed by the birds and squirrels. 
 

ESSENCE

I get a good feeling sometimes when a predictable but unanticipated signal flashes on my radar; not a great feeling but certainly a good one. When I stand at my front door looking out across the patio I see the little Chokecherry tree not twenty feet away. I think it too grown up to call it ‘little’ but I planted it maybe ten years or twelve ago and it was little then. Now it’s over twenty feet tall with its trunk radius of 10 or 11 inches. On April Fool’s Day this week I opened the door and that little tree was covered with buds open enough to see green unfolding. That little sign is the precursor to another Spring unfolding. The Chokecherry is the first tree within sight of my door to bloom. It won’t be long now. One evening just before sundown, while all the other trees stand there naked, totally uninspired, I will step out my front door on my way to roll up truck windows or put a shovel inside the garage and the sweet smell of cherry blossoms will make me forget everything, absolutely everything; and I’l suck in one deep breath after another, and another. That is when I usher the same metaphor that I do every year, “Maybe there is a God after all.” I don’t have to be reminded that the God thing is a metaphor, that the god of punishment & reward, of war & peace, of forgiveness and revenge has been resigned to the same status as Rudolph the Red Nose and Spyder Man. I just use it for effect, the same way I use, “The Devil made me do it.” 
Cherry blossoms will be out like clusters of little white grapes and their essence simply cannot be replicated. That essence only lasts a day or maybe two but it is a signal that Spring is an irresistible force and it will have its way. It moves me to an optimism that seemed to be terminally ill just a few months before. I set my alarm so I can repeat the ritual again the next morning. By the sunrise after that the petals will be dropping to the ground. Tiny white circles that stick to your face and in your hair and I feel blessed again. When it’s done and the essence is just a magical memory it won’t be all that long before fully open leaves turn from vibrant green to a dark reddish-purple and you know that summer is not far off. I can live with all that.  

CHORUS OF CROWS

The last thing I want is to be dismissed because of my age and the implied irrelevance that goes with it, the assumption that I have nothing of value to offer. But experience is still the best teacher and it can unfold in two dimensions. The first is with a flash of intense, profound insight and the other is cumulative, in small bites over long stretches of time. To my advantage or to my misfortune (depends on what you believe) I spent six decades growing up in another (different) century. I like to think that many good life-lessons and difficult truths were rolled out from WW2 to Y2K. Add on another two-plus decades in the present century, you get the long stretch of experience that cannot be acquired any other way. It seems to me there would be a stretch after premature naiveté and before senility where one’s views should be considered. 
I have been listening & reading the news again, something I gave up a few years back due to an overload of hyperbole, bad news and misinformation. To that extent, not much has changed. In the meantime I have been studying the evolution of civilization; reading, taking notes, read again, review and reframe notes. I have learned to be skeptical of everything that has winners and losers, even if I want to believe the Story. It is no longer theory, rather a compelling truth that the subconscious desire to believe one Story or another is strong enough to overcome both contrary logic and overwhelming evidence. So my uncomfortable dilemma is challenging my own belief in what makes me feel good, even more stringently than what irks me the most. If I can’t defend my beliefs convincingly, credibly, I should consider changing my beliefs; otherwise I am just another "Caw" in a chorus of Crows. But common sense would have us cling to what makes us feel right, as in Righteous. I side with Albert Einstein who said, “Common sense is a list of prejudices one acquires in their youth.” I guess that means I feel better about Albert’s quote than a thin attempt to validate some baseless, wannabe wisdom. Reversing one's own beliefs can be a patient, natural process that slowly assimilates with a new paradigm, a drawn out revelation. In any case it is not a decision, rather a discovery. Intelligent people (unbelievers) get religion late in life. People change their politics, change their favorite football team. They un-love the one they have loved all along and some even give up mean spirited greed in favor of compassion. 
I have wanted to believe that organized religion is no better than any other corrupt, man made institution. That came as a mid life discovery but I’ve had to rethink my thinking. If we believe that human kind is superior and civilization is a good thing, then man made religion is a good thing that not only exercises control over large numbers of otherwise strangers (which in many ways is a good thing). That Story and its sanctified rituals strengthen ties of loyalty and a higher purpose. Humans are hard wired to seek a supernatural (magic) entity who can control nature to their advantage and ease their pain. It was true 5,000 years ago and it is true today. If you are an unbeliever you are part of a minority, too few and too little to change the course o civilization. 
The Story I am processing now is not exactly what I believed at the start but its pieces all fit in a plausible scheme. Like Yuval Harari said, “What we believe doesn’t have to be true, it only has to work.” and that (work) clause can be for the individual in their narrow little niche or for the greater community’s collective best interest. That subtle difference between (individual & collective) is a major stumbling block for most common sense junkies.
I am part of the minority that questions the worth of humans in general. Every other natural system on the planet has suffered degradation or loss of habitat with humans calling the shots. I think we are high functioning animals. I am not a misanthrope, I don’t hate mankind but neither am I impressed with our self worship, ego & greed that seem to partner seamlessly with clever tricks. I am not pitching a conspiracy, not trying to convert anybody or sell memberships. If others think my Story is too much to believe, that’s alright. I may have to change mine should I stumble onto a better one. Still, I don’t want to be dismissed as an old crank who has lost his mind. It doesn't have to be true, it just has to work.  

FIRST CIVILIZATIONS

  So far this year I have not been very faithful to my journal or the blog it feeds. Mark Twain wrote; “If you have nothing to say, say nothing.” and that seems to be my dilemma. Posterity is no longer a concern. I’ve spoken to just about everything I am remotely versed in and coming at it from another direction has worn thin. It would be like a politician with a new necktie and the same old speech, thinking maybe the tie will make the difference, winning approval this time around. So now, when I struggle to find something worth saying, maybe I take my hero’s advice. But then I do like playing with words.
There is some wannabe wisdom that goes; The traits you cannot tolerate in others are the same ones you indulge in yourself. I think it a cautionary reminder. I know a man, a good guy who is stuck in one of those recycling loops. No matter where the conversation is going he finds a way inject his tedious fixation on (Bernie Sanders) politics. Then I realize that I can get preoccupied with the (Human condition/civilization) debate and live in fear that I might be dragging others with me down into my own rabbit hole; and I don’t want to do that. Still, I find myself digging in the same old places, looking for anything that makes the story more digestible. I like to think I am following an unfolding saga rather than pushing an agenda. I want the story to stand on its own legs and not be riddled with creative license. 
Today I am reporting on a PBS Documentary, a four part mini series titled, ‘First Civilizations’. I came across it by chance on the Amazon Prime menu, watched it, took a few notes but will go back and watch it again. It touches most if not all my (Human Condition) buttons and brings things together in a way I hadn’t considered before. Each of the four episodes is framed in a different dynamic (force/control factor): War, Religion, Cities & Trade. It makes connecting the dots easier:, correlating what seem too be unrelated, independent scenarios and discovering consistent, recurrent patterns that emerge. The four dynamics unfold in sequence as one is necessary for the next to find itself. They (War/Religion/Cities/Trade) overlap, good for managing great time gaps, centuries to millennia and back. 
I guess this is my recommendation for the series. The science is good, the dialogue has an unrehearsed, natural feel and the people themselves are not selling anything. I think a few hours to watch this series will leave you with more to think about than you had before you hit the Play button.
‘First Civilizations’ qualified everything that would develop by separating Stone Age culture (small, transient, hunter gather clans) from the earliest evidence of Civilization. The trigger that trips this ongoing adventure was the Agricultural Revolution. Clan culture stretches back a million years while Civilization has been moving its feet for only about 6 thousand (+ or -) years. It is easy to presume change happened everywhere at the same time and that somebody had a plan. Civilization evolved, it was not engineered. It would be like having the windshield blacked out and all you can see is in the mirror, no way to know where you are going, only where you have been; and it is a real challenge for one to comprehend a process that takes a dozen human lifetimes to gain significance, or even ponder where they happen to be in the timeline. As a footnote, the 3rd episode ‘Cities’ did more for me, drawing things together. 

AT LEAST WE DIDN'T DIE

Sometimes when you are not sure what the muse wants and it’s hard to know where to begin. I envy writers who have their stories mapped out from beginning to end and all they have to do is flesh out the ideas already organized. Ive never been good at that. What I get are ideas and feelings that pass through in the moment like a soaring bird’s shadow. When I get that invitation I have to run with it or let it go. That is when I try to imagine where it came from (the story) and where it wants me to go with it. Everything has its own story but the dots all connect, everything is interconnected. 

Today’s story has been compounded by unexpected, difficult circumstances and my part in it is to tread that narrow way between when and how to assist and staying out of the way. As one struggle gives way to another there are timely pauses to reflect and I don’t need a counselor to tell me, “You are too old to be doing this.” Then familiar quotes that never loses their way, never fall on deaf ears, they come back around. “Let us rise up and be thankful for if we didn’t learn a lot today at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so let us be thankful.” Then, like potato chips, one quote leads to another. Joseph Campbell cuts straight to the quick; “Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy. The Warrior’s approach is to say, ‘Yes’  to life: ‘Yea’ to it all.” 

For Jospeh Campbell the Warrior and the Hero (with a thousand faces) are effectively the same character, just at different stages. One is forward leaning while the other is more reflective. It works the same for everyone whether the path you follow takes you around the world or never goes beyond the garden gate. The Warrior has an insatiable appetite for adventure if you will. It’s about process much more than outcome. Even though we are supposed to move through stages we retain remnants of the former after all. Without them one’s backstory would read like a boiled cabbage recipe. The Buddhist-like quote is not from the Buddha himself but consistent with that eastern disposition and he would like it. I take comfort in the two together. 

Currently as a spectator-ally my part in the day’s trajectory is limited to patient understanding and moral support. Barbara Streisand recorded a song in the 1990’s titled, If I Could. It comes from a parent’s perspective about children who have moved on, beyond her reach. To resolve her own reservations she mouths the words; If I could, I would try to shield your innocence from time, but that part of life I gave you isn’t mine . . . It’s all she can do. It’s all I can do. 

I didn’t know this was where the muse was taking me but here we are. This growing old can be bittersweet and be thankful for the sweet part, at least we didn’t die. I am still curious and I still have hopes, mostly for loved ones but some yet for myself as well. I don’t have much faith in Faith but my own, personal little dot is connected to all the other dots and I owe them something. John Muir (famous naturalist) is credited with many similar versions of this quote: “Try to tug on anything at all and you find it is connected to everything else in the Universe.” Another version says; “. . . and the whole Universe tugs back.” I take comfort in Muir’s words too. Maybe the most important part of telling a story is knowing when to stop. 

SLIP SLIDING

Road trips are generally good, even when they are not but you do that and it seems to work. Paul Simon (singer) wrote a wonderful song nearly fifty years ago that simply keeps on keeping on; Slip Sliding Away. He drops little clues about living a deliberate life and how those plans slip away unfulfilled. I told anybody who would listen to me that song, that ’Life’ has a double edge, either you have it or it has you. When you weigh and measure the phrasing and melancholy, I got it. I remember the lines; “She said a good day ain’t got no rain. She said a bad day’s when I lie in bed and think about what might have been.” Then the mortal caveat leaves you wishing for something that doesn’t exist: You know the nearer your destination the more you’re slip sliding away. All I could ever do was accept, it is what it is and if I can’t slip and slide away then, might as well stay in bed and make believe. 

I am in Corpus Christi with time to kill. Sleeping on the road has a long backstory with me. Managing money has always been a priority, one I struggle with. For whatever reason, spending good money to be unconscious in a strange bed just never met my need. Being comfortable while asleep seemed a contradiction of logic. I’ve always been able to close eyes and drift off. Five minutes or five hours later I can get up and go. If I am exhausted then all I need is the seat back and something soft for my head. I have lots better use for my dollar-bills than sleeping through. If I can’t be present to enjoy it, it doesn’t count and if I am present I might as well be putting miles between where I was and where I want to be. 

But age is taking its toll on me and that easy-peasy fall-asleep trick is harder to pull off, and staying asleep requires limber shoulders, hips and flexibility I can only remember. Don’t give up on me, I still sleep in safe, warm, dry little slots along the way, any time of day. But I’ve come to depend on ‘Warm’. Old dogs still learn but things change and I'm not ready for some of the new tricks. The years (numbers) can be insulted and shunned but they do add up and I have too many to dismiss. Traveling in cold weather, to keep feet warm I need to get horizontal. That generally means motel, AirBnB or having an amigo with an extra bed strategically located along my route. Right now I am killing six days and nights in Corpus Christi, TX. I could stay in the truck cab at truck stops. Their showers work for old men in pickups at a fraction of the price for a room at Best Western. After an early a.m. shower and clean clothes, walking across the lot at a Flying J truck stop is hard to beat. By the time I drive for half an hour there simply is no difference. 

My reason for ‘Six days & nights in Corpus Christi is another story but come bed time nobody cares. My host is Mary Gonzales, an abuela - grandmother & teacher’s aide who put four kids through college and converted their space, (bedrooms) into AirBnB rooms. I love the neighborhood (barrio). The houses are all different types and colors with low chain link fences around small, well groomed yards. Several cars or trucks in every drive and you can hear neighbors calling after their kids or husbands or whom ever needs to get their behind home. The norm spoken is ‘Spanglish’ that comfortable blending of Español and English that even I can follow, usually. 

So here I am about as far from my home as this trip will allow. I wasn’t really ready to be blessed with more money than I have time but live long enough, stay healthy (that’s the recipe). So paying dollars for a warm bed instead of waking up with cold feet and an impatient bladder, a long walk from a bathroom; I’m glad for a good night anywhere. Good sleep just comes but good wake-ups stay with you for a while. I never thought much about it but dying with unspent money makes me look careless. But I know, it's not a choice. It'a about the journey and slip sliding is the only way I know. 

SUPER BOWL

  I don’t hear about it all that much now but there was a time when I played football and then I coached it. Last night was Super Bowl #57 and I did my game-day thing just like I do every game day. Still, stuff happens, things change, the world turns and people move on; or not. I keep track of who wins and loses and I like some teams more than others but I do not watch games. My football experience began with boys playing boy’s games, the joy of running after each other, like playing tag but you get to knock people down. I wanted to win but win or lose, I wanted to play. After an eight year interim with the army and the work force I found college and football again. Our coaches were educators and philosophers. They emphasized preparation. Practice does not make perfect; you play like you practice and anything less than perfect practice just reinforces mistakes and poor play. That was the message I got on the field. Then there was; the better you play the more you get to play and that was everybody’s goal. No matter the score, being on the field was better than sitting next to the water bucket at the end of the bench. I did get stronger and better but so did my teammates and my playing time was limited to late in games when we were winning. That worked out to my satisfaction as we won a lot, we were very good. But I didn’t have to be taught about being part of something bigger and better than anything I could do by myself. I understood that my primary job was helping our best players prepare for game day. 
After a 27 year coaching career the game itself was pretty much the same but the message had changed. Winning had become the only reason to play and coaches that failed there were let go. The message was “WIN” whatever it takes. The philosophy I had been so well schooled with no longer meant anything. Cheap talk comes easy when you have great players and the competition makes you look even better. My last years (3) were working for an old coach like me who I knew, went to the same college I did and still evoked the ‘perfect practice’ model. He went out of his way to develop average kids and give everyone a chance to contribute, to play; and we won a lot. 
I don’t watch football games any more. I can fast-forward through the highlights and see all I want in a few minutes. I will not do sour grapes over where the game has gone in my lifetime. I loved it for a long time but then you move on. I have long lived friends who survived that gauntlet and can’t get it out of their systems but I don’t dwell in that house anymore. 
My home town team won the Super Bowl last night. There is a sea wave of red, white and gold all over town today and I like it when they win. But I do not identify with wannabe heroes whose closets are full of franchise clothing and paint their bodies as if they make a difference in the score, as if the crowd noise wouldn’t be the same without them. Some things are best experienced vicariously but no matter how big your banner of how loud your band of groupies may be, it is not your game, it is a sad example of mistaken identity. It says something about make-believe inclusion that I don’t want to rub off on me. My life is pretty good as it is and I doubt if I start watching grown up men playing boy’s games for the money.