KUMBAYA

   In 2001 I retired from teaching school and my son was fresh out of University with a BS in Chemistry. Taking no time off he plunged into a PhD program at the University of Michigan. He found lodging with a couple whose huge house had more bedrooms than most houses have rooms. Woody, the man and, I forget his wife’s name, they ran a boarding house for graduate students. Woody had other business as well but every time I was there he was the concierge in a two legged ant hill while ‘What’s Her Name’ hovered around the kitchen. There was a standing joke about how many days the pan of soup had been sitting uncovered on the stove top. She fixed plenty of food but the boarders preferred their own P-B & J sandwiches over petri dish soup. 
Come spring, bullets were flying, people dying, bombs and IEDs booming in Afghanistan and the news networks covered every encounter, every casualty. Grad students were consumed with school but 9/11 was too much to ignore. George W. was ranting, “You’re either with us or against us.” and that hubris still remains a self inflicted insult with a life of its own. His advisors who oozed with confidence were the same experts who ridiculed the Russians for waging war there; “You simply cannot win a ground war in Afghanistan.” At Woody’s place everybody followed their own compass but were also collard by the same war. 
My son was full of piss & vinegar (aggressive energy). American casualties are factored into the cost of waging war and he dismissed that easily; they had all volunteered and knew the risks. Dead insurgents were just numbers, squandered by a corrupt Taliban regime and he (my son) certainly had no qualms over their demise. Analytic chemistry was his full time concern, 24/7.
For five years I loved going to Ann Arbor. I had recently retired and got to see my kid, got to hang out in a bonafide research laboratory, be around enthusiastic, young people whose stories were just beginning to unfold; not to mention Ann Arbor’s concerts and food scene. Around the house I blended in and nobody noticed me. Woody was still ‘the man’ and ‘What’s Her Name’ grew increasingly troubled by the war. She would sit on the sofa watching real time coverage of air strikes and roadside bombings. Her reaction to every report was the same. She winced and groaned with each explosion and whimpered, “Why can’t we just get along?” it was 2002.
A year later my son moved across town to a different house, shared by different grad students but no surrogate parents. They lived in a bubble, away from politics, away from George W.’s war. Their work was consuming and challenging but that is why they were there. I could sleep on the sofa whenever I was in town. It was a good time but seemed he would grow old and die before he finished his program. In hindsight it confirmed the adage; a watched pot never boils. 
Twenty years have slipped under the bridge and down stream and we’ve both moved on. He did good, got his gold braid, Maize & Blue Hood and a real job. But also I remember ‘What’s Her Name’s’ whimpering; “Why can’t we ...” Her concern was well taken but whimpering was all she could do. The difference from her then to me now is that I don’t beg the question, I know why. 
Human evolution bogged down about 12,000 years ago when the 1st Agriculture revolution started crowding people together in towns and city states. They suffered a highly contagious outbreak of arrested development, stuck at the 3 year-old stage. It didn’t affect our creative talents, only manifest in the selfish, ‘Me-me’ & ‘I want’ nature of spoiled 3 year-olds. We are still stuck. If a 3 year old can’t have what they want they can throw a temper tantrum but then they grow up. Regular people get mad but they get over it. Tyrants have no qualms about killing their enemies if that’s how they get what they want. Whoever gets in the way, they die too. The ‘Bullies’ believe their own dead warriors make their mothers proud and dead enemies have only themselves to blame. Tyrants know if you don’t win you die so they have no reason to compromise or follow rules and wholesale murder is a universal remedy for bad neighbors. 
Mrs. ‘What’s Her Name’s’ moaning just vents some anxiety; a question with an (!) instead of a (?). Humans get along very well with inanimate things but not each other and it will be a while before the Bullies hold hands and sing Kumbaya. 

NOTHING COMES FROM NOTHING

  I’ve written several beginnings recently but when I come back with new eyes they give the writing a thumbs down. I’ve been thinking and reading about paleolithic (Stone Age) people. It is hard to imagine how long the culture was stuck in the hunter gatherer mode. Technology amounted to simple bone tools and a stone spear point with sharp edges. That didn’t change for twenty five thousand years, likely longer. Humans were modern in a physical and mental sense but limited to what they could do with their bare hands. Everything they couldn’t understand was mysterious and fearsome so they made up parallel stories (myth) that they could understand. It was the beginning of fake news.
It occurred to me that once upon a time, say 15,000 BCE, a woman birthed a child who grew up to replicate and reproduce another child who followed suit and did the same. That sets up a pedigree, the blood line linkage between parent and child from generation to generation. Some people can document their pedigree as far back as the Middle Ages but most of us stumble before we get to our great-great-great generation. Even so, there is an unbroken stream of DNA linkage that runs back from me  through my parents, through all of my great-greats all the way back to hunter gatherer clans, 750 generations removed. I don’t need to know anything personal about any of them. It is enough to know that without them there would be no place for me to come from and after all; Nothing comes from nothing. 
So I am retired, able to sleep late if I please but I please to be up early, watch the birds at my feeder, have coffee or tea, make sawdust in my wood shop, wait for glue to dry, water my tomatoes, make a phone call to hear another human voice and think about things only curious old men would imagine. Then I sit down and write a short piece about something that crossed my mind. If it lives long enough to make it through an edit and into my journal maybe even posted on my blog, someone may stumble across it. But as I’ve shared so many times, I write to understand more than to be understood. I am amazed with the mind boggling numbers, so many archaic, prehistoric people who never, ever gave a thought to their place in the blood line, to the possibility that I might be far, far, so far downstream in the making. Then they laid down a continuous stream of genetic material that would find its way through millennia and materialize in a blue-eyed little boy. That little boy would be me. I don’t advocate ancestor worship but I do feel its appeal. 

TRYING TO GET RID OF US

  I just finished talking with a friend on the phone about global warming and how it has manifest itself. I suppose there are doubters left but their argument has lost its legs. I will not rant here about far reaching, overlapping, incredibly complex effects of rapid climate change. All life is interdependent on a common network, the biosphere with its unique chemical/mineral makeup. Climate change itself is not the issue. Climate is always changing. The problem lies in the rate (speed) of change. In the past 200 years the planet has been warming exponentially, at an unprecedented rate. Not surprising, it corresponds directly with the the industrial revolution (Europe) and its shift away from an agri-based economy to an industrial/factory model; machines, steam engines and excessive burning of fossil fuels. 
It is too late to ponder what will happen, it already has. The question now is; who pays for every expensive response, and the next, and the next? Climate driven damage to civil infrastructure, property and crops already has become the new normal. My friend asked jokingly, “Do you think it’s just the planet trying to get rid of us:” I thought it clever but didn’t laugh. I am not an expert but certainly better read than most. I remember in the late 1980’s when experts (Climatologists & Anthropologists) began making noise about spiraling human population and global pollution. The issue was mocked and dismissed as a liberal hoax. 
My brother (BS in Biology) told me in 1990 that the sky was just too big for us to (f#@*) it up. He also said that modern agriculture could meet the needs of a 10 billion population (it was 5.3 billion then, 8 billion now) on course to reach 9 billion by 2050. He believed, the more people the better; good for business. That was 30 years ago. I’m still breathing but he is not. He died believing that burning the candle at both ends is good business, good for people. You just need a bigger candle. He’s not here to defend himself and I still love him so I won’t labor that story, just sayin’.
In the 2012 movie, The Bourne Legacy the Director of the CIA is sternly rebuked by a higher ranking official who admonished him, “You were given a Ferrari and you treated it like a lawnmower.” The same could be said of the whole of mankind. Live within your means is a proven axiom, another way to say; Don’t borrow money that you can’t pay back. The human animal doesn’t seem to think that far ahead. Some people can manage their money but collectively we plunder a resilient ecosystem as if it were indestructible, but it is not. Our enviro-debt is approaching its due date, when full payment is required. But I think we will disappear like the Wooly Mammoth and the Passenger Pigeon. After all, they both went extinct due in large part to human activity. It should be no surprise that we have both the means to fashion our own demise and a naive blind spot in that direction.
I’m thankful that I got so lucky. My very best decisions in this life were choosing the right time and place to be born and picking parents who excelled at integrity, love and nurturing. I have enjoyed the benefits from machines, from burning fossil fuels, and modern technology. Beyond that I am deep enough into my lifespan that all of my chemicals, minerals and molecules should have been recycled back into their source (Mother Earth) before I am required to pay my share of the enviro-debt. 
Oops, starting to sound like preaching. That would be dangerously close to ranting and I said I wouldn’t do that. I just wanted to document a conversation and the irresistible spin off that it provoked. I really do feel privileged to have lived out eight decades in the donut hole of prosperity, modern gadgetry and health care that borders on magic. My earthly joy ride spans from Hitler and the Holocaust to Donald Trump and his self obsessed assault on human dignity. The Human odyssey is approaching full circle. I don’t fault The Donald. He is just the point of much larger spear. I look to 70 million MAGA disciples who have been so easily seduced by his bold ego and charismatic rhetoric. 

NATURE HATES A VACUUM

  I do not multitask well. It’s not that you (anybody) can focus on several things simultaneously. It is more like juggling several tasks, like tennis balls. There was a time when I could keep 3 tennis balls in the air for 15 or 20 seconds. When first learning I thought the task would be mostly catching the balls as they fell but learned otherwise quickly. The fine motor skill with juggling is to keep your hands in the same place and toss the ball so it will land in the same place (your other hand) every time. When you discipline your hands to a precise, repeating pattern and make every toss exactly the same height and trajectory, the ball lands in your free hand without having to look for it. Keeping your head still and not having to shift your weight (move feet) and things get easier fast. That’s not multitasking. 
Multitasking would be like preparing a big dinner with an unfamiliar menu, remembering when to check rolls in the oven, when to stir the kettle so the bottom doesn’t burn while chopping veggies for the salad.  You can be a multitasking wizard and still be a bad cook but those are two different stories. I can get a good meal on the table but it takes twice as long as it should, the kitchen looks like a train wreck and every dish & pan is dirty. For me it is more of an impromptu experiment, knowing what it should look like in the end. It can be full of surprises but if it pleases the palate, you hope you can remember how you did it for the next time. I’m not good at that either. 
In any case, I don’t multitask well. If you have more time than you need to keep 3 tennis balls in the air then it’s just moving things around without being pressured. I get lucky more often than not and nobody notices. I recently went on a July camping vacation (3 weeks in Colorado) and other than a mechanical problem on the 2nd day (sh*t happens & you deal with it), it went smooth even if we changed routes and itinerary in the middle. But when I got back it took over a week to focus on anything. Every day was a blank page and no ideas, it was all I could do to single-task and I didn’t like it at all. Through all of June, my primary purpose was preparation for hanging an art show of my photographs. Even though I was doing other things, art show preparation consumed all my concerns. August closed in on the art show and the last 10 days were frenetic, waiting on indifferent suppliers and late deliveries. The last 3 days were helter skelter but the show is up, it looks good and all there is now is an artist’s reception at the end of the week. Now I am back on a blank page, checking the clock to know when it’s bedtime.
But nature hates a vacuum and so do I. Maybe this is what it’s like coming off a hangover. I haven’t been hungover since 1963 so I’ll plead ignorance and a leaky memory. I think a road trip would cure a lot of my ills. I have shrimp in the freezer and I make really good gumbo bit it all tastes (feels) better in good company, in Louisiana in particular. I would take a good shrimp salad over a Po’ boy any day, don’t need all that bread. It doesn’t matter how good the food is, it is better when shared with someone you care about and maybe that’s all I need. Even if I don’t go right away it is a seed that might sprout, even take root. 

HOGWARTS

  Recently I bought the box set (8 episodes) of Harry Potter movies. I had seen the first one, The Sorcerer’s Stone twenty years ago when it came out and another one but all I remembered were some of the characters, the flying broomsticks and the deadly chess match. Not surprising that the magical, special effects prevail over the timeless dilemma of good versus evil. I had totally forgotten Professor Quirrell (with his head in a turban)and was caught unawares when the stammering professor emerged as the bad guy in the first episode. He had been possessed by the villain, Lord Voldemort who was under a spell of his own and could only manifest himself by taking over another person’s body. 
Voldemort’s plan to regain his powers was to recruit the young wizard Harry to his cause; shades of Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker from Star Wars. While in Prof. Quirrell’s body, Voldemort revealed himself (two faces on the same head) and informed Harry the fundamental truth of his shameless plot. He said, “There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.” 
Wow, I thought; sounds like Donald Trump! From his book The Art Of The Deal, Trump speaks to the reader’s lowest common denominator and affirms that having the balls to break the rules is not only good but that getting caught cheating is the only evil. Cheating is alright just don't get caught You must win at all cost (being seen as a loser is worse than being exposed as a liar and a cheat). I think that departure is where negotiable ambition gives way to the Slippery Slope. That (slippery slope) would be a semi load of dynamite skating on an icy overpass. 
I remember wannabe wisdom from another time; All’s Fair In Love & War. Over the years it seems to have been modified; you throw out love & war as conditions and cast a bigger net; Everything is fair for any reason, anything goes, whatever you can get away with. 
It took two sittings for me to get through The Sorcerer’s Stone. I didn’t want to miss the subtle nuance and with all of the magic, it was too much, went too fast for me. British audiences have a keen taste for the dark side and clamored for more. The up close, evil magic and its peril left American audiences divided between mild shock and religious outrage. Come to Jesus merchants castigated against wizards, spells, sorcerers, potions as if they were real and that all things magical were inspired by Satan.
It is interesting how that preoccupation with good and evil is fixed in every culture. Early western philosophers Epictetus & Marcus Aurelius both concluded that discerning between right and wrong depends on what people decide. Whatever it is that we can agree on, that’s it, the truth! When humans first started drawing drew that line (good & evil) they were guided by ignorance and myth. Greek and the Roman philosophers were in the same room but they were following logic when they reasoned; “There is neither good nor evil.” They reasoned since people make that distinction, it is their call. By simply believing this is right and that is wrong, they make it so; the thinking makes it so. In other words, Truth is not carved in stone. If you can all agree that GOOD is a BAD thing then it is. Correspondingly, BAD must be GOOD. Looking back, Flat Earth people were not wrong, the truth changed. It changes with both new discovery and fast talking bigots but memory is short when it makes us look stupid.
It has been twenty years since I first saw The Sorcerer’s Stone. Over the next decade seven more episodes would follow. I know who prevails in the end but still want to see it unfold with Harry and his friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. I wonder; if I let my beard grow and get a pointy hat they might take on another old professor mumbling and shuffling around Hogwarts? I could be the resident wizard of prophesy, keep telling the same made up stories until they become the truth.  I would be fantastic on a flying broom. 

WHO COOKS FOR YOU

  Last night in that moment when you realize, it will soon be bedtime, a Barred Owl nearby began to call. I was in the kitchen wiping down the sink and countertop. Both of the windows were open and it sounded so closeI thought it must be perched on top of my patio umbrella. It called out again, several times without a pause. I got a fix on where I thought it must be, up high in the Ash tree at my back fence. The goofy feeling caught me unawares, the one you get when you catch yourself grinning without warning or conscious thought. It was just there on my face, the best kind of self indulgence. 
Every self respecting naturalist learns how to call in Barred Owls. Around dusk on nature walks with students or adults for that matter, everyone sits down at the edge of a clearing in the woods. The goal of the evening is to engage a Barred Owl and absolute silence is the rule. After a 10 minute walk, the leader gives a hand signal and everyone sits down. The naturalist cups hands around their mouth and delivers a well practiced greeting. The call is paraphrased into human English with phrasing that corresponds to the owl’s timing and tune. “Whooo, Whooo, Who-cooks for Youuuuu.” He raises the pitch to match the bird’s and we wait. 
The bird will vary its song so the well practiced expert does so as well. “Whooo, Whooo, Whooo”. After a short pause, “Who-cooks” pause, “Who-cooks” and a long pause. You have to be patient. Owls can hear from far off and they often move cautiously to investigate another bird (sounds like a bird). They fly so quiet you simply cannot hear them approach or land in the same tree you are sitting under. 
After several minutes of wannabe hooting and silence, people need to be reminded (with hand signals) to sit still and keep quiet. If they get lucky the wait isn’t too long. From nearby they hear it clear as you please. OMG, it really does sound like, “Whoo, whoo, whoo cooks for you.” If the caller is skilled, they may exchange calls for several minutes. You are never too old to take pleasure in that moment. “I engaged with an awesome owl last night.” 
It occurred to me in the kitchen that I might try to answer the owl’s call. But I was just sucking up the moment and the grin was still pulled back against my teeth. Identification by song or call is just as credible, just as rewarding as visual confirmation. Brushing my teeth I thought about feral cats in the neighborhood. They keep the mouse population in check. Owls exercise major control over wild mice populations but they are happy with lizards and birds, other small mammals, even insects. So I offered up some good karma for the owl’s sake. 
Today, and every other morning this summer I hear another bird calling out its unmistakable song; “Cock A Doodle Do”. Someone up the hill, maybe on the next street has a rooster. Keeping urban chickens is a popular trend now. Most towns have rules about how many, odor control and containment but think about the eggs. But keeping a rooster; it must be a pet. I remember in Todos Santos, Mexico they had feral chickens everywhere. The roosters crowed all night and you just get used to it. But I don’t remember any Barred Owls there. My local rooster up the street would be no match for the owl and not that I really care, but he need be advised to keep inside from before dusk to well after dawn or all his master might find is a crime scene with feathers and picked over bones. 

AN UNSETTLED CLIMATE

  I wrote a couple of pages yesterday and left it to cook overnight. Sometimes it turns out well done and other times my ideas can still have some salt but the words miss their mark. I get caught up in clumsy, compound, run on sentences that lose their way. They feel good in the moment but the second time around, I know gibberish when I see it. Nonsense gets a cursory second thought before I hit the delete trigger. I keep telling myself that any time is a good time to begin again. 
I had been chewing on an old bone when something digestible would have been the better call. In the last half century I have come to grips with an uncomfortable, unavoidable observation; emotions and feelings are unreliable. Joy, anger, sadness, pleasure, fear; you get what you get. They are not decisions. But many people use those feelings as their compass, following that energy as if it was their fate or destiny. I choose to think those emotions are just momentary weather updates in an unsettled climate; and I don’t trust them. Feeling good or feeling not so good, I don't want to be on the wrong end of a leash. If I take the time to weigh and measure, to check my numbers before I take comfort too soon or lash out ill advised, everyone is better served. 
I feel better, not that feeling better is actually better but I said something in a simple paragraph that I wrestled with earlier and lost. I might lament the time lost as a failed effort or I can rationalize (think about) the value of processing ideas and words before throwing them at the page. Then what I do is a choice, as much as possible. I don’t think we make near as many choices as we believe we do. Google, FB and Amazon together have enough data on most of us to predict with accuracy, how we will decide on any circumstance. If they can do that for 80% of us with 80% accuracy, what does that say about free will decision making? In a few years with a better algorithm it will be 90% & 90%. But free will and decision making is another can of worms, best left for another day.