Return to the Old Barn #T

I haven't been in  the attic in  a couple months.  Walking to the car I noted the rope just above my head.  Okay, I am not in a hurry anyway.  I had  to move two boxes from the spot where  the foot of the ladder lands.  Done; pulled the rope and set the contraption on  the floor.

Climbing the steps is not as easy as it once was; it is not as easy as it was two months ago when I last assayed to ascend above.  Atrophy: it's not just for  the mind; the muscles seem to be going as well.  Perhaps I should  attend more  closely when my Sawbones tells me to get up from the lounger more often, walk a bit, he says, chop some wood.  Well, it is easy for him to say.

Feet firmly on the floor and I turn  down the weed-strewn  path.  There is the  old barn where I found my clogged idea mill.  But.  The barn  had withstood the  vicissitudes of time for a century and a quarter (carved into the lintel over the main door was "1887.")  But January's wind finally laid the old structure more or less parallel to the earth.  Rubble was spread several yards to the east and the peak of  the  roof remained a bit above the dreary flatness of the landscape.  "Every  puppy has  its day," and every barn some day shall lie supine  upon the earth, slowly molder  away.

Just there lying open in the dust is a small, gray hardback book, its water-stained pages riffling in the breeze.  I pick it up.  Symposium, Plato.  Suddenly I am transported, as across a time-warp or through a worm-hole, sixty-five years into the past.

I am a philosophy major, as is my good friend Wes.  Also in this class along with six other stalwart and daring souls, is Ben Moore.  We are reading Symposium.  Ben has taken to calling me "Alcibiades" which he continues to do long after this class is over, even to our parting on graduation day.  Ben is a ministerial student, goal-oriented, knows where he is going.  True.  He has a chart hanging on the wall in his dorm room outlining his life for the next 25 years.  When he asked me what I was going to be when I grow up, I replied, "Who knows what the morrow will bring; sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

I call Ben '"Alvin," which is his given first-name.  He clearly uses "Ben" because for some reason he
does not like the moniker his parents tagged him with.  I persisted in this, though at one point I was tempted to call him "Memnon."  I thought better of it, and "Alvin" was sufficient for my purposes.

I liked to think that Ben named me Alcibiades because of my superb skill in debate and oratorical prowess.  Wes, though, maintaining a close friendship with both of us, disabused me of that notion.  "Clearly," he said, "Ben sees you as one who will take either side of any issue, picking  the one most to your advantage."*  Perhaps I could have twisted that somehow  to my benefit, had Wes not  gone on, dragging  something about  a snake into  the conversation.  Oh, well.

Ben, focused, serious minded, was from the Strawberry Mansion neighborhood of Philadelphia.  Wes and I had been raised "free range," Westerners, both of whom showed up  on campus wearing ten-gallon hats.

(If there is more  to this  story  it shall have to appear  in another  installment.  I've  things  to do.)
Word of the day:  Idealism

*Referring to Alcibiades, Aristophanes wrote, "Athens yearns for him, and hates him too, but wants him back."
^o^ Drawing, me, with apologies, sort of, to Bill Amend.

Organization

Verily his ducks are always in a row who has but two ducks.  --Problurbs 1:8

Observed by Euclid of Alexandria, 4th/3rd Centuries B.C.

Revisiting 2008

We were reminded this week that Bill Murray lived through February Second over and over and over in the movie "Groundhog Day."  In keeping with the theme of reliving the past, I have dragged forward a short piece I wrote more than six years ago.

Memory and History

A couple days ago I posted a snippet titled "Nostalgia." We know that nostalgia is an unreasonable yearning for something in the past, something that cannot be. But what we don't often think about is that everything is past. What we recall, we may hold so long as we can remember. What we record is history.

Imagine a movie being played reel-to-reel. (We have to go retro tech here for the imagery.) The top reel is the future, the lower reel, the past. As the film flicks by the lens the present is revealed, in this case, 1/24th of a second for each frame. But the present can actually be defined by infinitely smaller units: nanoseconds. Nay, even less for instantly the "present" is the past.*  We cannot see the future. We may anticipate it, contemplate it, fantasize about it or even plan for it. But we cannot live it. Only the briefest of instants compose our present experience.

We cannot live in the past; it is gone. But we may remember it, recall it, relate it, thereby relegating yet more of our "present" to the past. What is your life without memory?

For all that philosophers and physicists may expound on this "time" we have, it is just as simple as we have limned herein and just as complex as our memories allow.

Are you making any memories? Are you making history?
Is your hand in the hand of the Eternal Guide?

*I think that, carried to its logical conclusion, this line of reasoning proves that there is no "present" and by extension, you do not exist.  But this is not a course in philosophy.  Draw your own conclusions.
Footnotes, 2015.

Probe, Pry and Test

     --Walt Kelly, 1961                  

The Whole Person

 

BBBH made this snapshot with her smartphone.  The setting is the tabletop in the sunroom.  Quite ordinary, is it not?

At first blush, so it would seem.  Yet it is representative of much of life as we live it. I asked her to send a copy to me so that I could use it here.  Thanks, Baby.

The focal point would be the tomatoes, the end of the crop.  The display represents the work involved in turning the soil, setting the plants, nurturing and watering them throughout the long days of summer.  The yellow, red, and green, show stages in development, and variety in cultivars.  The yellow and the red are reminders of the juicy enjoyment from July to October, and the green suggests that the plants were willing to continue production, but time ran out.  As it shall for us all.

The items in the foreground, the newspaper, the tv control, are reminders that we are not in this alone.  There is a big world surrounding us, and while we may be the center of our own little world, we are by no means the focus of the universe.  Will we leave a mark when we are gone?

The gameboard in the background reminds us that leisure time does not have to be wasted time.  Keeping the old minds sharp!  Yes, there is a score sheet, though just out of the picture, top right.  This a reminder that even in our world of cooperation and amity there is still a competitive nature within us.  A reminder, too, that as much as I wish it otherwise my score is not always the higher.

Nourishment for the body and for the mind.

The last of the Uncle Jeptha Tales

appeared here on September 25.    

Should you wish to read or reread 

any of them, They can be accessed 

via the “Short Stories” and “More 

Stories” tabs at the top of the   

page.                    

Looking Good

While I was not watching Sunday Morning, I was in the other room attending to a minor task which allowed me to listen to the program with one ear, and the requisite half-mind it takes to follow tv programming.

The segment was about someone named Ethan Hawke whom the interviewer referred to as "the face of Generation X."  The first thing that caught my ear was Mr. Hawke's statement to the effect that when one was shooting pool, for instance, the important thing is not to make the shot, but to look good while making the effort.

Yes.  Characterization of Generation X.  The accomplishment, or failure to accomplish, is not important so long as one looks good in the endeavor.  Form over substance.

The subject capped the interview with a summary of his philosophy.  Succinctly stated, he said that if one pursues his art with dedication it is all good, whether or not the efforts culminate in achievement.

Draw your own conclusions.

Jus' So

Walt Kelly, Gone Pogo, 1961

I was reading the blog Murrmurrs and Murr asked this: Pogo Fans: Can you help? A reader wants to find the original source of a quote I attributed to Albert The Alligator. It was "funny how a handsome man look good in any old thing he throw on." If any of you have old Pogo books with this particular strip, let me know.

This sent me to my Pogo collection in search of the requested tidbit.  I have yet to find it.  (Lots of books to wade through... mostly swamp water, in retrospect, but still.)  Meanwhile, I came upon the above panel, a poignant reminder of the reason I was so enthralled with Walt Kelly in my formative years.

1755 Lisbon Earthquake

9:30 A.M., All Saints Day. A huge number of the residents of Lisbon are in their respective churches for special Mass on this Holy Day.

The temblor strikes; the churches crumble and crash in on the worshipers. The candles which the faithful had lighted and the kitchen fires at home ignited the flammable material in the rubble.

The city was soon ablaze. The tsunami crashed into the shore, throwing the ships in harbor up into the city.

The Lisbon Earthquake of November 1, 1755 claimed a massive toll of human life. The difficulty of obtaining an accurate count is evident, as not only were people and property destroyed, so were official records. Some estimates of deaths ranged as high as thirty to seventy thousand, and at least one chronicler claimed it was nearer one hundred thousand. Careful study over the intervening years have led most historians to believe that the death toll was probably in the range of ten thousand.

The event had serious and long-lasting effects on Western thought as theologians and philosophers started to reassess their thinking in light of such a disaster. The eighteenth century belief that this was the “best of all possible worlds” started to crumble in the face of the question, “If this is the best of possible worlds, what would any others be like?”

The event sparked interest, too, in search for a scientific explanation for such phenomena, and partly due to the thought and writings of the young Emmanuel Kant, the science of seismology had its beginnings.

It is estimated that by modern standards, the quake would have measured between 8.7 and 9.0.

History is littered with records of natural disasters. Doubtless such phenomena existed in prehistoric times. They are still with us, witness the destruction on the East Coast of our United States just this week. Likely, there shall be no end to such things so long as the Earth exists.

Sources:

1.  Helena Murteira, Extracts from PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2004

2.  National Information Service for Earthquake Engineering, UC-Berkeley

Kudzu

So many references in the entertainment world to aliens these days, though this is really not new.  We've seen the fascination with "other worldly" creatures for many years.  I think this Marlette cartoon pretty well captures the essence of people's fascination with the concept of alien life.

In memory of and in honor of Doug Marlette.

Walter Crawford Kelly, Jr. #T

Very early in the life of String Too Short to Tie I posted this tribute to Walt Kelly as a part of the series "Philosophers I Admire.".  Today is the 99th anniversary of his birth.  So, slightly reworked, I present this again in his honor.

It was during my sophomore year of college that I was introduced to Walt Kelly by Pogo. Kelly quickly became one of my heroes. Why? 1) Kelly is the greatest artist that ever drew a comical strip; 2) He had the keenest and most incisive insight into the way the world works and; 3) if you didn't "get it" at once, it would creep up on you and slam you into the swampwater.

Pogo, of course, was the philosopher of the Okeefenokee, but without his foils, Albert, Churchy and Howland, his ruminations and observations could never have been delivered to a needy world.
These regulars were assisted by a huge cast of characters drawn from Kelly's fertile mind as the need arose. Even the bugs made significant contributions to our edification.

Probably the most famous Walt Kelly quote, as delivered by Pogo, is "We have met the enemy, and he is us." But there are quote-worthy snippets in most every presentation as the critters go about lampooning human behavior and lancing the sores on our society.

A ferocious feline tells Mouse, "It ain't that your majority is outnumbered, Mouse. You're just out-surrounded." or, Pogo again,

"Some is more equal than others, as is well known." or one of my personal favorites,

Pogo: "But how about if the one guy is right an' the 10,000 is wrong."

Though it is not the Christmas season, in honor of Mr. Kelly let us all join the Perloo Society in a verse of "Deck Us All With Boston Charlie" (to be sung to the tune of, well you know.)

Deck us all with Boston Charlie,

Walla Walla, Wash..an' Kalamazoo!

Nora's freezin' on the trolley,

Swaller dollar cauliflower

Alleygaroo!

Don't we know archaic barrel,

Lullaby Lilla Boy,

Louisville Lou.

Trolly Molly don't love Harold,

Boola boola Pensacoola

Hullabaloo!

Mr. Kelly quoted his father as having said, "Language is the worst means of communincation known to man. Pictures and good luck will get you anywhere."

WALT KELLY  August 25, 1913 – October 18, 1973 RIP

A Pretty Picture and Musings

BBBH and I are off this week doing stuff.  We hope it will be sufficiently memorable to warrant reports here.  Meanwhile, I have raided the archives from three or four years ago.  This is reworked for a re-post.


Memory and History

We know that nostalgia is an unreasonable yearning for something in the past, something that cannot be. But what we don't often think about is that everything is past. What we recall, we may hold so long as we can remember. What we record is history.

Imagine a movie being played reel-to-reel. (We have to go retrotech here for the imagery.) The top reel is the future, the lower reel, the past. As the film flicks by the lens the present is revealed, in this case 1/24th of a second for each frame. But the present can actually be defined by infinitely smaller units: nanoseconds. Nay, even less for instantly the "present" is the past. We cannot see the future. We may anticipate it, contemplate it, fantasize about it or even plan for it. But we cannot live it. Only the briefest of instants compose our present experience.

We cannot live in the past; it is gone. But we may remember it, recall it, relate it, thereby relegating yet more of our "present" to the past. What is your life without memory?

For all that philosophers and physicists may expound on this "time" we have, it is just as simple as we have limned it herein and just as complex as our memories allow.

Are you making any memories? Are you making history?

Is your hand in the hand of the Eternal Guide?

Ice cream!

Philosophy, wisdom, and guides to living are often found in the comics. Sometimes true wisdom is expressed much more succinctly and in a more entertaining manner than one finds in dry tomes.

Here we have Earl Pickles whose encounters with frustrations and disappointments have clearly taught him a valuable lesson. There is ice cream.

Beautifully, and as it is supposed to happen, Earl shares his wisdom with his grandson, Nelson.

Have a bowl of ice cream. And give some to your grandchildren, too!

Pickles, by Brian Crane

About Pickles

Ethics 101

In The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard writes, “A leading social commentator now teaches that despair and rage are an essential element in the struggle for justice. He and others who teach this are sowing the wind, and will reap the whirlwind, the tornado. Indeed, we are reaping it now in a nation increasingly sick with rage and resentment of citizen toward citizen. And often the rage and resentment is upheld and justified in the name of God.

“But there is nothing that can be done with anger that cannot be done better without it.”

Willard goes on to point out that the evil twin to anger is contempt, for “it breaks the social bond more severely than anger... In the course of normal life one is rarely in a situation where contempt is not at least hovering in the wings.

“Recently cultural observers have noted the overwhelming rise in the use of filthy language, especially among young people. Curiously, few have been able to find any grounds for condemning it other than personal taste. How strange! Can it be that they actually find contempt acceptable, or are unable to recognize it? Filthy language and name calling are always an expression of contempt. The current swarm of filthy language floats upon the sea of contempt in which our society is now adrift.”*

Dallas Willard is a professor at the University of Southern California’s School of Philosophy.

*The Divine Conspiracy, pp.150-152

I Yam What I Yam

Popeye first appeared full-grown in The Thimble Theater on January 17, 1929.
I yam what I yam.
I eats me spinach.
I'm Popeye the sailor man.

How could you not like a man with a girlfriend named "Olive Oyl"?
How could you not like a man who had an apodal ward named "Swee' Pea"?
How could you not like a man who tolerated his ever-mooching, hamburger gobbling friend named "Wimpy"? ...............Elzie SegarHow could you not like a man who could take a beating from Bluto, pop a can of spinach from his shirt, swallow its contents and beat the tar out of his adversary?

Except for the date, which came up as an "event" on this day in history, the rest of the above is cobbled from my memory. Yes, I enjoyed reading comic books as a youngster. They were not considered to be "edifying literature" in the home in which I was raised. Yet the parents tolerated a certain amount of foolishness, so long as the serious was tended to properly.

Foolishness or not, I think it interesting that the above trivia made a longer lasting impression than did, say, Ivanhoe. Why is that?

Well, Popeye, ye entertained us well. We don't know how old ye were when you appeared, but we do know that ye've been around now for eighty-three years!