7/31/2004
Jerusalem
NUMBER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jerusalem
Who is old? When I was five, twenty was old. When I was twenty, forty was old. When I was sixty-five, eighty was old. Less than a year ago my Father-in-law who will be 98 in August said, “I think I am getting old.” As we grow older, we seem to push the idea of being “old” ahead of us to a point where we are comfortable.
There is a lament, ubiquitous among the old whatever their chronological age, that goes something like this: “Good grief, how things have changed since I was a child!” Usually the change in question is seen as negative, not good, a surrender, a compromise, etc. This lament is usually followed by an example: “When I was a child my parents never locked the front door of our home, even when we went away on vacation. Today I hesitate to answer the doorbell even though we keep the front door locked all the time.”
Making such comparisons is a fact of life – it is what humans do. Change has been exponential in every area of life in the last 50 years. The question is; what do we do with all this change that is subject to the second law of thermodynamics (In any closed system, a process proceeds in a direction such that the unavailable energy [the entropy] increases)? Everything is running down. Our society is going to hell in a hand basket. Do we hunker down in our lifeboat and read the “Left Behind” books and wait for God to take us home? Or do we do what we are able to make the place we are now a better place (by the grace of God) until God finally takes things in hand and finishes the job properly? Are we pilgrims in the country of the Risen King, or just fugitives on the run from the Prince of this world?
Recently I came across a poem by William Blake. We had rented the film “Calendar Girls,” based on the true story of some old people who did something to make their world better. The ladies' club sang “Jerusalem” to start each meeting. The music was familiar – I remembered it from “Chariots of Fire,” another movie based on a true story. This poem seems to address the issue – will I sit in my rocking chair or will I get busy and proclaim the crown rights of King Jesus on the Devil’s doorstep? I have made a bookmark of the poem and this bookmark is moving through my Bible as I work my way through on my annual pilgrimage.
JERUSALEM
William Blake
And did those feet, in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold,
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! Oh, clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land!
+++++++
“”God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’”
Genesis 1.27-28
“Man was created in the image of God and commanded to subdue the earth and have dominion over it…under God and as God’s appointed vice-regent.”
R.J. Rushdoony
“God is strong, and He wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or- death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.”
Ephesians 6.10-12, The Message
“God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Philippians 2.9-11
Jerusalem
Who is old? When I was five, twenty was old. When I was twenty, forty was old. When I was sixty-five, eighty was old. Less than a year ago my Father-in-law who will be 98 in August said, “I think I am getting old.” As we grow older, we seem to push the idea of being “old” ahead of us to a point where we are comfortable.
There is a lament, ubiquitous among the old whatever their chronological age, that goes something like this: “Good grief, how things have changed since I was a child!” Usually the change in question is seen as negative, not good, a surrender, a compromise, etc. This lament is usually followed by an example: “When I was a child my parents never locked the front door of our home, even when we went away on vacation. Today I hesitate to answer the doorbell even though we keep the front door locked all the time.”
Making such comparisons is a fact of life – it is what humans do. Change has been exponential in every area of life in the last 50 years. The question is; what do we do with all this change that is subject to the second law of thermodynamics (In any closed system, a process proceeds in a direction such that the unavailable energy [the entropy] increases)? Everything is running down. Our society is going to hell in a hand basket. Do we hunker down in our lifeboat and read the “Left Behind” books and wait for God to take us home? Or do we do what we are able to make the place we are now a better place (by the grace of God) until God finally takes things in hand and finishes the job properly? Are we pilgrims in the country of the Risen King, or just fugitives on the run from the Prince of this world?
Recently I came across a poem by William Blake. We had rented the film “Calendar Girls,” based on the true story of some old people who did something to make their world better. The ladies' club sang “Jerusalem” to start each meeting. The music was familiar – I remembered it from “Chariots of Fire,” another movie based on a true story. This poem seems to address the issue – will I sit in my rocking chair or will I get busy and proclaim the crown rights of King Jesus on the Devil’s doorstep? I have made a bookmark of the poem and this bookmark is moving through my Bible as I work my way through on my annual pilgrimage.
JERUSALEM
William Blake
And did those feet, in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold,
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! Oh, clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land!
+++++++
“”God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’”
Genesis 1.27-28
“Man was created in the image of God and commanded to subdue the earth and have dominion over it…under God and as God’s appointed vice-regent.”
R.J. Rushdoony
“God is strong, and He wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or- death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.”
Ephesians 6.10-12, The Message
“God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Philippians 2.9-11
7/24/2004
50 Years
NUMBER FIfTY-SEVEN
On July 24, 2004 we will celebrate 50 years of marriage. Thirty-one years ago I was thinking of our 19th, coming up soon and I wrote a poem. Reading it now, there is nothing I would change.
LOVE PSALM
How does one write
That which is bigger than words?
How does one speak
Of that which goes beyond
The eloquence
Of all tongues?
Take all the best sunsets
Of the past ten thousand years
And all the memorable sunrises too:
Take the first flower of every Spring
Since flowers began to bloom
And the first smile, first word, first step
Of every firstborn child
Since God made man...
Take the pain of parting
With the first touch of reunion
After long separation
And the joy of finding
That which was lost--
Mix them all with starlight
And the first snowfall
And the taste of honey on hot biscuits,
Then amplify it all
To, at least, the twenty-sixth power
And you may have the beginning
Of an idea of what love,
Come to its full maturity,
Might be.
6/73
020
7/19/2004
Busy Bees and Immortality
Nothing stays the same. This blog is a test of the new way to get photos into my blogs. Just when I had it down cold they upgraded the whole thing and left MAC users out in the cold. Now I have to send my pics to Flikr and then from there to the blog. If I can edit the blog from that point I guess I will just need to begin with the image then add the text. The good news is that photos added from flikr seem to load much faster.
Consider the lilies
7/18/2004
Consider The Lilies
NUMBER FIFTY-SIX
Consider the Lilies
“Why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’…your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
“So do not be worried about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6.28-34
Consider the Lilies
“Why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’…your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
“So do not be worried about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6.28-34
7/17/2004
Please Look At Me And Say My Name
NUMBER FIFTY-FIVE
Please Look At Me and Say My Name
I am "the poor..." I have no choices.
I go to my hard bed hungry every night...though I spend all my waking hours trying, I cannot seem to change things.
I wake up hungry every morning...nothing the day brings ever relieves that dull ache.
When my child is sick, the best I can do is a wet cloth to cool the fever... and a prayer. Sometimes this is good enough, not very often though.
I cannot read.
I cannot write.
There is a sort of simplicity about my life that is sometimes idealized by those who have never had to live it...I pay no taxes, no fees, no union dues. I know nothing of the price of gold, or the state of the stock market.
My door is never bolted against thieves; there is nothing in my house worth stealing. I live "in community..." there are six of us sharing one room with dirt floor, no water and no electricity. When it rains we get wet. When it dries up we choke on the dust.
I work at whatever job I can find, as long as the job, and my strength hold out... but I am unskilled and the pay is never enough even when the job is steady, which it seldom is these days.
The thought of food is always crouching at the back of my mind... there is never enough to go around, and hungry children never understand. The prices are always going up...and I really don't know much about how to get the best for my family with the little money I have.
The weary days stretch into weeks and months and years...no one ever asks me what I think, no one really cares. I am an embarrassment to the government, an irritation to the local officials, and a minor but profitable inconvenience to the merchants.
Most of my children will die before they grow up...it's probably better that way since their prospects are no better than mine...a short, hard life full of pain.
Some say I have "real dignity," maybe it's true...to me it feels more like weary resignation most of the time. To tell the truth, I would give almost anything for a decent meal and a new bar of good soap. I would give almost as much for you who see me to call me by name. I am Maria.
Look at me closely and let me enter your heart. See me standing outside the window at the place where crippled persons come for help. I have a child who cannot walk. Someday I may be able to bring him here.
Inside the clinic a beautiful young woman (another Maria) sits in a chair with wheels, her bandaged feet propped up on a stool. Beside her a young man stands leaning on crutches, playing a guitar. The young woman is singing:
If you feel sorrow in your soul
And think you are losing your heart
For God there are no impossibles
Our God is coming to release you.
For God there are no impossibles
The lifeless people God can raise up
If you have a difficult problem
And think of despairing your life
For God there are no impossibles
Our God is coming to release you.
See now the outstretched hand
Stretched to bless your life
The hand is not shrunken
Our God is coming to release you.
I would really like to believe her. I would like to meet her and know her heart. I would like to bring my son who cannot walk to this place. But it is very far and I am so very tired. I wonder if her God knows about my impossibles? Can you see the question in my eyes? Please look at me, see into my heart, and call me by my name. My name is Maria.
+++++++
I met these Marias in Brazil in 1984 – there are millions of Marias in the world today in spite of the best efforts of many compassionate people. But that does not mean we should not go on trying:
“The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’” Matthew 25.40
Please Look At Me and Say My Name
I am "the poor..." I have no choices.
I go to my hard bed hungry every night...though I spend all my waking hours trying, I cannot seem to change things.
I wake up hungry every morning...nothing the day brings ever relieves that dull ache.
When my child is sick, the best I can do is a wet cloth to cool the fever... and a prayer. Sometimes this is good enough, not very often though.
I cannot read.
I cannot write.
There is a sort of simplicity about my life that is sometimes idealized by those who have never had to live it...I pay no taxes, no fees, no union dues. I know nothing of the price of gold, or the state of the stock market.
My door is never bolted against thieves; there is nothing in my house worth stealing. I live "in community..." there are six of us sharing one room with dirt floor, no water and no electricity. When it rains we get wet. When it dries up we choke on the dust.
I work at whatever job I can find, as long as the job, and my strength hold out... but I am unskilled and the pay is never enough even when the job is steady, which it seldom is these days.
The thought of food is always crouching at the back of my mind... there is never enough to go around, and hungry children never understand. The prices are always going up...and I really don't know much about how to get the best for my family with the little money I have.
The weary days stretch into weeks and months and years...no one ever asks me what I think, no one really cares. I am an embarrassment to the government, an irritation to the local officials, and a minor but profitable inconvenience to the merchants.
Most of my children will die before they grow up...it's probably better that way since their prospects are no better than mine...a short, hard life full of pain.
Some say I have "real dignity," maybe it's true...to me it feels more like weary resignation most of the time. To tell the truth, I would give almost anything for a decent meal and a new bar of good soap. I would give almost as much for you who see me to call me by name. I am Maria.
Look at me closely and let me enter your heart. See me standing outside the window at the place where crippled persons come for help. I have a child who cannot walk. Someday I may be able to bring him here.
Inside the clinic a beautiful young woman (another Maria) sits in a chair with wheels, her bandaged feet propped up on a stool. Beside her a young man stands leaning on crutches, playing a guitar. The young woman is singing:
If you feel sorrow in your soul
And think you are losing your heart
For God there are no impossibles
Our God is coming to release you.
For God there are no impossibles
The lifeless people God can raise up
If you have a difficult problem
And think of despairing your life
For God there are no impossibles
Our God is coming to release you.
See now the outstretched hand
Stretched to bless your life
The hand is not shrunken
Our God is coming to release you.
I would really like to believe her. I would like to meet her and know her heart. I would like to bring my son who cannot walk to this place. But it is very far and I am so very tired. I wonder if her God knows about my impossibles? Can you see the question in my eyes? Please look at me, see into my heart, and call me by my name. My name is Maria.
+++++++
I met these Marias in Brazil in 1984 – there are millions of Marias in the world today in spite of the best efforts of many compassionate people. But that does not mean we should not go on trying:
“The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’” Matthew 25.40
7/10/2004
Oompah!
NUMBER FIFTY-FOUR
Oompah!
Once upon a time, not too long ago, four sisters lived in the House of Music. Father Church was head of the house and Mother Earth was his loving and obedient wife.
The girls were named, from eldest to youngest, Melody, Harmony, Rhythm, and little Tone Color.
As the girls were growing up each exhibited a remarkable gift for making music. Father Church taught them about Yahweh God and His rules for the making of good music. Yahweh God’s first and most important rule was that the four girls should always make their music together. Mother Earth instructed them in the use of all kinds of musical instruments and in the proper use of the voice when singing.
When they were grown, the four girls filled the world with beautiful music. They went everywhere together and did everything together until one day, passing the House of Oompah!, they decided to go in. There was music inside the House of Oompah!, but it was loud and discordant and Father Church had told them it was no place for decent young women…but they were curious.
A priest of Oompah! met them at the door. He asked them their names and when they had introduced themselves, he looked Rhythm in the eye and said, “Come in, you are welcome here – the rest of you move along, there is no place here for you.”
“Well,” Rhythm said, “I would like to come in, but if my sisters are not welcome, forget it, they go where I go.”
“Suit yourself,” the Priest said, “It makes no difference to me what you do.” But secretly he hoped she might come since he well knew that her singing could move young men and women to lust and that this would definitely improve business and add real spice to the goings on in the House of Oompah!.
Time passed and the incident was forgotten, except by Rhythm. She really wanted to see the inside of the House of Oompah! – and maybe even sing them a song or two. Whenever the sisters passed the place she would slyly sneak a look, hoping to see something through the windows. But the glass was dirty, seldom washed, and it was impossible to see through them just walking by.
On a rare day when she was abroad without her sisters, she found herself in front of the place. She knew she should just go on but she had been thinking about it so long, she decided just a quick look couldn’t do any harm. She went to the door, was greeted warmly by the priest, and went in. She found herself in what looked like a large tavern, she guessed, since she had never been in one. There were many people sitting around, with large tankards of ale. They were talking and laughing loudly and waving their arms in the air and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.
Another priest immediately called her to the small stage at the end of the room and taking a microphone in his hand called for the attention of the crowd. It took them a while to settle down and when they had, the Priest introduced Rhythm: “Here she is, folks, fresh from triumphs across the land, a new young singer with immense talent, she is here to sing for us.”
Rhythm was astonished. She stood there with the microphone in her hand for about thirty seconds. Then, into the dead silence, she began to sing. It was one of her best songs and when she finished the cheers and applause were thunderous. She was amazed, overwhelmed, and it was all just for her.
The priest pressed her to sing again and she did. The applause was even longer and louder. But then she had to go. She had already stayed too long and she would be missed at home. But the priest made her promise to come back.
She went home with mixed emotions. An audience had rarely received her music as enthusiastically as this one. When one had, the applause was something that she had to share with her sisters. She felt personally appreciated, famous, and successful. But she also felt guilty. She now had a secret that must be kept from her father and mother and three sisters.
She resisted the temptation to sneak back for quite a while but eventually she did go back and soon she became a regular in the House of Oompah. Her family found out and made such a fuss about it that she just moved into an apartment above the room where she sang. Her family grieved for her and she sometimes felt bad but her fame grew and she was very busy doing what she did best. And the pay was great.
After about a year, something happened that turned it all to ashes in her mouth. Whenever she sang, the house lights were turned off and a spotlight was in her eyes so she could not really see the crowd. One night well into her routine, someone bumped the switch and the house lights went on. She was shocked to see her wonderful audience doing things together that were hardly appropriate for a public place.
She somehow managed to finish her songs for the night and when she returned to her small apartment, she sat down and wept. “I thought I was famous, but I am really nothing more than background music and an inspiration for public fornication.”
I would like to write a happy ending to this tale but must tell you the truth. I would like to tell you Rhythm returned to the house of her Father, confessed her sin, and was restored to her sisters. In a way she did return to Father Church, but not in the way He might have wished.
She returned to a church rather than The Church. She found she could sing the same songs in the same way with about the same effect by simply changing the words. She found she could move from the House of Oompah! to the First Church of What’s Happening Now without missing a beat, as long as the words she sang were properly “religious.”
She did so well that she made CD’s, went on tours, and starred in concerts almost as big as Woodstock had been. All without the guilt she felt in the House of Oompah. From time to time she thought of Melody, Harmony and little Tone Color, but she had no regrets. She was wealthy, famous, and number one on the Christian Contemporary Music charts…what more could a girl ask for?
The god Oompah! being carried up to the House of Oompah!
Oompah!
Once upon a time, not too long ago, four sisters lived in the House of Music. Father Church was head of the house and Mother Earth was his loving and obedient wife.
The girls were named, from eldest to youngest, Melody, Harmony, Rhythm, and little Tone Color.
As the girls were growing up each exhibited a remarkable gift for making music. Father Church taught them about Yahweh God and His rules for the making of good music. Yahweh God’s first and most important rule was that the four girls should always make their music together. Mother Earth instructed them in the use of all kinds of musical instruments and in the proper use of the voice when singing.
When they were grown, the four girls filled the world with beautiful music. They went everywhere together and did everything together until one day, passing the House of Oompah!, they decided to go in. There was music inside the House of Oompah!, but it was loud and discordant and Father Church had told them it was no place for decent young women…but they were curious.
A priest of Oompah! met them at the door. He asked them their names and when they had introduced themselves, he looked Rhythm in the eye and said, “Come in, you are welcome here – the rest of you move along, there is no place here for you.”
“Well,” Rhythm said, “I would like to come in, but if my sisters are not welcome, forget it, they go where I go.”
“Suit yourself,” the Priest said, “It makes no difference to me what you do.” But secretly he hoped she might come since he well knew that her singing could move young men and women to lust and that this would definitely improve business and add real spice to the goings on in the House of Oompah!.
Time passed and the incident was forgotten, except by Rhythm. She really wanted to see the inside of the House of Oompah! – and maybe even sing them a song or two. Whenever the sisters passed the place she would slyly sneak a look, hoping to see something through the windows. But the glass was dirty, seldom washed, and it was impossible to see through them just walking by.
On a rare day when she was abroad without her sisters, she found herself in front of the place. She knew she should just go on but she had been thinking about it so long, she decided just a quick look couldn’t do any harm. She went to the door, was greeted warmly by the priest, and went in. She found herself in what looked like a large tavern, she guessed, since she had never been in one. There were many people sitting around, with large tankards of ale. They were talking and laughing loudly and waving their arms in the air and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.
Another priest immediately called her to the small stage at the end of the room and taking a microphone in his hand called for the attention of the crowd. It took them a while to settle down and when they had, the Priest introduced Rhythm: “Here she is, folks, fresh from triumphs across the land, a new young singer with immense talent, she is here to sing for us.”
Rhythm was astonished. She stood there with the microphone in her hand for about thirty seconds. Then, into the dead silence, she began to sing. It was one of her best songs and when she finished the cheers and applause were thunderous. She was amazed, overwhelmed, and it was all just for her.
The priest pressed her to sing again and she did. The applause was even longer and louder. But then she had to go. She had already stayed too long and she would be missed at home. But the priest made her promise to come back.
She went home with mixed emotions. An audience had rarely received her music as enthusiastically as this one. When one had, the applause was something that she had to share with her sisters. She felt personally appreciated, famous, and successful. But she also felt guilty. She now had a secret that must be kept from her father and mother and three sisters.
She resisted the temptation to sneak back for quite a while but eventually she did go back and soon she became a regular in the House of Oompah. Her family found out and made such a fuss about it that she just moved into an apartment above the room where she sang. Her family grieved for her and she sometimes felt bad but her fame grew and she was very busy doing what she did best. And the pay was great.
After about a year, something happened that turned it all to ashes in her mouth. Whenever she sang, the house lights were turned off and a spotlight was in her eyes so she could not really see the crowd. One night well into her routine, someone bumped the switch and the house lights went on. She was shocked to see her wonderful audience doing things together that were hardly appropriate for a public place.
She somehow managed to finish her songs for the night and when she returned to her small apartment, she sat down and wept. “I thought I was famous, but I am really nothing more than background music and an inspiration for public fornication.”
I would like to write a happy ending to this tale but must tell you the truth. I would like to tell you Rhythm returned to the house of her Father, confessed her sin, and was restored to her sisters. In a way she did return to Father Church, but not in the way He might have wished.
She returned to a church rather than The Church. She found she could sing the same songs in the same way with about the same effect by simply changing the words. She found she could move from the House of Oompah! to the First Church of What’s Happening Now without missing a beat, as long as the words she sang were properly “religious.”
She did so well that she made CD’s, went on tours, and starred in concerts almost as big as Woodstock had been. All without the guilt she felt in the House of Oompah. From time to time she thought of Melody, Harmony and little Tone Color, but she had no regrets. She was wealthy, famous, and number one on the Christian Contemporary Music charts…what more could a girl ask for?
The god Oompah! being carried up to the House of Oompah!
7/02/2004
Slippage
NUMBER FIFTY-THREE
Slippage
There is a characteristic of the human mind that puts an absolute limit on the attempts of the computer experts to create artificial intelligence. That characteristic is called “slippage.” No computer program can do what the human mind does when it takes note of something that reminds it of something else that reminds it of something else, etc., etc., etc. A thousand people can look at a daisy, and the look will start a string of associations that will lead each one to a different place.
Across from our local airport there is a farm that raises a variety of unusual animals - llamas, Texas longhorn steers, etc. Due to the berms along the road we seldom see these animals but once I spotted a very long, curved horn beyond the berm and it reminded me of a sculpture in Dallas where our son worked for an architectural firm. Dallas reminded me of cowboys who reminded me of the smell of bacon and beans cooked over a wood fire, that reminded me of the hot smoky smell of forest fires in California that reminded me of driving the freeways there in the midst of many trucks belching diesel smoke that reminded me of Pearl Harbor where I used to back a submarine away from the pier, turn, and get the strong smell of diesel smoke across the bridge.
This is slippage in action. The possibilities are almost infinite and variables are also almost infinite. The world within and the world without are brimming with possibilities for slippage. Whatever we see, feel, smell, touch, taste, can set off a string of associations that may end up almost anywhere. Sometimes the string is very short.
There is a song. I can’t name it at the moment but it was popular in 1959. It was one of a group of songs sung by The Men of Texas. I was Cargo Officer on the Hassayampa, a fleet oiler home ported in Hawaii. I had a big enough stateroom to have my own stereo and this song was on one of the 78’s I had with me when we went to Japan via New Zealand. I played it a lot during the week we spent at Wellington. We were beginning a six-month cruise and I was already missing my family.
Although I can’t name the song now, the next time I hear a men’s chorus sing it, I will blink and wake up entering the harbor at Wellington, seeing the yellow gorse blooms on the hillsides, wondering what the visit will bring – and missing my family. It is an unconscious leap. It comes unbidden. It happens in an instant.
It happens with a smell as well. I usually don’t start with a longhorn to get to Pearl Harbor. Just a good whiff of diesel smoke on the highway and I am on the bridge of the submarine Carbonero backing away from the pier. The stern has swung out, I have backed away sufficiently to clear the pier and I put the rudder over and order the engines reversed. As we turn and begin to move forward, the diesels put out smoke that drifts across the bridge. It mixes with the faint scent of Plumeria blossoms and the morning is always beautiful.
These little moments are often associated with strong feelings, the memory of a great time or a traumatic event. When I was about ten years old I had my tonsils removed in the Doctor’s office. When I woke up I was lying on my back on his table with a new first baseman’s mitt spread out on my chest, right under my nose. My throat hurt terribly. To this day the whiff of a new baseball glove puts me right back in that office with the smell of ether and a twinge of pain in my throat.
These moments are not something sought. They just happen. They happen because the mind is a deep storehouse of experience that seems to function by continuously comparing the present with the past and making associations. Sounds are also part of it. My wife sometimes forgets the name of an actor but she can usually tell who it is by the voice. She will see someone on TV in a different role, having grown older, and will say, “I know his voice.” And eventually she will come up with his name.
You might call these things internal slippage – they happen in our minds. There is another kind of slippage that sometimes seems age-related. You might call this existential slippage. A friend recently described his day. He was going to mow his lawn. He began by picking up some dead branches that had fallen from trees in his large yard. He went to the barn to get a saw to cut some of them up and noticed his riding mower. It needed some work before he could mow so he started on that. With wrench in hand he noticed his tractor that required work before he could mow the high meadow, which needed mowing also. He left the lawnmower and started on the tractor. I can’t recall what else happened but he finished the day without ever getting back to the yard with the saw.
This happens all the time at our house. My wife heads for the ironing board, sees the vacuum, starts to vacuum, sees cobwebs, gets them down, notices the scrap book on the dining room table and works a little on a page, heads for the ironing board again and remembers a phone call she needed to make, etc., etc. The ironing always gets done, well and in time, but seldom gets the feeling that it is the focus of attention.
On the other hand, I focus. If I am in one end of the house and decide to do something in the other end, I start out with great determination – I am seldom distracted along the way…but when I get there I sometimes can’t remember what I came for. I have to return to “Go” and start over.
One of the blessings of being retired is that if you get sidetracked and don’t get it done today, there is always tomorrow. The downside of that is that the older we get, the less tomorrows there are. I was standing in line at Home Depot the other day. The cashier was looking sheepish as several lined up behind me. He finally pointed to a cart full of drain pipe parts and said, “He went back to get one more piece.”
After about 5 minutes more, he went looking for the guy and didn’t find him. “Must have decided he didn’t want these things after all,” he said. It occurred to me that I wasn’t nearly as agitated as the guy behind me in line. I just had a lawn that needed fertilizing, he had 3 guys waiting for him on a job and the clock was running. I was retired, so 10 minutes extra in line was no big deal.
But on the other hand, I am 70 years old. I don’t have as many years left as I did when I was 25. If I am granted 20 more years of life, I can count on about ten million minutes. That may seem like a lot but I really hate to waste any of these minutes. But that is the upside. The downside is that the only minute I have for sure is the one I am living now. I guess it is like most things; there is some good news and some bad news in every situation – it is the same glass that is both half full and half empty..
The bottom line is well expressed by the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Ephesians (5.15-17) “So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. These are desperate times! Don’t live carelessly, unthinkingly. Make sure you understand what the master wants.”
And the older you get, concentrate on the good news in every situation, the bad news will take care of itself.
Slippage
There is a characteristic of the human mind that puts an absolute limit on the attempts of the computer experts to create artificial intelligence. That characteristic is called “slippage.” No computer program can do what the human mind does when it takes note of something that reminds it of something else that reminds it of something else, etc., etc., etc. A thousand people can look at a daisy, and the look will start a string of associations that will lead each one to a different place.
Across from our local airport there is a farm that raises a variety of unusual animals - llamas, Texas longhorn steers, etc. Due to the berms along the road we seldom see these animals but once I spotted a very long, curved horn beyond the berm and it reminded me of a sculpture in Dallas where our son worked for an architectural firm. Dallas reminded me of cowboys who reminded me of the smell of bacon and beans cooked over a wood fire, that reminded me of the hot smoky smell of forest fires in California that reminded me of driving the freeways there in the midst of many trucks belching diesel smoke that reminded me of Pearl Harbor where I used to back a submarine away from the pier, turn, and get the strong smell of diesel smoke across the bridge.
This is slippage in action. The possibilities are almost infinite and variables are also almost infinite. The world within and the world without are brimming with possibilities for slippage. Whatever we see, feel, smell, touch, taste, can set off a string of associations that may end up almost anywhere. Sometimes the string is very short.
There is a song. I can’t name it at the moment but it was popular in 1959. It was one of a group of songs sung by The Men of Texas. I was Cargo Officer on the Hassayampa, a fleet oiler home ported in Hawaii. I had a big enough stateroom to have my own stereo and this song was on one of the 78’s I had with me when we went to Japan via New Zealand. I played it a lot during the week we spent at Wellington. We were beginning a six-month cruise and I was already missing my family.
Although I can’t name the song now, the next time I hear a men’s chorus sing it, I will blink and wake up entering the harbor at Wellington, seeing the yellow gorse blooms on the hillsides, wondering what the visit will bring – and missing my family. It is an unconscious leap. It comes unbidden. It happens in an instant.
It happens with a smell as well. I usually don’t start with a longhorn to get to Pearl Harbor. Just a good whiff of diesel smoke on the highway and I am on the bridge of the submarine Carbonero backing away from the pier. The stern has swung out, I have backed away sufficiently to clear the pier and I put the rudder over and order the engines reversed. As we turn and begin to move forward, the diesels put out smoke that drifts across the bridge. It mixes with the faint scent of Plumeria blossoms and the morning is always beautiful.
These little moments are often associated with strong feelings, the memory of a great time or a traumatic event. When I was about ten years old I had my tonsils removed in the Doctor’s office. When I woke up I was lying on my back on his table with a new first baseman’s mitt spread out on my chest, right under my nose. My throat hurt terribly. To this day the whiff of a new baseball glove puts me right back in that office with the smell of ether and a twinge of pain in my throat.
These moments are not something sought. They just happen. They happen because the mind is a deep storehouse of experience that seems to function by continuously comparing the present with the past and making associations. Sounds are also part of it. My wife sometimes forgets the name of an actor but she can usually tell who it is by the voice. She will see someone on TV in a different role, having grown older, and will say, “I know his voice.” And eventually she will come up with his name.
You might call these things internal slippage – they happen in our minds. There is another kind of slippage that sometimes seems age-related. You might call this existential slippage. A friend recently described his day. He was going to mow his lawn. He began by picking up some dead branches that had fallen from trees in his large yard. He went to the barn to get a saw to cut some of them up and noticed his riding mower. It needed some work before he could mow so he started on that. With wrench in hand he noticed his tractor that required work before he could mow the high meadow, which needed mowing also. He left the lawnmower and started on the tractor. I can’t recall what else happened but he finished the day without ever getting back to the yard with the saw.
This happens all the time at our house. My wife heads for the ironing board, sees the vacuum, starts to vacuum, sees cobwebs, gets them down, notices the scrap book on the dining room table and works a little on a page, heads for the ironing board again and remembers a phone call she needed to make, etc., etc. The ironing always gets done, well and in time, but seldom gets the feeling that it is the focus of attention.
On the other hand, I focus. If I am in one end of the house and decide to do something in the other end, I start out with great determination – I am seldom distracted along the way…but when I get there I sometimes can’t remember what I came for. I have to return to “Go” and start over.
One of the blessings of being retired is that if you get sidetracked and don’t get it done today, there is always tomorrow. The downside of that is that the older we get, the less tomorrows there are. I was standing in line at Home Depot the other day. The cashier was looking sheepish as several lined up behind me. He finally pointed to a cart full of drain pipe parts and said, “He went back to get one more piece.”
After about 5 minutes more, he went looking for the guy and didn’t find him. “Must have decided he didn’t want these things after all,” he said. It occurred to me that I wasn’t nearly as agitated as the guy behind me in line. I just had a lawn that needed fertilizing, he had 3 guys waiting for him on a job and the clock was running. I was retired, so 10 minutes extra in line was no big deal.
But on the other hand, I am 70 years old. I don’t have as many years left as I did when I was 25. If I am granted 20 more years of life, I can count on about ten million minutes. That may seem like a lot but I really hate to waste any of these minutes. But that is the upside. The downside is that the only minute I have for sure is the one I am living now. I guess it is like most things; there is some good news and some bad news in every situation – it is the same glass that is both half full and half empty..
The bottom line is well expressed by the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Ephesians (5.15-17) “So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. These are desperate times! Don’t live carelessly, unthinkingly. Make sure you understand what the master wants.”
And the older you get, concentrate on the good news in every situation, the bad news will take care of itself.
