“Patience is a virtue, but waiting is a skill.”
Wight, Will. Of Darkness and Dawn (The Elder Empire: Shadow Book 2). Hidden Gnome Publishing.
TODAY FROM AMERICA:
A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN EL DORADO HILLS:
Naida West commented on the previous issue of T&T:
“Your blog today is marvelous. Every part of it, including the flow. Weltschmertz isn’t listed, but it lives in much that you write and choose to quote. I laughed out loud at many of the sections, Proust and more. “
Thank you, Naida you have always been more kind to me than I deserve.
Actually, as I pointed out to her in response, I always saw myself as cynical and sarcastic with a strong dollop of ennui (a feeling of fatigue and dissatisfaction packaged with a bit of self-indulgent posturing) rather than consumed with the gnawing sadness and world-weariness of Weltschmerz.
As for angst, not in the least — except for when I read Facebook posts from my more conservative Facebook friends — like those arguing that President Obama lied when he expressed his sadness at another slaughter of our children while they innocently sat learning in school. They, my Facebook friends, seem to believe that despite the fact that the use of guns on American soil by armed Americans have killed more of our citizens than all the terrorists and all the foreigners in all our wars combined, we are somehow safer and more free than we would be if we did not have guns to protect us from the depredations of other gun toting citizens.
Their argument, by the way, seems often to be supported by the claim that in Obama’s Chicago, where relatively strict gun control laws are in effect, a lot of people still die from gunshot wounds, therefor everything he says about ravages of unrestricted gun ownership must be a lie.
The skies above the Golden Hills have cleared following a few days of cloudiness and a smattering of rain and days of unblemished cyan through cerulean from horizon to horizon have returned. The Fall, however, is upon us and the desiccated leaves of the sycamores have begun fluttering to the ground. It is still warm, warm enough to swim which I do assiduously.
My seventy-sixth birthday prompted me to think about epitaphs. The winning one was:
“I came. I saw. I did not like what I was seeing, so I left.”
Some of the also-rans were: “His life had its ups and downs. It gave him indigestion,” “He hated winter,” “I never saw a good reason to get out of bed,” “Some lived their life like there were no tomorrows. To him there were only yesterdays,” “I really did not want to leave. I was only looking for a change of scenery,” “I could have done better, but the stories would not have been as interesting,” “I wanted to leave the world better off than I found it. I never knew why,” “His was always a work in progress,” and, “sometimes, it just doesn’t matter.”
The operation on my left eye went as uneventfully as my first. Unlike during the operation on my right eye two weeks ago, nothing particularly humorous occurred.
I am a bit jealous and annoyed today. The Haystack Show has had more viewers and followers in the few months HRM has been producing it than my five blogs have in the four years or so of their existence. I think it may be time to fold up my tent.
Turkey flocks strut around the neighborhood streets and yards like peacocks strutted the palace grounds of the Raja’s. Of course, our yards are no oriental palace garden and turkeys’ are no peacocks but, a male gobbler in full arousal can still put up quite a display of plumage.
On Friday after dropping HRM off to school, I drove to Mendocino to spend the weekend with my sister Maryann and her husband George the Mensch. As I left Highway 101 and headed west over the mountains and through Anderson Valley my mind left me and I was barely aware of the drive. I drifted off into writing an essay in my mind entitled “Tu-Tus, the National Football League, and Jaques D’Ambrose’s Package.” Yorkville and Booneville barely registered as I drove through and Philo and Navarro not at all. When I entered the darkness of the Redwood groves consciousness returned. I had always assumed there were only three groves along the highway. It surprised me that I counted, at least, eight before reaching the weedy banks of the Navarro River and the coast. I turned up Coast Highway and wound along the edge of the ocean. I arrived safely at my sisters house a half hour later and, of course, immediately took a nap.
The next day, under an overcast sky, we went for a walk along the bluffs and through the town to the bookstore. Later we went to the Mendocino Volunteer Fire Department barbecue where we:
examined the equipment;
ate ice cream;
listened to music;
watched the kids play junior fireman;
saw a demonstration by fireman demolishing a car;
met Smokey the bear and,
had my picture taken with George the Mensch in full gear.
Later Peter and Barrie Grenell arrived. We walked along the coast and then had drinks out on the deck.
Still later at dinner, I talked too much.
The following day we visited the magnificent Pacific Star Winery located on PCH just before the mysterious town of Westport and the Lost Coast beyond. The winery sits on the cliff above the surf. If you are ever in the neighborhood, I urge you to visit there, sample the wines and have a picnic beside the ocean. Do not miss sitting awhile in the afternoon sun on Dad’s Bench on the north side of the property above the white spume and the water churning among the rocks. You will not want to leave.
The winery from PCH.
Our picnic wine poured by the ever vivacious Sally the Winemaker.
Sitting on Dad’s Bench,
and enjoying the view.
That night we held a dinner party for my birthday. It was one of the most enjoyable birthday parties of my life. Making the long four-hour drive to join us were Naida West looking fetching in her 1970s flaring skirt and her husband Bill Geyer looking hale but gaunt after his brush with death. Naida is the author of the magnificent historical California Gold Trilogy.
Also, Terry Goggin former assemblyman and itinerant businessman arrived in his little maroon Porsche fresh from negotiating an oil and gas deal in Louisiana. He looked dapper in his fedora and leather jacket.
Stevie Dall and Norbert with his encyclopedic knowledge of almost everything were there also. The Dalls took a break from working day and night preparing the Mendocino LCP amendments to join us.
Given the intimate knowledge of the last 40 or so years of California politics of the people assembled there, the conversation was fascinating and amusing. The stories ranged from mysterious archeological discoveries in California to the idiosyncrasies and peccadillos of the State’s elected officials.
The next morning after breakfast, I drove back to EDH. I must have taken the long way because this time I counted driving by 15 major redwood groves.
B. NEWS STRAIGHT OR SLIGHTLY BENT:
1. It is not that a libertarian candidate for the Senate in Florida sacrificed a goat and drank its blood that is newsworthy, but that so many Americans still believe in his party’s platform.
( “I’m glad there’s a goat-sacrificing eugenics guy supported by neo-Nazis running for the US Senate in Florida, because we need more diversity in the upper chamber.” Daily Kos))
2. Recently, I heard that some believe that the government is intentionally altering our weather and causing the drought in California. Why the government would want to do this, other than Hillary’s concern Jerry Brown may enter the presidential primary, remains a mystery. I, however, believe it is because the government is angry on account of the failure of Jade Helm to take over Texas.
3. Politics in the United States has ceased to be a forum for deciding how the nation greets the future, but a production value deficient reality show.
Picture, Hillary (the Blond Dreadnaught) and Bernie (the Green Mountain Socialist) stark naked setting off into the jungle to survive for two weeks on insects and paparazzi while Smiling Joe Biden stands ready to rip off his clothing if one of them falls into a vat of public ennui. Or, Carly (the Grim) and The Donald similarly unattired, climbing onto an oil rig in the Gulf to battle each other in an attempt to secure the endorsement of a ravenous horde of crazed billionaire campaign contributors.
Performance has replaced policy. — And, what a week it has been.
Hillary appeared on the comedy show Saturday Night Live lampooning herself and The Donald for being “politicians.” She also proved that she could sing on key. As a result, her poll numbers rose. I expect to see Bernie appear soon along with Louis C.K at his basement stand-up comedy venue in the Village.
The lesser of the lesser Bushes, with precious little to trade with, gamely traded wit with Colbert.
The Donald continued to bring along his own comedy review wherever he goes and still insisting they love him in Mexico. At one performance, he brought up on to the stage perhaps the only Latina in the audience who squealed and jumped up and down waving an American flag while The Donald told the audience that she was his greatest fan and he had never met her before in his life.
Meanwhile Carly the Grim, admitting she has no sense of humor, nevertheless got into the swing of things by promising her supporters that as President she will do for the nation what she did for Hewlett-Packard and Lucent Technologies.
Rubio (Water Boy), performing his usual impression of a deer caught in the headlights, assured the voters that he may or may not do something about something or other.
Not willing to be outdone by his competitors on the national stage, Ted (The Munster) Cruz promised next week to close down the world, perhaps even the universe — a real show stopper.
Lindsey Graham (the Carolina nonpareil), Senator from South Carolina, gave one of the best stand-up performances of the week. When asked, now that his state is under about 10 feet of water and he was looking for federal disaster relief, why did he, a few years ago, vote against the same relief for other states battered by Hurricane Sandy, he responded that he could not remember. A few days later he wowed the crowd by announcing that he now believes climate change is real.
The Brain Surgeon won the weekly hilarity sweepstakes, however, by joking that the victims of the mass murder in Oregon could have done more than simply getting themselves shot. He suggested that if he were there, he would have told the other students, “Hey guys, everybody attack him. He may shoot me, but he cant get us all.” Later in the week, he mentioned that once when he was dining at the Popeye’s Organization he was accosted by a man with the gun. Thinking quickly he responded, “It’s not me you want, it’s the guy over there.” Perhaps we can include pointing to some other guy in the intruder training being taught to school children now. (Remember nuclear war training of 50 years ago when school children were taught to duck under a desk before being immolated in a nuclear attack?) The Brain Surgeon not resting on his laurels followed all this up by quipping that the slaves really had it good. (Did you know according to a study I recall reading somewhere, the highest percentage of psychopaths in any occupation may be among brain surgeons?)
I wonder, shouldn’t we just strip them all naked, drop them in the middle of the Everglades and let them fight their way out through Opa-Locka and downtown Miami, the winner gets the White House? (Vladimir Putin [Vlad the Disrober] asked to join but he was turned down as a professional at stripping naked in public and running around in the woods. He was so upset at the rejection, he decided to bomb Syria. Meanwhile, Merkel’s application languishes while the judges determine if the photographs of her as young woman posing naked at the beach is enough to disqualify her from ever sunbathing again.)
I am convinced that although we might not have a President here, we probably have an Emmy winner.
A. Quigley on Top:
We cannot easily force the multi-dimensional complexities of reality and human experience into a single one-dimensional scale, but, if we are willing to excuse the inevitable distortion arising from an effort to do this, we might range human needs from the bottom to the top, on the levels of (1) physical survival; (2) security; (3).economic needs; (4) sex and reproduction; (5) gregarious needs for companionship and love; (6) the need for meaning and purpose; and (7) the need for explanation of the functioning of the universe. This hierarchy undoubtedly reflects the fact that man’s nature itself is a hierarchy, corresponding to his hierarchy of needs, although we usually conceal the hierarchical nature of man by polarizing it into some kind of dualistic system, such as mind and body, or, perhaps, by dividing it into the three levels of body, emotions, and intellect.
The inability of most of us to distinguish between what is necessary and what is important is another example of the way in which one’s immediate personal experience, and especially the narrow and limited character of most personal experience, distorts one’s vision of reality. For necessary things are only important when they are lacking, and are quickly forgotten when they are in adequate supply. Certainly the most basic of human needs are those required for man’s continued physical survival and, of those, the most constantly needed is oxygen. Yet we almost never think of this, simply because it is almost never lacking. Yet cut off our supply of oxygen, even for a few seconds, and oxygen becomes the most important thing in the world. The same is true of the other parameters of our physical survival such as space and time. They are always necessary, but they become important only when we do not have them. This is true, for example, of food and water. It is equally true of security, for security is almost as closely related to mere physical survival as oxygen, food, or water.
The less concrete human needs, such as those for explanation or companionship are, on the other hand, less necessary (at least for mere survival) but are always important, whether we have them or lack them. In fact, the scale of human needs as we have hinted a moment ago, forms a hierarchy seven or eight levels high, ranging from the more concrete to the less con-crete (and thus more abstract) aspects of reality.
In general terms, we might say that the hierarchy of human needs, reflecting the hierarchy of human nature, is also a hierarchy ranging from necessary needs to important needs. The same range seems to reflect the evolutionary development of man, from a merely animal origin, through a gregarious ape-like creature, to the more rational and autonomous creature of human history. In his range of needs, reflecting thus both his past evolution and his complex nature, are a bundle of survivals from that evolutionary process. The same 4 range is also a kind of hierarchy from necessary things (associated more closely with his original animal nature) to important things (associated more closely with his more human nature). In this range the need for security, which is the one that concerns us now, is one of the more fundamental and is, thus, closer to the necessity end of the scale. This means that it is a constant need but is important only when we do not have it (or believe we do not have it).
Two basic facts about human life as we see it being lived everywhere. These are:
(1) Each individual is an independent person with a will of his own and capable of making his own decisions; and
(2) Most human needs can be satisfied only by cooperation with other persons.
The interaction of these two fundamental facts forms the basis for most social problems.
But there are almost no needs, beyond those for space, time, oxygen, and physiological elimination, which can be satisfied by man in isolation. The great mass of human needs, especially those important ones which make men distinctively human, can be satisfied only through cooperative relationships with other humans. As a consequence, it is imperative that men work out patterns of relationships on a cooperative basis which will minimize the conflicts of individual wills and allow their cooperative needs to be satisfied. From these customary cooperative relationships emerge the organizational features of the community of men which are the fundamental units of social living.
Weapons Systems and Political Stability.
B. Xander’s Perceptions:
Could be worse. It could’ve been “Veni vidi VD:” “I came; I saw I had VD.” At least you came, though.
As for me, my life has been a work in progress; it seems, though, that the workers have been on strike a lot of the time.
I’ve always told my kids that I wanted a funny epitaph — you know, something on the order of “I TOLD you guys I was hurting!” or “Guess my home planet couldn’t beam me up in time,” or some such smart-ass things. But they’d look at me and say, “Epitaph??? We’re not burying you — we’re just dumping you on a steep curve in the forest.”
I would either prefer doing the “bake and shake” method of disposal, and Ian and Kristen can decide between themselves who gets stuck with the urn, or if I ever have a spare 10 large (as if THAT is ever going to happen), I’d love to have my ashes turned into a diamond. It would give literal meaning to being the family jewels. But Kristen balked at that, saying she thought it is gross, wearing your dead Dad in a necklace or ring.
That would be one flawed gemstone!
The best idea would be for them to just stick it in my rock collection display with the other pure elements on the shelf dedicated to those — I already have sulfur; carbon in the form of coal, graphite, and diamond (but there’s no such thing as too many diamonds!); bismuth, with its cool skeletal “hopper crystal” form; iron and nickel in the form of a meteorite; gold; copper; mercury; silicon; aluminum (well, foil — ores like bauxite are lumps of dirt); lead; and one or two others I’m sure I’m forgetting.
I won’t have any way of knowing, mind you. But self-delusion can be good sometimes.
C. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:
“You can tell a country or a civilization is in decline when wealth becomes more important than accomplishment, bankers more revered than scholars and children fear for their lives in school.”
D. Today’s Poem:
Excerpt from John Ashford’s poem, “Daffy Duck in Hollywood”
Just now a magnetic storm hung in the swatch of sky
Over the Fudds’ garage, reducing it–drastically–
To the aura of a plumbago-blue log cabin on
A Gadsden Purchase commemorative cover.
Suddenly all is Loathing.
I agree with Ashford, “Suddenly all is Loathing.”
“You’re wasting your time, and I don’t want you to waste mine. In the clown car that is the Republican Party, she’s the ultimate clown.”
Todd Bartlem, Carly Fiorina’s first husband’s response to a request by the press for an interview.