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Friday, September 29, 2006
a royal surprise...
Yesterday, everything was boring. It was all the same. Every day was a drudgery of sameness. Then I came home, and there was, in our living room, another parcel from England from the lovely and generous Marmitetoasty! I already felt better because I was coming home to my little family, but when I saw that, I felt better to my very bones.
We ate the scrummies, looked at the pressies, and read the book to the boys as one of their bedtime stories. Then we saw the Hampshire Chronicle (serving Hampshire since 1772). We saw that there was a Property section. We grabbed it and went to bed to dream about living in England in one of many thatched roofed cottages for sale in the Hampshire countryside.
Then I read the Parish Council newsletter. Great stuff. Trying to figure out their meeting schedule on the back page was hilarious, and had me imagining the council members themselves having this same difficulty:
"Is this Planning Wednesday or Asset Wednesday'?"
"This is Asset Wednesday."
'No, no, no, no.. I thought Asset Wednesday came after Treasury Tuesday?"
"Only on the third Wednesday after the second frost in October."
"So when is Planning Wednesday again?"
"After the next Asset Tuesday, we have another Planning Thursday. That's when we'll decide when the next Planning Wednesday is."
"No, no, no, no, no...that's only if we have three frosts in a row and the geese have left the pond at Lyttle Downs."
"Quite true. If we have three frosts in a row, and the geese have left the pond at Lyttle Downs, then we'll have another Treasury Tuesday before the Planning Wednesday."
"Well, that's sorted then."
It's unfair really. And maybe a little cruel. Looking at all these things, especially reading the Parish Council newsletter, it all makes me want to live there. To be there. To stand in the village centre and try to figure out when, exactly, the next public council meeting is, and what is going to be discussed. I want to sit in my back garden in a lounge chair, a right proper tea on the table beside me, and discuss with the Vicar all this 'Garden Grabbing' that's going on, and how it can be stopped. I also want to add my own thoughts to the Village Design Statement (the VDS).
I want to be there. I want to live there. But first, I'd have to have a job there, which is next to impossible, but not completely impossible. Maybe someday.
Thank you again Marmitetoasty. You are a treasure among people, and a credit to your country.
"...but we would find another way. We are industrious, and intelligent. We would find another source of energy to keep our world going."
"Of course you would. You are very cleaver little monkeys."
"Are we no more special than monkeys then?"
"Yes, you are. You are special, but you haven't discovered that gift yet. You still cling to your industry, your internet, your epic pace and your anger and hate."
"Our industry helps us survive."
"Of course it does, now. You depend on it."
"You want us to go back then? To the way it was?"
"No. Just to remember that when your industry destroys what matters, you are destroying yourselves."
"...and what if this planet of yours could no longer support plant life? What then everyman?"
It was a pleasant voice, but it came out of nowhere. Like a schitzophrenic, I stood, transfixed and listened to the disembodied voice in my head.
"Then we would die. All of us."
"...and what would happen if there was no more oil?"
"It would be hard, and many of us would perish, but we would survive."
"Never lose sight, then, of what is more important. You have everything you need on this planet to survive, without the wonders that you have built, or the machines that you need to get from one place to another. Were all those machines to go away, you would still live, were all else to go away, you would die."
All I know is that her boy had been making some bad choices. He was nineteen and because of his bad choices was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing. But to her, he was still her child, her innocent child. To her his face was the same face that looked up at her covered in chocolate frosting so many birthday parties before. This was the same face that looked up at her in fear when bad dreams came. It was the same face that looked up at her as he fed from her bosom. He was her baby.
I've discussed, occasionally, why it is that we seem to mourn the deaths of children more than the deaths of adults. It seems to me that the answer is simple, innocence. Adults have had their chance at life. Adults know the evil that lurks within themselves. Adults have lost their innocence and while we feel pain at their passing, we say things like "what an inspiration their life was" or "what a full and active life they had." For children, words come harder. For children cut down in the happiness and innocence of youth, the pain just seems greater for us all.
But when is the age of innocence past? The boy remembered by this balloon release was nineteen. Innocent? Hardly. Adult? No, not that either. For his mother, he was still a child. Her child. For some, we are always children, and the pain never goes away.
I wish this poor mother peace as she remembers watching the soul of her son fly away on the wings of a hundred balloons on this, his "would-have-been" twentieth birthday. I wish her peace, comfort, and the ability to move on.
Dream it up, little dreamers. Live this life with laughter in waterfalls. Live now while you still know how to fly.
Dream it up and think of this world as perfect, as loving, as peaceful, untouched by monsters and devils. Live it up now, because in one wink of an eye, we live and we die.
This world shines even brighter with you in it, all of you. Live happy, live now, find your reason and be. Capture the warmth of happiness and bottle it up and when the winter winds howl around your mind's house, open that bottled joy and watch as it flows around the room in a rainbow of colors and laughter.
Growing up, respect the planet. See the light of the new day in your future. A future of peace, of harmony, of oneness, don't be afraid.
Every street I walk down, every one I talk to I'm afraid I love them all, but for different reasons. Every grand old building from a time of visions Every single song, every syncopation.
Must be something that makes me feel right at home.
Every act of mercy, every word of kindness Every time I find out, love is blind Every time a smile breaks out from a grumpy face, I remember there's hope, and it all amazes me.
Must be something that makes me feel right at home. Must be something that makes me feel that I'm not alone.
Eat it up, this colorful time of year, this Indian Summer of dreams.
Every time we give, but not for selfish reasons Every time a flower blooms in the desert Every time a politician is telling the truth
Give it away, your peace and happiness, your kindness, your loving nature, hide the rest. Put the rest away and bury it as far away as you can. Humanity isn't perfect, in fact it may very well be flawed, but keep hope nonetheless. We're almost there, to that beginning of the newest era, that place beyond hate. It may feel overwhelming now, this darkness that's growing, but shine even brighter. Push back the darkness on either side. Throw away the partisans, the jingoists, the presidents and kings and dictators. Throw them to their own devices and replace them with pure, white, clean, fresh, hopefulness.
I missed my workout today, but for a good reason. I went and had lunch with our oldest son at his school. There were enough other adults that I wasn't quite as afraid of stepping on or sitting on any little people as I was when he was in kindergarten. Still, it was a treacherous and noisy place. Did you know that they give kids milk in "blister packs" now? Yeah, I was like "What? How does this work?" My son had to enlighten me. I made a bigger mess trying to puncture the bag than he did. I was amazed.
The burger was ok. The watermelon cold and juicy, but the food wasn't the point, was it? Afterward, my son showed us his locker. I didn't get a locker until I was in junior high. I've never heard of a first grader having a locker, but he shares one with another boy.
Overall, we've been pleased with my son's school and pleased with his teachers. His kindergarten teacher was exceptional, and his first grade teacher seems like she's very dedicated. She's personable, friendly, and seems to really love and care for the kids in her care. I'm glad he's 'looping' with her and will have her again for second grade.
Finch Elementary is one of the few Schools in the Spokane area that hasn't seen major upgrades in some time, but it seems that they're still doing well with what they have, even with the increasing number of children. Last year they had two first grade classes, this year, four. I expect they'll continue to grow, and will need major expansion soon.
Someone is going to England, and it's not us. Someone is going to that homeland that I've adopted (if they'll have me, that is), but it's not me. Someone else will get to enjoy the villages, the countryside, the cottage gardens, and the tea. Someone else.
But for us our someday is always much later, sometime in the future. No bacon butties or proper English fry-ups for breakfast any time soon. No marmite soldiers suitable for dunking, no builder's tea, no custard tarts. That's all for someone else now, and for us in the distant future. Someday, someday, someday.
It's always easier when it's written down, at least for me. I am a chameleon, I've always been this way. Wanting one thing and living another. Living one way and being another. Looking this way and being that. Having this and wanting that.
It's me. It's really the way I am.
People cringe and move away. Nobody likes it when I'm this way, when I'm that way. They like it when I'm one of my others. People ridicule and scorn, and harshly say things that I'm not sure they mean. My heart slides off my sleeve and lands in the dark mud of despair. I shouldn't wear it out there, unprotected and easily molested.
I've always been afraid of myself. Self conscious, people call it. I call it fear. Pure and simple. I feel too much, infer too much, project too much intent on to others. I think the worst before I think the best. But I admire those who do otherwise. Those innocents who see the good all around...in the people they meet. It comes through in the words they say, the things they write. For me, it's hard. I know it shouldn't be, but it is.
I am dried up lately. Nothing comes. No thoughts any deeper than here is another day. But maybe that's the deepest thought ever. Maybe seeing each day as another day, a day given, is grand, deep, mysterious. Each day I see the eyes of my children as I drive away and I die a little inside. Each morning I kiss my wife goodbye, and a part of me stays with her. I go off, alone, into the cruel and unforgiving world that's been created around my little slice of paradise. I see the same things every day. Do the same things. See the same people. Have the same concerns. The same, the same, the same...days drift into months and into years. Year's blend into decades of the same. Nothing more grand outside my home, away from my paradise, ever speaks to me.
I talk to the mountains, and they do not respond. I listen to the trees, and they whisper only of the silent passage of time. I look to the sky and it only presents me with naked infinity. But then I think of Max, and I think he was right when he said:
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Ok, this one I've shared before also...but hey, I'm just getting stuff on YouTube for now. Have fun with this little college film. It's weird...and by 'weird,' I mean 'RUN AWAWY!'
It's old. It's dated. It's a silent movie. It was done in 1993, and isn't very well done. But hey, I got an A in the film class it was for, and got an A for this film, which was my Final Exam.
So, well, there you go. I think I presented it here some time ago, but now I've put it up on YouTube, which is easier for a broader audience to view.
This, my wonderful readers, is the origin of the Toad.
Me: Hey man, I saw the funniest movie over the weekend
Co-worker: Yeah? What was it?
Me: Terminator 3
Co-worker: You know, it wasn't originally billed as a comedy
Me: Are you sure?
Testosterone. Maybe that's the reason. This film was rank with it. After the film was over, I had to spray down the room because it was starting to smell like the men's locker room in a Gold's Gym. I dutifully wiped down my Video player after the film was over, since the case for the video tape warned me that I should wipe down players after use.
Men love explosions. Well, let me rephrase that. Many men love explosions. I have to say that I am a fan of action and pyrotechnics, to a mild extent. I'm sure this is a function of how much testosterone I produce. However, my acceptance of a little fire on screen, and the total massive destruction of an unused industrial district in south LA doesn't seem to extend to plot holes. Writers get into trouble when they write about things they do not understand.
Time travel is tricky, if not for the verb tense problems alone. The idea of robots from the future, and all the paradoxes that are produced therein, is rife with temporal issues. Add to this, the problem of Skynet. We find out in this installment of this Arnold classic that Skynet is "software." Oh.. uh.. ok. What was it before? Macaroni?
Fundamental misunderstandings.
Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day declares "I'm in." My response is, "in what?" The only thing fitting here is that he is able to destroy an entire alien computer network with a Macintosh laptop. THIS, my friends, is completely plausible.
Back to Arnold and his gang.
We find that Skynet, the software, has "assumed self awareness." This is the only time in human history that being self aware is thought of as a programming error. This realization seems to have come way too late in the human experience.
This "software in cyberspace" is "reprogramming itself." This is an amazing feat, and begs several questions, the simplest of which is "what editor does it use to accomplish this?" Emacs? Vi? Is it, perhaps, written in Perl? PhP? Java? Or does Skynet decide to go with something older and more reliable and harder for humans to understand like C++ (heh), Assembly, or even Fortran? No, because we're dealing with robots, and artificial intelligence, we're not privy to this knowledge, and the questions remain unanswered.
But this is dumb, right? I'm picking apart a simple action genre film that should have no deeper meaning than "Dude, that was cool." Therefore, I'll leave you with what I've written. Robots from the future? Machines taking over the world? What a stretch, right? It'll never happen.
Good morning all, and excuse me while I help my son program his Lego Mindstorms Robot to cook dinner and level New Hampshire, at the same time.
in memoriam, remembrances, a very special edition of...
Humans remember. We remember big events, sad events, happy events, emotional events. This is relatively new for us. We somehow feel, that in our remembrance, the thing remembered will stay real, stay with us, and be with us forever.
We're mistaken, though, unfortunately. How many of us remember the names of the Navy soldiers who were killed at Pearl harbor? Not many. But we still remember the event. It graces our children's history books, though for many of us we cannot say where we were when it happened, because we weren't alive yet.
It was just another morning, really. I had a pager. My pager at the time was a company pager that was able to receive text messages. I had subscribed that pager to the new cnn.com email alert list some months before, just for fun. I was dressed for the day, it was about 7:30am. I was sitting at the breakfast table with my wife and my one and a half year old. When my pager went off, vibrating on my hip, I didn't think anything other than "work already?" When I saw the message, I was confused. My first thought was that someone in a small single engine plane had done something dumb. As I was driving to work, another four pages came, each with more detail, and the picture became more clear. I was in the habit of driving to work in silence in those days, no music, no news, just alone with my thoughts.
When I arrived, the television in the break room was on, and I got my first vision of what I had suspected was going on. I sat next to my friend, who was already there, and we silently watched the television off and on for the rest of the day. After the second tower fell, I went back to my office and sat in silence.
We are a species of ceremony. We remember. We use history in order to keep from repeating it. But we often re-enact and re-live moments that are better left remembered in solitude.
"If we live our lives continually motivated by anger and hatred, even our physical health deteriorates."
-His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Some days are harder than all the rest. Some nights you don't sleep well, you toss, turn, your body aching and uncomfortable for unknown reasons. Some days your bodily complaints overwhelm you and those closest to you suffer the brunt of your tension, your pain. You're temper is short, you are irritable, you just want everyone to leave you alone in your misery.
I read on another blog today the saying "Nothing outside a man can make him unclean by going into him. Rather, it is what comes out of a man that makes him unclean." What is said when one is having a bad day, carries the pain of your own bad day and forces it on others. That is unclean.
This morning I was short tempered at the breakfast table. This morning I was irritable toward my wife. I regret this deeply. I am in pain and I'm tired from a bad night's sleep. The stress of work is an additional irritant, one that's not likely to go away very soon. I'll do my best to keep myself from becoming unclean, though I've already soiled myself some. I'll do what I can to keep from forcing my own pain and anguish on others by what I say, and how I act. Wish me luck.
With summer officially over, and a new schedule in place at our home due to school, I find myself stumbling over words and things to say here. I've found, however, that others are not having this same problem. Scott has posted a couple of wonderful pieces over the past few days. His words are thought provoking and meaningful, and I find myself with little to say about them. I've always respected Scott's writing.
Bobness has had some good posts over the past couple of days also. Some funny, and today's, introspective. I like how he can switch from ranting and raving to calm, introspective and poetic without a warning. I respect his writing more and more.
New kid on the block, Rick (Observations of Earth) has surprised the heck out of me with a few of his posts. It's rare when a new blogger comes on this strong so early on. Today's post was funny, yesterday's was poignant, and a post called My Mona Lisa, brought tears to my eyes with it's powerful vision of Rick's time in Bosnia.
All of these writers have stunned me this week. But I am easily stunned. I am easily taken to feeling emotion. This is sometimes a weakness, and sometimes a strength. I'm not sure what it is in this case. And so I walk through the garden of other people's words, and muse and think. Each has their own special scent, their own special colour and shape. But I've grown to love them all.
When you're lost in the darkness of a cocoon, remember... There is no such thing as black and total darkness in your garden There's no such night that's cold and solely starless Look inside, you'll find it glowing in the dark Seed of life, the mouth of evil couldn't chew that spark tonight,
Lyrics - The Flower Kings - Flower Power - Garden of Dreams: There's No Such Night
Summer is officially over at our house. Today, school starts, and our oldest goes to first grade.
It was fitting that on our last weekend, we enjoyed a Baseball game for the first time, with our two little boys. Our oldest was enthralled with the game, and this surprised me. He's usually one for video games and action packed adventures, but he really enjoyed watching the baseball game. He enjoyed it so much that he never wanted to help me do any of the running back and forth to the concession stand to get various foodstuffs. Our youngest had fun also, but he was more excited about the team's (the Spokane Indians) mascot, Otto.
After today, things will change. The weather will slowly cool over the coming weeks, rain will come, clouds, and the academic year will begin. The boys of summer will go into hiding until next year. This summer, this wonderful eventful and fun summer, will be just a happy memory.
