Live Your Own Life

Fall                                      Waxing Blood Moon

“There is only one success – to be able to spend your life in your own way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it.” – Christopher Morley

It’s not the only success, but it’s sure right up there with love and family.  Self-direction has always been at or near the top of my list and I’ve been lucky enough to find significant folks, Kate especially, who’ve honored the way I choose to live my life.

Long ago, before college, I decided I would never do anything that violated my own values.  Never was a young man’s word, but the spirit of that vow has guided me well enough for over 45 years.  Have I violated my own values?  Of course, I have.  Life happens.  The essence of that commitment though is what Morley says, the ability to spend life in my own way.  That means accepting the consequences, bad and good.

Sad news tonight.  My aunt Barbara, my mother’s sister, had one child, Melissa.  Barbara suffered from bipolar disorder and spent most of her life in state hospitals.  She had a run of stable years during which she gave birth to Melissa.  That was 40 years ago.  Melissa died a a couple of days ago.  She had re-entered family life only recently, we didn’t know where she was, so I did not know her well, but she was a first cousin and the first of us to die.  There were 12 of us, now there are 11.

She leaves behind a son, John, and husband, Paul.  Her mother’s life was difficult from the very beginning and my sense from the brief contact I had with her is that Melissa’s life was not easy either.

Fall Clean-up

Fall                                         Waxing Blood Moon

Out in the garden this morning taking down plants that have finished their labors.  Large cruciform vegetable plants grew from the seeds I started inside, but they never developed any fruits.  They’re in the compost now.  All the tomato vines save one have come down.  The last tomato harvest went inside today, too.  A few straggling yellow and orange tomatoes and a cluster of green tomatoes for a last fried green tomatoes.

A new crop of lettuce, beets and beans are well underway, lending an air of spring to the dying garden.  While examiningdieback091 carrots I have in the ground awaiting the frost, I discovered golden raspberries large as my thumb.  A real treat at this late stage in the year.  They await the vanilla ice cream I’m going to buy when I go to the grocery store.

The 49 degree weather made doing these choirs a pleasure.  Odd as it may seem, I like the fall clean-up part of gardening as well as I do any other part, perhaps a little bit more.  Most of these plants I started as seeds in February, March or April and they have matured under my care, borne their fruits and run through their life cycle.  From some of them I have collected seeds to plant for next year.  The clean up then represents a completion that goes one step beyond the harvest.  It honors these living entities by caring for their spent forms in the most full way possible:  helping them return their remaining nutrients back to the soil.  I want no less for myself.

Got a new toaster and a new ladder in the mail yesterday from Amazon.  Boy, shopping has changed.  I rarely go to a big box store anymore, once in a while to Best Buy to check out DVD’s or for some computer accessory.  I still go to hardware stores and grocery stores, the things you need weekly or right now or fresh, but everything else I buy online.

The bee guy, Mark Nordeen, had to cancel again today.  His wife, Kate’s colleague, got kicked in the head by her brand new black mare.  E.R. and a concussion later she’s home off work.  Guess I’m gonna have to figure out how to over winter my bees all by myself.

Kate the Earth Mother

Fall                                         Waxing Blood Moon

Kate made pasta sauce(s) from our tomatoes.  She also made an eggplant (ours) parmesan that we had with one of her sauces along with a toss salad of our tomatoes, basil and mozzarella.  Pretty tasty.  Kate has preserved, conserved, cooked and sewed on her two days off.  In this environment where her movement does not have to (literally) bend to her work her back and neck don’t flare as much.

After the 40 mph wind gusts I went out and walked the perimeter again, checking for downed limbs.  Just a few stray branches, none big.  I did find an insulator where the rope had pulled away.   I used the insulator itself and plastic case to nudge the  hot wire back into place.  The fence does its job, but it requires constant surveillance.  Fortunately, the energizer has an led that flashes while the fence is hot.  That makes checking on the juice much easier.

Friend and Woolly Bill Schmidt said he enjoyed the fence saga from his apartment.  He said he spent many nights, often at 2 am, shooing cows back in the field.  Electric fences are part of farming and he had many helpful hints.  He didn’t seem nostalgic for installing or maintaining a fence.

Both grandkids are sick.  Jon and Jen face the dilemma of all working parents, how to handle sick kids and work.  This is never easy and can create unpleasant situations.

I’m grateful for the rain and the cool down.  Cooler weather means plants ratchet down their metabolism so they need less water and food.  It’s time for that.  The rain helps our new shrubs and trees.   They’ve got the rest of the fall to settle in and get their roots spread out in their new homes.

A Win

Fall                           Waxing Blood Moon

Oh my.  With 2 seconds left on the game clock, Favre hits Ray Lewis in the end zone for a touch-down.  That put the Vikes ahead by 2.  The point after made it 3.  They’re now 3-0, but it was a good game.  Not sure what it says about the quality of the Vikings offense, though the 49ers played very tough defense.  A W as they say is a W.

Vikings Game Day

Fall                             Waxing Blood Moon

The Vikings have not looked great against the 49ers, but they did get started in the first half this time.  A blocked field goal in the closing minutes of the half gave the 49ers the lead.  We’ll get’em in the second half.

Putzing

Fall                               Waxing Blood Moon

More putzy stuff this morning.  Lug the 280 pounds of salt down stairs and put it in the water softener.  Wire up the fencing around the compost bin built from straw bales and create a make-shift gate.  Reset the irrigation clock.

Then the 49ers hit the MetroDome.  My sense is that the Vikings run defense will step up big against Gore, a challenge that will inspire them.  Favre will throw a few longer passes to break up the run blitz and Peterson will have a big day.  Again, he has a challenge because he had the worst game of his young career against the 49ers, 0.2 yards per carry.

A slow day, Sunday.

More on the Humanities

Fall                             Waxing Blood Moon

Walked the fence today, checking for limbs, plants I’d missed.  Sure enough, about a third of the way around a large fallen tree branch pressed against the chain link shorting the fence and creating a hissing, popping sound when nudged.  The air smelt of burnt plastic fibers.  A visit with the chain saw fixed that problem.  Later on I tightened up the rope from a place where it had sagged.  After turning the fence off of course and putting Rigel in her crate.

This fence is a great metaphor, but for what I’ve not yet discerned.

On a topic close to my heart a professor of English for forty years wrote this essay:  The Decline of the English Department. Mr. Chace places yet another shot across the bow of careerism and the practical major while trying to suss out just what went wrong.  He puts his finger on the fragmentation of the humanities into gender, race, media and technology studies as well as the lack of passion for books and the traditional humanities.  In general I appreciate a man who takes responsibility for the dismal thing that has happened and I like Mr. Chace’s posture in this piece.

While I would like to blame the victims, too, the politically wracked departments attempting to right ancient wrongs in scant years by creating university departments, I find it lets off the hook the real culprit.  A relentless scanning of the horizon for opportunities to make money without regard to the social or environmental costs lies at the bottom of this debasement of education.

Crass instrumentalism has invaded every aspect of our lives.   Witness the prosperity gospel.  The growth of the mega-church. The new business orientation of medicine where patients are now consumers and doctors employees.  The rank greed filleted for all to see as the great economic crisis unfolded last fall.  The loose expansion of credit with fine print so dense not even its creators understood it.  Partisan politics make the party a blunt instrument for personal and factional advancement rather than a representative tool for negotiating compromises amongst civilizations conflicting interests.  Professional sports now have contracts in the quarter of a billion dollar range.  Tens of millions are not unusual for catching or throwing a football.  Educators at the elementary and secondary levels now teach to the test, a strategy created to insure that they meet federal standards and that their students pass high stakes tests.

It is this coarsening of the social fabric, gone from a workmanlike denim for the post World War II economy to a scratchy burlap in this age of the derivative, that has led to a pushing aside of any thing that does not promise economic or political gain.

This is not new.  A friend of mine has a neighbor in his condominium who was hired to teach philosophy at West Point.  In the time period before he began teaching a widespread cheating scandal unfolded.  The honor code had no clothes.  Leadership at West Point told him, “We can’t believe it, but we just never thought to teach our students ethics.  You have to put together a group of experts and develop a curriculum.”  Ethics is one of those disciplines that you can be taught, that you can know well, and that will have no affect on you at all unless you have the will to apply it.

It is not enough, in other words, to teach justice and critical thinking and wisdom and equality if there is no social will to honor them.  That social will comes from a shared conversation about our past, about our common destiny and our mutual responsibility.  Instrumental thinking places all the emphasis on results with means receiving attention only as they bend circumstance to the result.  This is a recipe for disaster as any historian, English or philosophy professor can tell you.  It is not new, it is not a new thing under the sun.  Rather it is a lesson learned by Moses when he came down from Mt. Sinai and found even his brother Aaron bowed before the golden calf.

Judgment came then and it will come now.

Estranged

Fall                                   Waxing Blood Moon

Tomato picking and compost bin rebuilding, the bulk of the morning.  To keep our young pups from celebrating life by knocking down the straw bales out of which I designed this compost bin a wire fence now encircles the bales, with an other, shorter wire fencing material for a gate.

The day started chilly, but has warmed up to 69.  It’s one of those fall days when the Andover H.S. Marching Band can be heard carrying pompoms and the thud of padded football players in its wake.  As this sound comes across the fields of vegetables and the cul de sacs between our home the football field, I become at once both younger and older, thrust back to Alexandria High School and Friday night football while by necessity comparing that time with the present.  It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just a bit strange.

Caught episode 1 of a Harvard class on Justice taught by Michael Sandel.  It’s well worth the time.  Sandel’s teaching style combines the Socratic/law school method of hypotheticals with analysis of responses.  The engagement of the students makes it obvious Sandel is a teacher as well as a philosopher.  I only want to comment on one, striking observation he made about philosophy.  “Philosophy,” he said, “is not about something you don’t know; it is about making you look at what you know from the perspective of a stranger.  Philosophy creates an estrangement from our own experience.”  This is so true, as is his follow-on comment that once you gain this insight you cannot go back to the naive state.

Every hour of every day I see my self and the world through the lens of philosophical analysis, the lens fitted over an anthropological  camera body.  The two together make the world a strange and exotic experience at every turn.

Doubt

Fall                               Waxing Blood Moon

Got this comment on my post:  Blood Moon Risin

Gently put, nicely said. Doubt isn’t it’s own reward but I think it’s an honest place to be. As you quote Rilke at the outset – the first stanza of his famous, profound and beautiful “Fall Day” – I’ll offer another Rilke for you.

There’s a story in the collection ‘Stories of God’ that he wrote while working on the ‘Book of Hours’, which most folks consider his better (of the two) work).

Regardless, the story is called, in English, ‘A Tale of Death and a Strange Postscript to it’. In it, a happy couple that have squirelled themselves away from the world, are greeted by death. In their fear they hide from Him, and little by little lose their joy of life.

I love this story because I too am afraid to die. It’s helped me acknowledge and move past that fear.

Keep writing – you do it well –

Regards,

Jack

Jack Beacham
Stories-of-God.com
Jack.Beacham@Stories-of-God.com
98.21.188.5

As Jack intended, I’ve rethought that post, considered it.  Here’s how I see it now.  Doubt is an odd word and I’d never noticed it before this comment.  Doubt sets the conceptual table and has a trick for dessert.  Doubt, defined by the person identifying it in another, says really,  “Oh, I see.  Right now you can’t see the things I see, but if and when things clear up for you, you will see them.”  That is, the  idea of doubt from the position of its identifier defines the doubter using the identifiers terms.  In other words, if I express my sense that there is nothing knowable beyond this life, I’m a doubter.  In fact, all I’m identifying is my sense that this world is all we get.

I get the sense that Jack is a kind and compassionate man. I appreciate his taking the time to respond.

As for me, I understand his doubt about my take on the afterlife.