The Common Experience

Imbolc                                                  Waning Wild Moon

“The one common experience of all humanity is the challenge of problems.” – R. Buckminster Fuller

I’ve had a lot of our common experience today.  Both of my computers have gone mute.  The Gateway, on which I’m writing my novel and doing art history research, I don’t mind.  This one, though, on which I listen to music from Folk Alley, Skype with the grandkids and watch videos on many websites, well, I do mind.

I spent several hours today under the hood of this device, trying this, trying that.  I don’t know.  My main speaker doesn’t show any electricity getting to it, but I’ve checked all the connections.  Frak, as they would say on Galactica.  Part way Geek but not far enough.  But enough about my common experience, Bucky.

We’ve had a run of weather that has not suggested much in the way of commentary for my weatherblog on the Star-Trib weatherwatcher site.  High pressure has kept us stable and reasonably warm.  Not a bad thing, even, perhaps, a good thing, since evaporation without rapid melting reduces the chance of flooding in the Red River Valley.

Kate has got her sewing machine humming, churning out princess regalia for the soon-to-be 4 queen in waiting of Pontiac Street.  She bought 4, 4, tiara’s for Ruth today.  A couple of cute outfits for the Gabester’s 2nd birthday, they’re both April babies, and a new shower head completed her longest shopping excursion since her back surgery.  She’s feeling a lot better, more stamina.  More sass.

Shopping

Imbolc                                            Waning Wild Moon

Watched The Hurt Locker.  It comes to mind this morning because Saturday is grocery shopping here at chez Ellis/Olson.  After spending a full rotation in Iraq as a fearless and emotionally committed bomb tech, the lead character rotates back to the mainland. The scene that takes us back to the states with him opens with him pushing a grocery cart down a frozen foods aisle.

The shift from the sandy, hot precincts of Iraq to a modern US grocery store jars on several levels.   The first is visual.  The glass is clean, the chrome gleaming, the banks of freezers stretching out quite a distance.  The second is aural, no bombs going off, no screaming civilians, no rumbling trucks, no blare of heavy metal music.  The third is the juxtaposition of this  bomb-suit wearing, in danger of dying, hard-drinking, rock and roll blasting, Staff Sergeant William James with the ordered gleam of American food retailing.

His wife comes by with his son, “Get some cereal and I’ll meet you at the checkout.”

He leaves frozen foods and goes into the cereal aisle.  Told to get some cereal he confronts another well-ordered aisle, this one with boxes upon boxes of varied types of grains made into breakfast food.  His confusion and inability to make a decision contrast sharply with his demeanor in the war zone where life becomes stripped down and, though often life or death, the decisions are more straight forward and apparently easier to make.

I have a very mild sense of this every time I go to a grocery store.  It comes from traveling in 3rd world countries and seeing the chaotic, but often much more interesting mercados and street merchandising there mixed in with the desperate poverty that makes the range of choice available to us enough to cause the kind of confusion and lack of decisiveness expressed by Staff Sergeant William James in the Hurt Locker.

Pyrrho of Elis

Imbolc                                          Waning Wild Moon

OK.  So I’m listening to the history of Western Philosophy on the way into the museum today.  The lecturer starts going on about Pyrrho of Elis.  I thought.  Cool.  Not only is the name of his hometown near my own, he was the originator of radical skepticism, which boils down to my own philosophical position.

Not only those two interesting things, but I also found this interesting note:

Elis was the only city that built a temple to Hades in one of its precincts. The Eleans were the only one to worship him. The construction was built after Heracles’ war against Neleus in Pylos. Only once a year, the doors to the temple of Hades would open, but no one would enter the temple except the priests.

So, here’s a nod to a philosophical ancestor, pictured here.  And to his hometown of Elis and to the temple of Hades built there.