Table-Talk

These six friends all take their current jobs very seriously, as well they should. Why? Perhaps it's wanting to ensure that something they started when they started their own families continues well. But very likely they simply enjoy their work tremendously. To me, that their kids have kids is amazing. That's probably because I am just an observer, but I think they feel it too.

Anyhow, a few nights ago, our after dinner table-talk meandered from antique guns and bootlegged liquor to longevity of ancestors to winter getaway plans to medical insurance rates to the virtues of downsizing to pros and cons of Facebook friending and blogs.

What became apparent to me was that all politics is local, and varied sensibilities aren't  problematic at the kitchen table. This was just one time around one table that I noticed this, but it was not the first time.  Is it the gathering, the meal sharing, the physical proximity, the personal connections that kept us there? At some point we probably each had a felt need for the cushioned couches that were steps away, but  no one sought them and no one left until the hour was late and  the apple crisp a faint memory. 

It is good to have friends, to have time with them. Conversation is naturally on the larger menu when we gather, but the kitchen-table phenomenon distilled again (for me) the "all politics is local" vintage. The problem, the question, lurks: Why is it that we can't all get along? Having the job means doing the job, unless we play just for fun in the sit-down marching band. 

Half Moon Bay, CA - Michael R Ruhland

Binders Full of Women?

The Alpha Male would use them again tonight, those women in the binders. 

Were any of them Alpha Females? Did they detect his desperation? Possibly. 

I notice his plutocratic CEO nastiness surfaced again, probably from force of habit. The "I can do it, I know how to do it, I've been doing it all my life" mantra rang more hollow than ever.  But lust for power over his opponent exposed his inadequate manhood.   Predatory glances and repeated  insistence that history pay attention came to nothing, or less than that for him because he got it wrong, he kamakazied.  It is on the record.

Way back when "castrati" sang the songs of their lords, who knew what they were thinking? Maybe they felt important.  Maybe they felt used.  Or maybe they felt an Alpha Male overcompensated for socio-political impotence.  

Purissima Creek Redwoods, CA - smruhland

The Sky is Falling?

"The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" No. The sky is not falling, but ya gotta stay tuned!

Sometimes there's little comfort in knowing that it takes all kinds, but on second thought, it  does calm me.  It does take all kinds, and the village to raise the child.  Comparing and contrasting serves me well when I pay attention. The bones are all connected. And the eye is not the ear is not the heart is not the hand is not the foot.

Nevertheless, while rejecting the pious propaganda so widely published by those who try to box me in (or out) of their falsely select  block of "believers," I still stifle no small rage at the insult. Efforts to insinuate disbelief are presumptuous and their premise is completely stupid, but it's not the first time that Jesus and the Bible were clung to out of fear or sold like a snake oil remedy. Fire and brimstone, hell and damnation blather?  Easily blown to bits by fairly simple arithmetic: Bible + Jesus = Love.  No doubt about it.  Exclusive, unmerciful,  faith-based politics that denies personal and religious liberty, well, the math is just wrong.

 And it's not rocket science. Staying tuned can be a mixed bag, but what's the worst that could happen? I suppose the sky could fall. And if darkness covers the earth? It never lasts.

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA - smruhland

What's The Matter In Visuals? (Three Samples)

1.  For awhile, on a chilly, gray-clouded yesterday, I caught sight of a drab-capped, blondish, pony-tailed guy paddling downriver.  Red canoe, unbelievably blue paddle.  Another fine picture pushed into my memory bank, even as the imperceptible splash refreshed my bystander guilt and pleasure.

2.  Barely noticing anything else, I first identified the Macarena song track - which elicited the  happy memory of a cousin's wedding. Only then did I follow the smart image sequence which led me to the product. Kudos to the HP madmen/women, who masterminded this pleasantly painless office-jet printer pitch!  They got me dancing, took me boating and caught me happier at the end! Too bad I already have an Epson!

3.  Seriously superb film/TV graphics still make me covetous. Cinematography too.  And  experiencing them I say: 'Yes! I'd sign my name to that in a moment, unabashedly, unhesitatingly, admiringly!' When visual art is excellently visual it speaks for itself. But saying something that way is a difficult and wonderful process, one I am familiar with. I love the uniquely creative gift that selects, skillfully juxtaposes, smartly manipulates and playfully engages me as I have also managed to sometimes do. And even today, I am bouyed at the memory of having favorably impressed a remarkably gifted fellow-artist whose process differed so much from mine. The end-result is crucial, but so is the creative process. I love knowing that. Awareness of everyday art, as well as the fine art of awareness itself, requires no admission nor ticket price. However, without attentive sensibility and a somewhat alert, aesthetic appetite, everything fades to black. That makes living hard. 

Lake Itasca, Itasca State park, MN - smruhland

Shifting

The burden of her struggle and the weight of her pain are, even as I write, shifting onto her nearest, dearest loved ones. The classmate I barely knew, will die in peace, and soon.  She  occupies that space between here and there, a place holy and preliminary. Going through the doorway, she leaves us all behind, waiting for our turn. 

But I want to tell them this is how it works, so they can see and precisely say later on, that she did not suffer at the end. I think it's important for them to know they were the ones to do that, beginning now. They are the ones suffering at her end, and knowing this brings comforting clarity. They take up the task of being brave and uncomplaining even in their confusion and grief. She's done with it now, even though she's still here. I need to tell them I have seen it hundreds of times (even if they disavow actual heroism on their part): the weight of their present grief is her struggle lifted, shifted onto them. 

They do not know me. Why would they listen? Why would I intrude? Professional expertise and spiritual support are better offered directly and in person. So I find this way to assist. Ultimately, I have staked my life on believing that distance cannot prevent my participation in their journey or hers. 

Eyes haven't seen, ears haven't heard, and  wise hearts know they know next to nothing of what is prepared for those who love. Still, we make conjectures, and rely on them more than anyone might guess.  

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland

Furious Winds

Suddenly, furious winds are blowing leaves off trees today, and to the ground they fall, ready to be blown again, or munched and mulched by mowers! Gray clouded sky, when predominant, prompts a sense of foreboding: naked chill of winter again inevitable, alas. 

Nevertheless, on a warmer note, reviewing some thoughts today about what bullys do, I was unexpectedly delighted by a political pundit who highlighted a journalist's analogy (Denver Post, John Ingold, 10/04/12) and then added his own cryptic question.  It went like this: "Like a bull to a matador, Romney time and again turned toward Obama to deliver attacks..."  Then the question: "And what does a matador do to the bull in the end?" 

Perhaps I am abandoning my initial intent to remain apolitical here, perhaps not. What I am definitely unable to do, it seems, is stomach (let alone comprehend) blatant dishonesty. That the madman, shouting in the marketplace, is given any credence at all, baffles me. (Not to mention his/her having any voice or presence there!)  Clearly, there is a problem of differing perceptions. And, of course, grappling with the question of suffering and evil is not unique to me! But often the enormous practical implications of the philosophical and theological questions do preoccupy and alarm me. That's when I inhale all the hope I can, study to regain perspective on exactly "what" politics is and isn't, and remind myself that narcissism, mendacity and greed for power have been in the picture ever since the first humans walked the gardens of earth.  

Ever since the first Fall, winds have blown and leaves have been munched and mulched. Now the mowers make a less organic and more disturbing noise.  But the din of that noise teaches: it is good, necessary and POSSIBLE to re-orchestrate the sound and the fury!  Every major belief system has shown us ways.  No need to reinvent the wheel on this, even though it sometimes sort of feels that way. 

And so I say: shalom, hallelujah, amen.

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland