I was looking at a “On this day in history” timeline. Joan of Arc executed. Andrew Jackson’s duel. First Indy 500. Babe Ruth’s last baseball game.
Seems like May 30th is a good day to make history. Carpe diem.
Us
Can there be us, if I can’t see what you see, and you don’t hear what I hear, and you fear what might be, while I strive for what could be, and you worry about what could be, while I worry about what might be, and we can’t understand what the other understands, and the present and the past are broken mirrors of success and failure?
Longings
I hate myself on days like this.
I confess, I have longings.
Some are very simple and basic. Many will claim them as impractical and idealistic, even absurd.
Like, I have longings to be young again, and to have a nice cup of coffee with a pastry or donuts without worries about its healthiness or origins, longings to walk around, preferably on a warm, pleasant beach, smiling and nodding in friendliness to other people, who simply nod and smile back in friendliness.
I have longings for success, comfort, happiness, fun, and security in all its forms.
I have longings for freedom, equality, liberty and justice.
I’ll bet those longings are shared with many others.
I bet many people on the right and left share these longings.
I bet many politicians and CEOs share these longings, along with teachers, minorities, refugees, shoppers, consumers, teenagers, the elderly, the rich and the poor.
The nut is in the details of how we get satisfy these longings.
When the United States was founded, it was another step as part of a long walk to satisfy these longings, and the founders walked on the backs of many others. We’re shocked, angry and dismayed by their declaration that all men are created equal even while they were stealing land others already lived upon, deciding women are less deserving, and so are people who were slaves, because slaves were slaves; they were property. That was a compromise. A good one? Hell, no, I hear some shout. We’re still arguing it. It was a different era, with different values, views and principles.
I have sisters and friends who wish the protests going on in the U.S. to be over because, well, the elections are over, and isn’t that what this is all about? They have longings for a happier, more relaxed life.
But the protests and elections are part of a process. Both are symptoms of desires and larger arguments about what is right and wrong, and whether freedom, liberty and equality is even possible for everyone. Aren’t we humans simply animals at the heart of the matter, and shouldn’t it be that the strongest shall rule and take what is theirs by right of strength and power, whether it’s physical or intellectual prowess, military force, or the power of our gods?
These are arguments about longings and principles, perceptions, hopes, dreams, emotions and frustrations, resentments, hostilities and dreams that go back to separations derived from where we live, what we speak, our differences and similarities, all the way back to the most basic and fundamental questions of why we’re here, how we came to be here, and what we want to become.
I hate myself on days like this because I have longings. I want to go write. I want to enjoy my comfortable routine of writing fiction, dreaming of breaking out, working toward the horizon that I’ve created for myself to keep myself going while staving off bitterness, weariness and depression.
Some will read this and remark to their screens to me through their screen, you are a self-indulgent idiot.
I can’t argue that I’m not. I know too well the limits of my talents, intelligence and abilities. I tell myself that if I try harder and persist, promising myself, “I can do better,” and that, if I do, I can overcome my shortcomings.
Which is what these longings are all about, really. You understand.
And I hate myself on days like this, because others have longings, and I think of myself as one person but part of a larger body trying to make a difference. So I set aside my personal longings to take up the longings of others, those longings that were there long before I was born as an American, and march for what we believe is right against an agenda that we believe is wrong.
History will not judge us. History is written by the winners. It’ll be the winners who judge us. If we lose, we’ll probably be forgotten. Hell, if we win, we’ll probably be forgotten as well.
That’s the nature of being part of a larger longing.
The March Yesterday
The southern Oregon’s women march was yesterday, January 21st, 2017.
I participated by being there and walking, trying to be supportive of women and others worried about their rights and freedom. Because, sorry, when I fought for freedom and equality, it included everyone. There were and are no buts, exceptions, exclusions, or doubts. Also, the Trump agenda seems to be releasing a chaos of hatred, bigotry and sexism, things that I endured in my youth, crap that we were moving past. I don’t want to move ‘back’ to anything; I want to keep moving forward as a world, taking everyone with us to a better existence for everyone. Call me idealistic or romantic, but I grew up on science fiction shows and literature in which we did find a better future. So blame popular culture for creating me.
Besides that, I worry about anyone who begins talking about ‘alternate facts’. As a writer, I call that fiction. It’s all right as fiction, but it doesn’t do anyone any good when it’s our government using ‘alternate facts’.
I was expecting about two thousand people at our Ashland march. I was off.
About eight thousand people, according to the Ashland police, participated in the march in Ashland, population about twenty grand. (Now I’m reading that the Ashland police estimated that it was fifteen thousand, and that traffic was backed up onto the Interstate with cars trying to get into town.) People came from other parts of southern Oregon and northern California to participate. I didn’t witness anything hateful, just determination about rights, equality and justice. Although the temperature nudged to just forty-eight F when the clouds parted enough for the sun, and it rained, the march had an exuberant, energetic, positive aura.
Some call it a protest, but I call it an assemblage and an exercising of civic rights, even civic duties. If we do not agree with the politics, practices and policies of our elected officials at any level, we should be determined and brave enough to voice our differences without resorting to violence or being fearful of retributions. Changes rarely begin at our highest echelons of society, government and finance. Those levels usually have the most to lose in a change of the status quo. Change typically begins with grass root movements as people raise their voices and state their concerns and insist on change.
So raise your voice, no matter where you reside on the spectrum, or who you believe to be right and wrong. Let’s debate these questions with the civility they deserve. As one citizen to another, as one human to another, I ask that you not be hateful about this, and that you don’t resort to violence and name-calling. I ask that you use facts, and not any alternatives. The United States and other democracies remain a great experiment. There will be setbacks, detours, and red herrings, but let’s keep moving it forward, and give other generations a chance to continue this great experiment.
Cheers
Remember…?
Tulipmania struck the civilized world in the sixteen hundreds. Do you remember that?
Do you remember when sock hops were really big in America?
Remember, “Longer, lower, wider?” That was often a new American car’s greatest advertising claim. One of the cars that bucked against that trend was the American Motors Rambler. Surely you recall it. You must remember the Corvair, right?
Do you remember drive-in theaters, or movies that cost fifty cents to see? Do you know what it means to drop a dime and why we say that?
How ’bout Pacman and Ms. Pacman? Do those games set off any memory chimes?
Do you remember ‘big hair’ and Members Only jackets? What about eight-track cassette decks?
I know you must remember 45s and LPs. What of Child’s Place and Children’s Palace do you remember?
Did you have a Walkman? Do you now, or did you ever, own a Beta Max, or a VHS player? Do you now, or did you ever, own a Polaroid Land Camera, an eight millimeter projector, or an Instamatic Camera?
Do you remember erector sets and Lincoln logs? Are you familiar with Silly Putty, Super Balls and pet rocks? Perhaps, instead, you knew Hula Hoops.
Do you remember the Teapot Dome scandal, or the Keating Five, and Enron?
Perhaps you’re familiar with ESSO.
Do you remember G.C. Murphy? Man, we loved going to the mall and shopping at that five and dime, where we could buy sub sandwiches for a dollar.
What about S.S. Kreske’s? Remember when they became K-Mart, and remember when Sears bought K-Mart?
Remember when Craftsman Tools was part of Sears, Roebuck and Company, and their mail order catalogs? Sears, Roebuck and Company became Sears, and Sears is selling Craftsman Tools to Black and Decker.
And remember the U.S.S.R., and the Berlin Wall?
I’m just curious about what you remember, and what will be remembered in this age of selfies, Walmart, iPhones, Costco, Sam’s Club, Google, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest. Remember Netscape Navigator, or Mosaic?
Do you remember Yahoo? Because Yahoo will be Altaba once Verizon completes its purchase of Yahoo. Speaking of which, do you remember MCI?
I wonder, how long will we remember Altaba?
Today’s Theme Music
Sometimes the theme music is about trying to influence my mood, reflect a more general mood, or capture a sentiment. Today, pining for the end of 2016 and commencing the countdown to 2017, I turned to Bruce Hornsby and the Range and ‘The Way it Is’, 1986.
I selected it because he sings, “Some things will never change.” He alludes to judgments based on appearance, beggars and the unemployed, and people’s callousness. “That’s just the way it is.”
I’m one that doesn’t believe that’s just the way it is, and things will never change. I’m not a student of history but I enjoy reading history. I know of other times when matters were worse for many in almost every term we can think of to phrase it.
But that’s not how it stayed. People hunted medical solutions to reduce and eradicate disease, or sough technological advances to benefit our planet and civilization, economic improvements for all classes in all societies, or pushed for freedom and equality for all without regard to how they, as individuals, differ or conform with anyone else.
I am one that believes that if we c0ntinue developing and articulating visions of a better world, we will achieve such visions of better lives for everyone. I turn to Bruce and the Range because that’s what one stanza states:
That’s just the way it isI
Some things will never change
That’s just the way it is
But don’t you believe them
Yeah, I don’t believe them. Things will change.
For the better.
“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
Today’s Theme Music
It’s an ordinary winter Sunday in an extraordinary year.
The statement causes a reflexive gaze across history at all the extraordinary years in recorded history. The statement requires adjustment to put me more accurately upon the spectrum of what I know and have experienced. I ‘know’ a sliver of American history and a granule of western history. I need to context ‘know’ because I ‘know’ what was often taught in books as fact and knowledge. Much was later revealed to be false or misleading, part of a paean to the victors who wrote or interpreted the history.
We could take a swing at our Christmas practices, beginning with the time of year that we celebrate and the pagan rituals we practice, processes adopted to encourage people to be Christians. Or we can take a deep dive into how Jesus is often portrayed as a blue-eyed white man with brown hair compared to the image of a dark-haired brown man forensic scientists put forth early last year.
‘For those accustomed to traditional Sunday school portraits of Jesus, the sculpture of the dark and swarthy Middle Eastern man that emerges from Neave’s laboratory is a reminder of the roots of their faith. “The fact that he probably looked a great deal more like a darker-skinned Semite than westerners are used to seeing him pictured is a reminder of his universality,” says Charles D. Hackett, director of Episcopal studies at the Candler School of Theology in Atlanta. “And [it is] a reminder of our tendency to sinfully appropriate him in the service of our cultural values.”
‘Neave emphasizes that his re-creation is simply that of an adult man who lived in the same place and at the same time as Jesus. As might well be expected, not everyone agrees.’
~ Mike Fillon, ‘The Real Face of Jesus’, Popular Mechanics, January 23rd, 2015
It all leaves me a little ‘Unsteady’. The song is a repetition of many of the same words but I like it. Hold onto me and sing along with the X Ambassadors’ song from 2015.
At least it’s more recent than most of my theme music.
These Days
These days are like and unlike other days. Days are like people and snowflakes, so similar on quick glances and shallows assessments but unique under study.
These days are wearying, grinds with the same sense of repetition and routine found in many livelihoods. That it is my choice mitigates some of my complaints but add some bitter flavoring in acknowledgement, this is the culmination of my efforts, dreams, thoughts, planning and decisions. Passing people working in the thirty-two degree sunshine, I know I have it fortunate but I still complain. Complaining seems to be my essence but I’m solidly stolid and stoic in my demeanor. Yes, I readily smile to address the world and otherwise seem affable. Under this is a worn and brittle sense that I’m hanging on. I don’t know what I’m hanging on to, for or why; I sense that’s pretty normal and a large part of our standard quest to learn why we’re here.
These days of wars, lies and misinformation are actually much like many days of other eras. There is always contention between classes, nations, parties and individuals about humanity’s course and about what should be done, with more and less callousness extended toward the general human condition, and more and less need for some to be powerful, wealthy and worshiped. These days, we’re not really sure what’s going to happen next but these days aren’t much different from other days. Our children are no longer practicing duck and cover at school so they can survive nuclear, biological and chemical attacks as so many children did in the 1950s in America. We have that going for us, these days, although the weapons and capabilities remain, ready for release when orders are given, codes are verified and buttons are pressed.
These days I take a deep breath and mount the stairs to the coffee shop. I find a table and set up shop. Order my drink and banter with the baristas. I collect story points and scenes in my mind, bringing up the things I thought in bed last night, in the shower, and during the drive and the walk today. Scenes gain momentum in my consciousness.
These days, I question myself, is this how others write? Bob Mustin offered a series of posts about Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize. In the series conclusion today, Mustin included the text of Dylan’s speech and a video of the US Ambassador to Sweden making the speech. Bob Dylan thought about and expressed what such an honor means, but more, Dylan wrote about his early hopes and expectations. He just wanted someone to hear him and get enough reward to do more of the same. As Dylan does and did, he gathers insights and neatly sums them up: that’s all we want, to find what we want to do and gain enough reward and recognition to carry on. Everything else is an unexpected benefit.
It’s a good grounding reminder. We don’t know what the future will bring. We can expend energy projecting and forecasting, striving to understand every nuance of nature and events to ensure we’re as prepared as possible, but we just don’t know what will come. We don’t know what dreams will be fulfilled, nor where we’ll fail. We can only decide to try and press on.
These days, it’s helpful as encouragement to keep going. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. You never know what will come of it.
Not in these days.
Michael Seidel, writer 