Of My Time

When we have lunch with our peers, I am reminded of those old Victorian drawing room clubs where retired military and bureaucrat gentlemen would gather and remember their grand old ideas of the empire as it once was. Alas, gone in these topsy turvy modern days. And, of course, all for the worst … 

Now I’m not quite so activistically nostalgic. I’m glad I lived through the times I did and the way I did but the world always changes. Life goes on. Some of it greatly better, some of it not so much. 

I don’t so much resist as ignore. I can leave my cellphone for long stretches, I’m not  constantly reacting to the internet. I take it slow, read, think, look around. I’m fortunate to be able to do so. 

At a slower pace, this civilization remains a wonder to behold. So many marvels we take for granted. So many big issues being handled (like food, electricity) leaving us free to complain about trivia. The human comedy parading before me all the time. 

But when we gather friends for lunch – no, none of that. Everything is bad and getting worse. Bragging and complaints about the family – probably a universal concern since the first hominids invented language. 

I just smile (vacantly?) And feel the sunshine warmth.  

A Tiny Prayer

I do not believe in an anthropomorphic god. I do not trust any holy writings created by humans, however inspired. I reject the mystic core of the dogmas of major religions. 

But I do have a spiritual aspect. I know there is far more to the universe than I can ever know. The only proper feeling is awe and gratefulness for existence. 

I recite this mantra each morning and as I wander through each day: 

Thank you God. Thank you for this time. Thank you for this day. Thank you for all we have been given. 

Thank you for our health. Thank you for our wealth. Thank you for our family.

Help me do what is right. Help me to appreciate everything. Help me to support those I love. 

Thank you for all my life and help me to remember it with gratitude. 

Okay, it’s not mysterious and deep. But it helps me to center, to put things into perspective, and, yes, to give me a spiritual lift. 

Dreams

There are essentially two kinds of dreams. 

The first arrives when we are sleeping. It is often realistic, fantastic, and strange. It’s made up, apparently, of odd bits and pieces of memory, neurons firing chaotically, for all we know influences from an alternate reality as well. Unlike “primitives”, we sophisticated folks dismiss it out of hand (possibly wrongly) as nonsense at worst, entertainment, or possible diagnosis and inspiration from the subconscious. 

The other case is “waking” dreams, when we construct grandiose plans. Imagination provides a more or less possible future filled with wonders, wealth, influence, whatever our hearts currently desire and of which we feel deprived. 

Lately I’ve been very fortunate. My sleep dreams are pleasant and resemble old romantic comedies. My waking dreams tend to be quite congruent with my actual life. It’s a terrific state of being. 

Of course, that does promote laziness. I’m afraid of little, I don’t want more. Ambition is limited to enjoying daily life and appreciating each moment. I’ve become a drone. However, not too much of a guilty drone. I’ve done most of what I wanted to do, accomplished some goals that once seemed impossible, and can still enjoy the nostalgic remembrances of having done so. 

I suppose that means both kinds of dreams are happily safe for a while. 

Sports Government

Forget ancient authors, theories, history. Boring. Nobody cares nor has the time to know. What Americans KNOW is sports. Especially professional sports. Put government rules and explanations in the form of sports and everyone would be happier. 

The federal government is the league, the states and corporations are the teams, the workers are the players, the citizens are the spectators. The talking heads remain as commentators. And, of course, the judges are the refs. Instant replay for laws!

Put in such terms, the first requirement for players is always a strong union. Protect and keep the players well paid and safe, which, we are all beginning to agree, is what most workers in the new AI economy need most. 

How spectators pay for it all is always an issue. So I suppose society becomes like parents, citizens are its “children” and money appears adequately and kind of by magic, rationed a little.

Maybe we all must now truly become as little children. Or, in alternate reference, accept mana from heaven. 

Not hard, the owners are already present. Oligarchs as there were in Rome. Let them vie for glory! An impossible dream …

Or – wait are we already there? 

Mad King Ludwig

Some rulers such as Caligula or Vlad the Impaler are known for their cruelty. Some such as Hitler are remembered as evil. Others such as Louis XIV marked spendthrifts. And then there is mad King Ludwig of Bavaria. 

His fantasy castle is famously the prototype of Disneyland palaces. His fairy tale caricature is as a vain, extravagant, impulsive, out of control sybarite. He did not so much ruin his country as ignore its true needs to pursue his own odd selfish ends. 

Naming no names, America now has its own mad King Ludwig. His court is composed of spineless couriers, who desperately fear that if they fail to please him they will be dismissed into outer darkness. Most of them to remain unemployable or harassed by the law for the rest of their lives. 

The king is fickle. Each day or night brings forth a few new massive directives, often contradictory, often reversed or ignored in a few days. Subjects ignore or laugh at them to their extreme peril. The king cackles into the darkness.

Unlike the old mad king, this one is quite vindictive and easily angered. Perhaps the new castles abuilding will be magnificent, attracting tourists; models for future theme parks. Or the plaster may all crumble away in time and rain, like most of the other directives. 

Nevertheless, it’s surely very entertaining, especially if you are far enough away from the action. 

Rochester NY

Rochester, NY

We just returned from a week-long excursion to Rochester. Our son and his wife recently purchased a small, solid home built before 1900, in “Swillberg”, a city neighborhood once covered by an extensive farm exporting pork via the Erie Canal. 

We visited fairly often since 2000 or so. I’ve always liked Western New York, possibly because of my fascination with American history. There is a lot in the region – Seneca Indians, Dutch colonization, the Erie canal, boom and bust, the heyday of “rust belt”, giants Kodak, Xerox, Bosch and Lomb, all long gone. Current industrial revival based on education, medicine, science, and technology. 

Parts of the city are still in hard times but much is well maintained and recovering well, the near suburbs are thriving. I enjoy small city ambience, which I consider “true America” as much as small town culture. Rural mythology is dead – food is mostly produced by automation and industrial giants. Big cities are a weird global culture unto themselves. 

But places like Rochester are deep America to the core. So much history. Much of it built long ago, layers of prosperity and decline. Parks and sidewalks. The Genesee River and its magnificent falls. And – yes – still the Erie canal. I’m always contented and happy after I’ve refreshed memories there. 

Once again, by the way, I noticed during the (extremely) long drive up from Long Island just how vast and green the state is, almost more wilderness than cultivation. Magnificent and hopeful spaces.