Social Dinner

People can adjust almost infinitely to social expectations. On the other hand, I tend to cling to activities that please me, especially in daily life. This leads to minor conflicts with my wife – she enjoys social dinners, I hate them .

Oh, she has good reasons. It expands our horizons, makes times special. Gets us out of our shells, cements friendships. Interesting relevant conversations. And, of course, a feeling of doing something rewarding .

Me – I’m a curmudgeon. The food is not good, the costs are high, I can’t hear well. What we discuss is dull and repetitious. I don’t like being served. I’d much rather be reading or taking a walk .

We manage to get along. Go out less than she would prefer, more than I would. I can’t honestly say I “hate” the experience anymore than she “hates” staying home .

No doubt, most of our outlook in things like this is driven by how we were raised and how we lived our lives. Neither of our childhoods – although wonderful – were particularly affluent. Especially in “eating out” at upscale places. Nor did we have much money to waste during most of our lives. We enjoyed fast food with our kids when (once upon a time) it was inexpensive .

Now, I suppose, we could afford better.

As in many other areas of life, we muddle along in compromise, happy and grumpy, it is, after all, quite meaningless .

Joy

In my same moments, I simply rejoice in being conscious and aware. A perfect enchanted unity. I reject the artificial division of body and mind, and the still more degraded notion of defining mind as logic. Down that useless path wanders the progress of AI .

We need not celebrate life itself so much as awareness. True awareness, of course, is built on life. An organism that is aware in any sense possesses consciousness. Without running off to deeper metaphysics, I find my own consciousness the ultimate glory of all I am .

Logic, after all, is a barren brittle construct. The joy in solving a puzzle has nothing inherently logical about it. The joy is an awareness of having achieved a solution .

My heresy is to claim that awareness – enabling that joy – requires life, requires a body. Whatever we’ve constructed without life will lack that. No joy. No awareness. No consciousness. Logic will exist, but never the actual exuberance of being .

I have a short “objective” window of existence as measured in years, although my subjective time feels infinite. During that opportunity, I joyfully seize the world and myself in the universe .

I pity those unaware of their own precious gift.

Science has value, as does logic, but that value is hardly logical. Without resort to dry ancient or futuristic metaphysics, I am free to expand into infinity.

Inheritance

Children are strongly molded during childhood. Families try to make them fit into society, society encourages them to do so responsibly, then tries to further shape them to (or break the mold if it is bad) as a child grows to adulthood .

All well and good. Childhoods are as varied as families, and within reason that is probably healthy for the culture. “Within reason”, especially with regard to wealth and opportunity, is usually the sticking point. The basic dynamics are pretty clear. For children to celebrate their family background is normal and healthy, as is – sometimes – loathing it. As adults we know the importance of our early influences. We can be proud, or dismayed, can continue the connections or break them .

What I never understood was believing that one’s parents’ deeds counted as worth for any individual. Much less so those of grandparents and beyond. We now have a wave of folks who put on the mantle of ancestors and claim they deserve its status .

Beyond a few generations we are all one pool, genetically and culturally. I do not care if your genes somehow connect to Genghis Khan, Lucrezia Borgia, or Sitting Bull. You alone are responsible for you today. You have no right to claim special treatment because of what presumed ancestors did (even if most of that was simply arriving here before others) .

It’s a stupid, lazy, sloppy, and destructive arrogance, understandable in these times of identity crisis, but helpful to no one and nothing .

Legal Childhood

“Childhood” as we know it is a fairly recent invention. Not long ago, many kids would die before the age of five or six and were treated as favored pets. By the age of seven they were often used as near-slaves doing chores for the tribe, family farm, or industry. After twelve or so they were considered fully functioning adults _ married, working, or grittily apprenticed to a future career .

As the European industrial revolution progressed, “childhood” became redefined. Age definitions were gradually raised, partly because of horrendous working conditions, partly from increased middle class wealth and health, partly from a desire to keep youth out of the competitive workforce. The teenager was invented .

Now the plain fact is that in historical terms, “teenager” is a crazy concept. Most 13-year-olds have always been young adults. Our legal conception of teenagers as children is indefensible.

Admittedly, teenagers and young adults are confused, have a lot to learn, and are not wise (so unlike older adults.) But we should remember that throughout the tens of thousands of years of the existence of our species, the average lifespan was 40 or less. A 16-year-old was in the prime of life .

We should adjust. As all parents have learned, treating a teenager as a “child” is doomed to failure. Laws which attempt to do the same are not merely wrong, but also immoral.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was the first holiday I “gave up” when I moved out of my boyhood home. I was often far away, relatively poor, and the hassle was just too great. Joan never considered it all that wonderful either – as a good Catholic her big holidays are Christmas and Easter .

As we raised our family we attended or occasionally hosted the gathering. Joan did it as a duty. I never enjoyed it much, probably because I always had to work the day after. And to be honest, I’ve had experience with too much alcohol, arguing, and pent up stress from everyone involved .

But this year much subdued. We spent the afternoon at my son’s house with his in-laws and our grandchild. The old folks pretty quiet, often remembering all those now missing. The younger people simply relaxing since they each also had to work the next morning .

Each day now is thanksgiving for me. I cannot believe my luck. I am fully enchanted in my magic bubble. I know it cannot last – but as the moments unfold I remain grateful for each one. I’ve already lived a fulfilled life twice as long as most of those of our ancestors. I’ve used and been treated to miracles unimaginable to them. Any complaints I may have would make them laugh in scorn.

Thus thanks. Giving thanks. Another thanksgiving day.

Elder Myth

Most of us understand our lives as a narrative story. Elders tend to form that into a mythology. Like any good literature, the best exaggerate the highs and lows and often have a structure with a moral. Grandparents especially enjoy inflicting this on their young grandchildren. Or at anyone else when there is a holiday gathering. It’s a way of making a mark on the universe, claiming an importance almost as meaningful as in tales of heroes of old .

Nor is it wrong to do so. There is more to existence than daily meals and bedtime. Formulating one’s place in eternal mystery is important to all of us. And once in a while it is nice to share – even proclaim – that adventure .

Unlike many others, I do not think such tales actually help the young in their own lives. Life and circumstance were always unique, and the days change at a dizzying speed. At best this is just another form of entertainment with the added benefit of being (mostly) true .

Oh, perhaps there is some moral value. But really it helps everyone share and join internal narratives to feel far less lonely in the ineffable cosmos.

Crude

I was raised in a fairly middling environment. Certainly not poverty nor even “salt of the Earth”, but not high end aristocratic. As I matured, I lost most ambitions of pretentiousness in my quotidian pleasures. I call it my crude peasant outlook .

For example, I enjoy a good steak. I do not go into purple prose ecstasy over exactly how wonderful it is – subtle flavors, tenderness, whatever. I find sauces and garnishes excessive. It’s just a good steak, another fine meal .

Most of the world I read about now seems to have passed me by. Pretentiousness reigns supreme. The “right things” are so much better. Handbags, salads, shoes, schools, cars, swimming pools … The internet sorts it all out for you to aid your expensive tastes .

I don’t pretend I like awful stuff. A dinner of peas and gruel is not enjoyable. Ratty clothes are terrible. But the level of relatively common, useful, and affordable stuff is quite high. And I try to appreciate it .

All in all, I find my crude peasant world a land of luxury and enchantment. I rarely envy all those others who mostly seem to scurry about hoping others will notice and envy them. That pretentiousness seems a terrible waste of our human gift of existence .

Risk/Reward

Anyone can anecdotally give good reasons for never using an automobile. High on the list is a possibility of a deadly accident, examples of which abound. And yet, in this culture just about everyone uses a car all the time. Math has little to do with it. Nor do the horrible examples of mangled bodies. “Common sense” tells us that in spite of possible danger, it is far more useful to go places in a vehicle than to stay home. Unfortunately, such “common sense” is in short supply in other areas of our lives involving risk/reward .

Actually, anyone closely involved in a fatal accident either involving themselves or someone close to them wants to blame someone. The car manufacturer, road maintenance, whatever. And they rush about telling one and all about what must be done, maybe avoid cars at all cost .

That isn’t effective with stuff people are very familiar with. True “common sense” kicks in.

But in areas that are less well or less easily understood, anecdotes seem to rule. Medicines, laws, even right or wrong. Too esoteric to be easily understood. ” I know a man who …”, “I had a cousin who…”,” once I was …”.

All true. All irrelevant. When people try to make risk zero, as any entrepreneur can explain, reward vanishes .

Too Complicated

Our grandchild in fourth grade is being subjected to the “new math” curriculum. It is supposedly to encourage “curiosity about math”, and by implication the world .

I spent a little time teaching young children. In my opinion, the primary purpose of elementary school is socialization. Immersing children in the social mythology and tribal culture which they will grow into. That’s why I have always thought “homeschooling” was bad, because it missed that point and in many cases isolated kids from their future normality .

Learning at elementary levels should not be designed to “evoke curiosity”. Young humans are born curious. Nor are many children nor parents destined to become mathematicians. They simply want to use rote math facts and formulas in a complex world. No real need to “understand” why 2 + 2 = 4 – it just does! And that is useful at the grocery store .

Putting professional mathematicians – or professionals of any other academic subject – in charge of elementary curriculums was insane and wrong .

It is destroying what was once a noble pillar of our common culture.

Coda

July 4th was a family gathering, senior generations, young adults, grandchildren. As the younger folks spoke of ambitions, hassles, fears and the future, the elders reminisced about what had been and how magically much of life had happened .

Then the party ended and we elders went back to whatever normal lives we each inhabit. And I realized that in this culture – at least for the more fortunate – old age is a kind of coda on reality .

Finally we are free of admonitions about what to do, what we must do, especially what we are supposed to do. Mostly the young – even as they love us dearly – want us to stay out of the way as they race along their narrow paths .

Earlier, that was somewhat frustrating, as we were used to racing ourselves. But sometime in our late ’70s, life truly slows into rocking chair time at least for stretches of our days, however much we may regret it .

And what we learned at the party was to pull out the old memories and nostalgia and personal tales, since it is as raconteurs that the young treasure us most .