Done Before

“Everything’s been done before” Louis Armstrong laments in an old song. A refrain often heard about ambition not long ago. Then the song slyly adds “when I’m with you, I just want to do, what’s been done before .”

There is confusion today. In terms of being human, it more or less remains true that not only has everything been done before, but it is being done right now by hundreds or even millions of others. How can anyone possibly be unique? We remain anonymous molecules in the sea. Only a fortunate few can escape .

The second part is even more challenging, because in many ways we can never do what’s been done before. The habits and societies of our ancestors are gone forever. We hardly recognize the social patterns of mere decades past. We may cheer, we may regret, but we cannot recreate.

Historians lecture it’s been that way for a while now, since maybe the Renaissance, for sure during the industrial revolution. Okay, change is normal. But the accelerating asymptotic rate of change is worrisome, possibly destructive .

Can civilization survive? Many dystopian writers and filmmakers say no. Of course, the collapse of active civilizations has also – too often – been done before .

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. 

Age: 11

When I retired in my mid-60s, I spent a little time considering what I wanted to do and how I wanted to live for the next 20 years or so. Surprisingly, the answer came down to existing as I did when eleven years old. Even stripped of nostalgia, that was a golden time . I bestrode the earth as a miniaturized colossus. I thought I knew everything, I was quite independent but freed of all the real cares of supporting myself and daily existence . I had a secure place in my family and the world .

Every day – every instant – was new and exciting. I had no desire to return to nor even remember my past. I fully believed the future would be ever more marvelous. There was always something new and wonderful to explore. I had almost no responsibilities, carefree .

All my senses were magnificent, my body tuned. My mind unafflicted. Even hormones still well under control. Energy limitless, sleep effortless. A perfect animal supporting a pristine consciousness .

Thus my desire to do all I could to return to such an existence. Much as living in the garden of Eden, an earthly paradise. Forget about what I could not control, enjoy each moment, assume the future is unknowable. 

Out of control. Loving every minute .

Sanity

Darwin and Einstein are often blamed for the “relativity” crisis of modern culture. In the absence of absolutes, what is right or wrong? How can there be morality, or even sanity, if “anything goes”?

The problem of course, is ancient, as exemplified by the saying “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”. Yet our priests and philosophers still keep searching for the true eternal underlying values that they are certain must exist .

Leaving aside morality, sanity does mostly involve fitting into and surviving or thriving in your situation. And that surely varies a great deal. A Viking berserker might seem sane in 900 CE Sweden, but would be judged crazy in 2025 Times Square. A stubborn pacifist would be in a nearly opposite situation.

As far as sanity itself goes, perhaps there is a Darwinian twist. Sanity simply means continued species survival and reproduction. Perhaps not that simple – warrior army ants hardly care about their own survival while defending the queen in the nest .

Humans are more complicated than anything. For us, the continuance of ourselves within our culture may define sanity, but we easily imagine alternative patterns which we consider better. If those are pursued, we will be judged insane unless the rest of the culture changes its collective mind .

Relative, indeed. 

Fine Art

The world of art is filled with nebulous definitions. “Art” itself is an act, an object, a concept and perhaps more. “Professional” artists earn money and are expected to produce highly skilled astounding work, but some artists considered great – like Van Gogh – never sold a painting. And on this continuum cloud is the designation “fine art” .

In the monetary collector’s world, “fine” has become synonymous with “rare” or even “unique”. To a connoisseur, “fine” implies degrees of difficulty and craftsmanship invisible to most of us. The vast crowd of amateurs more or less need to trust museums and scholarly essays to weed the wonderful from the trash. Lately, that seems to be failing .

I’ve pretty much given up. I like to think that what I create as a hobby is on the borderline of “fine art”, but certainly not as fine as a Michelangelo statue. On the other hand Klee and Basquiat are ranked highly and I would not bother having either hanging on my walls. I can’t even experience some forms of fine art very well – food, dance, film, and areas of music. It’s a big bouillabaisse of all kinds of stuff, junk for some, treasure for others .

I guess what I’m getting at is that “fine”, like many other terms (evil, good, right, proper) has lost common meaning in our culture until things stabilize a lot more .

Humble

These days, it is quite easy to feel as a god. We eat well, speed along without effort faster than birds, know everything at the flick of a screen, control vast powers. We think we are pretty close to omniscient and omnipotent. Well – compared to the past, at least, we are .

So we tend to take ourselves very seriously. What we do or don’t do must shake the cosmos. Every emotion must be huge and deep and meaningful. Our successes are tributes to our glory, our failures are – someone else’s fault .

Humble is no longer in most vocabularies. As a contrarian, I cultivate it. I do not feel in control. Kind of a god? Yeah I can’t escape that. Important? Responsible for my divinity? Nope. Just damn lucky to have been born into my time and situation. Fortunate to have adapted well . Certainly enjoying the experience. But always very aware that I hardly “deserved” or “worked for” most of it .

Sure, I’m moderately proud of who I am and what I have done. That’s it. I fight hubris tooth and nail. I simply pray that things will continue. I’m a leaf swirling down the stream, but an ecstatically happy leaf.

I know everyone is stressed, often rightfully. I wish they could step back and take a deep breath. But – hey! I’m just humble old me, so nobody listens .

Quasi Resolutions

Quasi Resolutions

Resolutions, so rarely kept, are out of fashion.  Perhaps merely tendencies to encourage.

  • Try to keep blog essays short and focused, choosing topics that are personal and do not dwell too much on ephemeral social rants.
  • Continue to expose old and new artwork.  New creations center on local scenes, based on old and new outdoor sketches.
  • Expand corners of my website as notions bloom.  Maybe things like a video of working methodology, extracts of old journal entries, photos of sketches.

Never forget that this is done to enhance my “real life” and never to interfere with my enchantment each moment.

2026 Methodology

Future posting methodology follows that of the last year:

  • Essays are written longhand several months ahead on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and are edited before they are posted.  
  • Essays and recent local cellphone photos are posted to WordPress blog on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, to Facebook on Monday, and a summary list of the week to Bluesky on Friday.
  • Artworks previously posted over the last two years are reposted on WordPress and Bluesky each Tuesday.
  • Previously unposted artworks are selected for WordPress, Facebook, and Bluesky on Thursday.
  • All artwork postings also show media, year created, and size (length by width in inches), with any accompanying text written on the picture.
  • Please visit the WordPress blog (https://weeklyobservations.blog/), and my website (https://sites.google.com/view/cabinetofvanities) which contains a catalog of all artwork, various biographical essays, and links to several books I have either self published or provide as digital documents.

Morning Celebration

There have been many periods in my life when there was little time in the morning for more than getting myself up and out the door. Since I’ve retired I can act a bit more like the rich folks I read about in the Wall Street Journal and make an effort to consciously slow down, celebrate, and appreciate my life so far, my exact moment, and the day to come .

We all have certain habits and rituals. I’ve tried to make mine as joyful and profound as possible. Not quite mindless meditation, more like letting my mind idle and expand my sensory awareness .

Coffee helps. My real trick has turned out to be (as advised by many others) to practice conscious breathing. Not for hours or even minutes. But a few deep breaths or controlled exhalations or simply a heartfelt sigh can do wonders. It sometimes broadens my outlook entirely .

Fear of missing out has become a great burden of modern life. “What am I missing?” “How will I ever get anything done?” “Oh no, what now?” A conscious breath also helps me fully reset my sense of time, which in turn allows me to contemplate my universe in less frantic ways .

So, a bowl of cereal. Deep sigh. Ah _