Sunday By Way Of Monday

Sunday (that ran into Monday) thoughts:

I've been thinking big thoughts on long roads, quiet mornings and lawn mowers. It used to be locomotive seats but now I'm an aging retiree with more time to click the keys and get it down before it gets lost in the shuffle. I'm waxing philosophical is suppose but I've heard old men are allowed to do that.

So I wonder sometimes who I wound up being after all these years. Who or what would I rather be? What should I be? Or not be? I've spent a lot of run-time under my receding hairline on it. It's good exercise for more than my quads and calves.

It occurs to me that perhaps it's too easy for people like us to think of the world as filled with who and what we aren't instead of who we are.

What if Instead of thinking 'I'm not' something, what would happen if more believed in 'I'm' this?

In a good way. Without being angry at someone. Without worrying about the cost. If it's worth a try, I'll go first:

I'm equality. I'm compassion. I'm empathy. I'm inclusion. I'm women's rights. I'm Muslim. I'm an immigrant. I'm LGBTQ+. I'm ANTIFA. I'm BLM. I'm First Americans. I'm an asylum seeker. I'm my neighbors. I'm Trans. I'm SNAP. I'm addiction. I'm a single parent. I'm jobless. I'm homeless. I'm hungry. I'm disabled. I'm alone.

I'm vaccinated. I'm mental health. I'm universal healthcare. I'm safe food. I'm science.

I'm a living wage. I'm fair taxes. I'm mail-in voting. I'm prison reform. I'm public education. I'm school lunches. I'm all of The Constitution. I'm accountability.

I'm an American.

I'm a million small things that make "E pluribus unum". I'm disagreement. I'm argument. I'm debate. I'm a roaring opinion. I'm imperfection. I'm always trying again. I'm wanting better ahead. I'm remembering the past. I'm not leaving.

“I think, therefore I am” said Descartes. I would paraphrase it a little...'I am' is therefore what makes us think.

Sweating and Fear

I've been thinking. I know. Usually bad.

I rode 60 miles recently which is the farthest I've ridden on the old Trek 2.1 in more than five years. 

I love that bike. We've been a long, long way together. I used to ride it when things were awful. Each pedal push up a big hill was stomping at fear and anger. But it led to calm.

We rode the Tour and scouted a million miles of routes too. I could peel off a century almost at will for a few years but slowed considerably when my work schedule changed and then along came prostate cancer. My mileage dropped to 35 on a good day. The blue bike hung in the garage a lot but I figured we'd get re-acquainted once I retired. Last I knew, it had about 40,000 miles on it. And the anger is gone.

So now it's about getting my legs back and letting the endorphins work. It's time to reflect as the tires sing hymns in the 'Church Of Everlasting Asphalt'. I don't want to get all Zen about it but there's a lot to be gained when you only have to think about Sur la Plaque and Rule #5. 

https://www.velominati.com/the-rules/#credit-4

Which leads me back to what I was thinking about.

I'm sure it's not original but I've always tried to reach my own conclusions from what I've seen and learned. So in keeping with that, I've been trying to work my way through why everyone is so angry. Particularly among members of a brand of nationalism and current political influence.

It's been a nagging puzzle to me since it burst on the scene out of the wreckage of the Tea Party and the Moral Majority. I just can't see the logic in in it (probably because there really isn't that much) but I think I can see where it takes root. 

At it's most fundamental level, I firmly believe the anger is based almost completely on fear. The hatred and the brutality comes later and is strongly related but at the heart of it all, in the 'dark night of the soul', there is fear. 

Of the unknown, of the unseen, of what is incomprehensible, of not belonging, of diversity, of others unlike or unliked. Somewhere under the chest thumping, flag waving, casual cruelty and poisonous patriotism there lies a person who's in some way afraid.

Fear makes people see shadows in the corners. If someone is thinking all the time of all the terrible things that might happen in every Walmart parking lot, public restroom, classroom, place of worship or someone else's bedroom, that's what fear delivers. Darkness and dread even in sunny places. The thing is, you can usually find what you're looking for if you squint just right and have been told over and over what it is you're looking at.

- Even if you're not looking down at a skinny front tire somewhere in Speedsville with sweat in your eyes and a cramp in your calf, think about it. 

I figure it's easier to be afraid first than to try to understand too. And it's very easy to fear what you do not understand. We evolved that way. Understanding or even a desire to understand just drowns in the adrenalin response. Hate fills the vacuum and cruelty masks the emptiness. But deep down that little nugget of dread is at the heart of it all.

I can hear the screaming in protest already but slow the roll and think for a moment. There's a seed of an idea that an entire movement and it's flagbearer is afraid of something or someone.

Stick with me. If you recall, it began with name calling. Insults and swearing became the language. 'Cucks' were anyone not on the in. 'Sheeple', 'Libbies' etc. You remember the forwards and the speeches that came to include 'losers', 'shithole countries', 'lefty scum', 'narco-terrorists' which have now evolved into 'commies', 'ANTIFA' and on and on and on. It's how people who are afraid try hard not to appear so. If you yell loud enough, maybe someone will be afraid of you. Of course, the subjects of the fear come and go but the roots and the harvest are always the same.

I suggest that even people who said they held their nose and went with the program because of a single issue also did so because they were afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid that their issue would get voted down. Afraid that someone might get something they didn't. Afraid that what was so very important to them maybe wasn't so much for others so damn the consequences, this is the only option.

Single issue people who said they knew about the downsides but went along anyway were just scared. I remember arguing with folks early in the game. "They're going to come for our guns". Obama, Biden, Hochul, Harris. Everybody was coming. Fearing a shadowy someone who would break into their house in the night and take, millions armed and stocked. I heard it over and over, "I'm gonna protect my family" spoken in true cowboy style. Or the ever popular, "Nobody is taking what's mine" and my favorite, "Molon labe" 

Who was coming or taking wasn't the point. It's 'them' and they are everywhere. The anger is fear dressed up as courage and whistling loudly in the dark where the monsters hide.

But nobody came for the guns. The 'slippery slope' of regulation to inevitable confiscation never even blipped on the radar. Sales and ownership of firearms skyrocketed. Gun violence is still with us. Nothing happened except fear.

- Sidetracked by the reality of a bee momentarily stuck in my ear (luckily not long enough to unload a sting), I managed to distract myself from the discomfort of saddle sores by cheek-shifting on the saddle and cogitating further.

"I'm against abortions" is another common theme which is certainly a valid and moral position which I will not debate today but again, a single issue that overwhelmed every other immoral position associated with it. 

They were afraid. Fearing God's judgement, fearing what the congregation would think if they said otherwise, scared of falling off the self-proclaimed high ground. Afraid that a baby would not be born. And often unwilling to consider the consequences. But at the end, abortion is not gone. It's actually on the upswing and women's health, safety and rights have been damaged if not destroyed. 

- I'm now down to much lower gears. My neck and shoulder are now on fire and the wind is relentless. I want to know who puts down new pavement that has more bumps than the old State Street bricks. Why is it always so far home after the last turn? Is 'The Man With The Hammer' sneaking up on me? Think deep thoughts and push on.

Many more fear 'the others'. Other races. Other religions. Other cultures. I know many, many people who are seriously afraid of immigrants. They will deny that they are afraid. Loudly and sometimes violently but if you think logically, what else could it be? Even a superficial surf fails to validate the horrors quoted except in highly publicized and infrequent events. The fear inducers in power have instilled a powerful belief that immigrants and even children of immigrants are taking something from 'us' and literally millions of people are afraid because of it. 

- Ah...the end is in sight. My own fear is that I'll collapse in a mound of cramps and nausea before the driveway. The gorilla is not yet tired though so we continue to wrestle. The last mile is too bright and glittery which means I'm nearly used up. Keep putting one down then the other.

So at last, with the Trek firmly in her spot back in the garage and my sweaty self finally breathing without sounding like I've been digging a ditch by hand at 10,000 ft. without oxygen, the final touch goes on the thinking for the day.

What to do? A quote from Frank Herbert's wonderful sci-fi novel 'Dune' comes to mind. It's called 'The Litany Against Fear' and is used to clear the mind when you're afraid and focus instead on what happens after:

"I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain"

I can't offer much except that I hope against hope that even a few of the fearful would find a way to see past it. I've learned something from long, sometimes awful experience that knowing where to look for them is the first step over many barriers. 

Facing the idea that fear drives much, maybe there's ways we can find to live without it.

Running Silently

A couple days ago, I splurged 4 bucks and rented one of my old favorite movies...'Silent Running'.

It's from 1972 and starred Bruce Dern as a biologist/astronaut in charge of one of the last remaining forests from a sterilized Earth. Whole ecosystems are stored in huge domes on cargo ships orbiting near Saturn against the day humans might want them back.
Spoiler...they don't.

I almost think I remember seeing it in a theatre ages ago although at the time, I can't imagine who would have taken me since in '72 I wasn't driving yet.

I always liked it. Not sure why but it meant something. It's sad but makes a simple point. And even after 54 years, it's still relevant. I think that makes it a good movie.

I've also long been hooked on Joan Baez's song from it, 'Rejoice In The Sun' written by Peter Schickele and Diane Lampert.

It's a haunting thing that still gives me goosebumps sometimes.

"Fields of children running wild
In the sun
Like a forest is your child, growing wild
In the sun
Doomed in his innocence
In the sun

Gather your children to your side
In the sun
Tell them all they love will die
Tell them why
In the Sun

Tell them it's not too late
Cultivate, one by one
Tell them to harvest and rejoice
In the sun"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkF05D-NJMU...

I guess I'm just hopelessly sentimental. I don't know that that's a bad thing either.

It's maybe a little strange that one of my favorite songs from the Wayback is by 'Mike + The Mechanics' and also titled 'Silent Running (On Dangerous Ground)' written by Ba Robertson/Michael Rutherford.

It's another kind of spacey sort of thing that appeals to me both in sound and lyrics. Why? Who knows. It just does and there's always that sentimental streak again.

"Take the children and yourself
And hide out in the cellar
By now the fighting will be close at hand
Don't believe the church and state
And everything they tell you
Believe in me, I'm with the high command

(Chorus)

Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?

There's a gun and ammunition
Just inside the doorway
Use it only in emergency
Better you should pray to God
The Father and the Spirit
Will guide you and protect from up here

(Chorus)

Swear allegiance to the flag
Whatever flag they offer
Never hint at what you really feel
Teach the children quietly
For some day sons and daughters

Will rise up and fight while we stood still

(Chorus) X 2

(Can you hear me running) hear me running babe?
(Can you hear me running) hear me running?
Calling you, calling you"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i17mgRK3GX8

Running silent but at least not on empty.

Back To Port Huron

 I went to visit an old friend yesterday. 

Kellie and I made a jaunt to Canandaigua, NY for an event I used to go to with my Dad, "The Steam Show". 

It was something he always liked. Lines and lines of antique tractors, stationary engines, steamers, you name it. He'd poke at this one or that one and chat with guys in pinstripe coveralls for hours. 

It was much smaller (as was I) back then but I remember very well the smell of coal smoke, steam whistles wailing, hit and miss engines popping, sawmills buzzing on the end of a 50 foot belt, threshing machines flailing along, a parade of giant machines chuffing around the track and a whole building full of tiny model steam engines. I wasn't allowed near anything running because most machines of that era had never seen a belt cover or chain guard. Everything was right out in the open ready to remove a finger or more. A ton of flywheel and an open belt with a half twist was not to be trifled with. It was pretty amazing for the kid who spent hours watching the tractors go by in the field next door at home.

I didn't make it back for a lot of years after I got a few years of my own under my boots but it was always a "I gotta get back to that" thing on the list. I finally made it.

It's gotten pretty huge since I was there last. A lot of people use golf carts, quads and garden tractors just to get around it all there's so much acreage. 

But to my old friend...

In another long story that I'll have to track down among the fuzzy memories in my head, Dad wound up with a 1915 Port Huron steam traction engine.

It belonged to a friend of his named Argyle Ballard, an old farmer from Newark who still ran it to thresh oats. This is the engine in 1981 when it was only 66 years old.

Dad had it stored in a shed he built in the back yard and on occasion he'd fire it up and chuff around the yard. He was never able to get the water injectors to work right so it was a brief run at low pressure as he had to pull the fire when the water started getting low. It was pretty special though.

Over the years, runs got less frequent as he was pretty nervous about the state of the boiler which hadn't seen much maintenance or an inspection since probably the '20s. He ran it on compressed air a couple times I think but mostly it sat for longer and longer periods.

He asked me once upon a time if I wanted him to leave it to me when he passed away. It was sore tempting but reality reared it's ugly head and I knew I'd never be able to take care of it, much less restore it. I didn't have anyplace to keep it under cover and couldn't afford to build one. I don't think I could have scrounged up the money to even move it at the time.

So Dad wound up leaving it to the Pageant. It made a lowboy trip to Canandaigua and there it stays, not so far from Newark where it worked it's last. She's 111 years old now and hasn't seen a fire in a lot of years. They keep it under cover as Dad did but tow it out to display for the show each year. They started to paint it but the guy doing it is gone so it'll have to wait.

I found one of the guys from the New York Steam Engine Association while we were wandering around the grounds and had a long chat. I told him my Dad had donated the engine and he lit up about "The Port Huron". He said it was one of his favorites and grabbed another guy walking by with, "Hey, this is the son of the guy that donated 'The Port Huron'." 

"The Port Huron". It was "The Port Huron" every time.

He said it's on a long list of engines to get a new boiler someday but that it costs over $100,000 by the time it's all done and that doesn't restore all of the rest. But it's going to get done and someday, 'The Port Huron' will whistle and sizzle again.

We took a few pictures of her and history whispered in my ear again as it often does. I found Dad's little oilcan in the same tin holder in front of the engineer where it was handy. I wondered when he last filled it.

We wandered around the grounds a while but there were a lot of ghosts among the iron and a rain shower blew in to scurry us back to the car. 

I drove out feeling better knowing Dad's engine was sleeping in good care. They invited us to come back again and check up on her and I'm sure I will. 

Maybe, just maybe, I might even see the old workhorse smoke and steam again. Dad would like that.

Why Don't You Tell Me A Story?

"Why don't you tell me a story?

Please tell me a story, too

You know, I think I'll tell you the story of my life

You tell me!

I wanna hear, too!

I was born in Anamoose, North Dakota a long time ago, see

And now, I'm lucky enough to be here with you

Yeah, but what else happens in between?

Yeah, what else happened?

Well, it went pretty much like this..."

'Life Story', The Hellers

Anyone who ever heard "The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash on the Wheels of Steel" in the wayback knows those sample lines. A soft voiced man telling a story to two little kids followed by one of the most epic breaks ever recorded. It still works for me. Copy/paste if you wanna hear it again. It's at about 3:30 but you know you want to listen to the whole thing:

https://youtu.be/JArJLBBEDVk?si=nOdQSPPk5fiUTuEJ

I always pictured Mr. Rogers saying it on a children's show but a little search found the sample in the 1968 record mentioned above. Trust me, it has nowhere near the punch in the original as Flash gave it in the mix. How he stumbled onto that  particular psychedelic old song I'll never know.

But it leads me to think of how old can be new over and over again. I know that's not very original but it does have relevance anyway. It pays to take a glance in the rear view occasionally and see what might be sneaking up on you. 

I've never been one to live back there too much but memories are part of what makes us...well, us. It's like Florida. Fun to visit perhaps but once the shine wears off, it's just life. 

So why don't I tell you a story? 
I think I'll tell you the story of my life. 

It'll be bits and pieces. It'll be odd. But I've got time. For a while yet.

Sailing the C

Communism. 

I know there's a 'snarl word' of the month for the current political party and they get rotated in and out as needed to stir up the ever-faithful/fearful target audience and keep the donations rolling in. If I read the news correctly this morning, communists are an existential threat that we didn't hear much about until just now. 

So let's start with what it really is: "...a political and economic ideology that aims to eliminate private property and social classes. Instead, the community or the state owns all resources and means of production. Wealth is divided among citizens based on individual need...'From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs'" Britannica

The fashionable definition of Communism these days however is "Everything I don't like is communist." It doesn't even have to resemble the actual system. I would paraphrase the quote by Barry Taylor who said, "God (Communism) is the name of the blanket we throw over the mystery to give it shape." 

If it can't be explained any other way or it's just too much work to actually know what you're talking about, it's got to be communism. If someone doesn't really understand someone else with a differing viewpoint, they must be a communist.

 I've had a couple of swipes come my way and all I could think of is the old Charlie Daniels lyrics from 'Uneasy Rider':

"Well he's a friend of them long-haired hippie type pinko fags

I betcha he's even got a Commie flag

Tacked up on the wall inside of his garage"

Do they really think that? It would give me a chuckle if it wasn't so stunningly wrong. And just lazy. 

 

If anyone was to ask I'd say that there's way more to it than a label you can stick on at random. I actually suspect that when a war isn't going well, the economy is embarrassing, midterms smell like losing, lies are only fooling the foolish and irony threw itself on it's own sword in frustration a month ago...you've got to move on to the next national emergency to keep the patriotic spirit up. 

Enter Communism.

Nothing moves the base like a grand old national emergency. We've had a lot of them of late. Particularly whenever there really isn't one. But this time it's like the crowd at The Great American State Fair...sparse, overheated, walking on previously well-trod ground and invisible to almost everyone outside the Beltway or the algorithm. 
It has a sibling in socialism which gets tossed around with nearly as much abandon but for now let's go with the big 'C'.

It creeps into discussions about pretty much anything or anyone these days. Slowly but surely, everything has become a commie threat ala Republican Senator Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare of the 40's and early 50's. 

Most of us know how that turned out. It destroyed pretty much everything it touched and cost the Republicans dearly. It led to the 1950 "Declaration of Conscience" speech by Margaret Chase Smith(R-Maine) in which she made it clear what real 'witch hunting' would do:

"Surely these are sufficient reasons to make it clear to the American people that it is time for a change and that a Republican victory is necessary to the security of this country....Yet to displace it (the Democratic administration at the time) with a Republican regime embracing a philosophy that lacks political integrity or intellectual honesty would prove equally disastrous to this nation. The nation sorely needs a Republican victory. But I don't want to see the Republican Party ride to political victory on the Four Horsemen of Calumny - Fear, Ignorance, Bigotry and Smear.

I doubt if the Republican Party could - simply because I don't believe the American people will uphold any political party that puts political exploitation above national interest."

                                          

Then the journalist and war correspondent Edward R. Murrow said of McCarthy, "His primary achievement has been in confusing the public mind, as between the internal and the external threats of Communism. We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof and the conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of the other. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men - not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular."

                                     

In the end, McCarthy was censured by the Senate, disgraced in the press and died at 48 an alcoholic and addicted to morphine. His zeal became a punch line and what could have been a valuable contribution to his country got lost in power, hatred and decidedly un-American activities. 

His story is one the current Republican administration could learn much from. I know we in the electorate could stand to learn something as well. When you look at everyone and everything through a preconceived lens and seek to use what you see as a weapon, you will eventually find exactly what you're looking for in yourself...and you won't like what that weapon turns into. 

It pays to keep in mind, "And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Nietzsche

If communism is the threat, maybe it would pay to really gaze into that abyss and see exactly where it's coming from. McCarthy never did to the high cost of his party, his country and his life.

Hopefully we will not follow that disaster with a new one of our own. 

I'll stick with the illustrious Mr. Clemens who said, "History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes."

We might play the same songs, but the rhymes can change.

Considering 250

It's the big birthday month for our experiment in non-royalty, sorta by-the-people governance here in the USA.

Having watched and read hours of commentary about what I should think about it all, I've reached a conclusion:

I'm an unapologetic patriot for my country. Nobody gets to tell me I'm not. I think I'm that way at heart without being either all Norman Rockwell or Holy Crusader about it. It's not a boast, it's just how it is.

It isn't splashy or newsworthy but it sure is rooted well. I grew up on it.

And despite all the negativity and partisanship that floods the news cycle every couple hours, I still very much trust that the dream is not dead yet. It's a mess right now for sure but hell, so was I for a long time. With work, perseverance and luck, things got better. If it works for one, maybe it'll work for all. I still think we have a chance. 

The short version of it is simply I love living here. Always have. This is home and I'm a homebody. To me, patriotism is like homeownership, personal relationships and simple practicality all stuffed in one. Things that are worth working on.

Worth working on because I've been told many times of late by self-proclaimed patriots to "Love it or leave it" if I don't agree with the outrage du jour. But that isn't patriotic at all, it's just lazy. It ignores the work. It's a meaningless argument that's equivalent to burning your house down because it needs painting. Going back to my analogy, if my house has leaky pipes or drafty windows, I work at fixing what's broken. I don't move across town because I found a mouse nest or the furnace quits. That's part of the gig. 

Same thing with relationships. Only an idiot gives up on a good friendship or marriage or partnership on a whim because you had a bad day or even run of bad days. You screw up, you own up, you fix up. It takes work, patience, acceptance and willingness to see someone else's point of view...and maybe just possibly change your own.

And in practical terms, what kind of lunacy would suggest that the patriotic thing to do is abandon everything that works because some of it doesn't? Throw the whole thing out because it isn't doing what we want right now? Love it or leave it is like abandoning your car because a warning light came on. Especially when you still have loan installments to make. See where I'm going here? We still have a lot of stubs in the payment book.

Being patriotic means more than flying flags on your pickup, cheering whoever's in charge at the moment, wearing the correct swag, saying the accepted things, disliking the out-of-favor of the day or cheering for the loss of anyone. It's harder than forwarding a meme, insulting anyone who disagrees and calling names. It's not being happy all day about your country. It's being worried too. Sometimes very much so.

It's work. It's knowing that things are not all great and never were. Hating doesn't follow knowing as some would have us believe. Understanding what was gives context to what is. If teaching our unwashed history makes people feel badly, then we're doing it badly. I understand our country has done some horrible things but that doesn't mean I love it less and it shouldn't for anyone. Sweeping away everything that's ever been wrong diminishes all that's ever been good. Someone like me who loves their country should hate wrongs that were done in her name in the past but also believe she can do better in the future. One doesn't exclude the other. That means learning, thinking and yes, working.

You don't become unpatriotic because you admit we have a lot of very tragic and evil events in our history. The bad doesn't outweigh...only counterbalances the truly wonderful things we've done. And we have done some wonderful things. 

In the end, in thinking of the Semi quincentennial (which I still struggle to say without a lisp), I've re-upped my subscription to E Pluribus Unum and holding these truths to be self evident. I'm not really interested in making America great again, I'm all about making her greater still. We all should take pride not in 'again' but 'ahead'.  

I may not be able to do much in the grand sweep of things but it's worth a try.

Because what is a patriot if not as Webster says, "...a person who loves their country and is ready to boldly support and defend it." 

Sign me up.