Rapping at My Door

Rapping at My Door

Once upon my lazy recliner, feasting on takeout from the diner,
I sat and flipped idly through mindless cable channels galore –
Tasty crumbs from my lips lapping – when outside there came a rapping,
A most irritating tapping, an insistent, beckoning chore.
“Oh, not now, I have just sat down to eat,” I did wish to implore,
“Please leave me and come no more.”

The knocking stopped to my relief, visitor gone was my belief,
As I paused on the sports network to get the latest baseball score.
But too soon had I decided, my conclusion was misguided;
For upon my ears collided, the urgent knock I could but abhor,
That pounding call to duty – a host’s duty I could not ignore –
Oh, stop now and knock no more.

So I set my dinner aside and went to see who was outside,
In my slippered feet slowly sliding across the hardwood floor.
Carefully I went, not to fall as I traversed through the dark hall.
The peeking hole in the portal showed me no one at the front door,
For I had not lit the lights when I went silently to explore,
Hoping he stood there no more.

So I turned to make a retreat and resume my meal and my seat,
When again, at the infernal rapping behind my back, I swore.
“You are not there, I just did look,” I said as angry fist I shook,
“Why do you treat me like a schnook and play your games to make me sore?
Some comfort and to relax at end of day is all I ask for,
But you still want something more.”

Across the hall I go again to confront my evening’s bane.
Resigned now and with the porch lamp brightly aglow, its light did pour
Forth to illuminate my stoop. And looking now I saw a troupe
Of small monsters that made me whoop to see such characters from lore.
Their true identities all hidden by the frightful costumes they wore,
Covered in gore and much more.

“Have you come to scare me tonight? For, in truth, you gave me a fright.
Two Ghosts, ghoul, vampire, beastman, and mummy, in all miniature.
Why at my house do you here haunt and with your knock do you me taunt?
I have to wonder what you want that you assemble at my door?”
In one collected voice “Trick or Treat” arose from this motley corps,
“Candy is fine, nothing more”.

The Freedom to Vote

The Freedom to Vote

The problem with absolute Freedom is how seldom one truly gets to exercise it. To be free is to be untethered to anything and unfettered of any restraint. When does that ever happen!?

Freedom, on a more practical level, does not permit us to do everything we can, but defines a range in which we may act. Some restraints are self-imposed, based on our own sense of morality, risks, values, and logic. But many limitations are established by agreements we have with the people around us. Those choices which we allow to others are the same freedoms of which we have the expectation to possess ourselves.

Such is the freedom to vote. If my vote is to have value then so must yours under the same qualifications. In demanding my right to vote, I am conceding my inability to make the decision alone. I am buying into the agreed process for how the votes will be treated to arrive at a decision and thus implicitly agreeing to the decision as binding on me, irrespective of how I vote. Such a “freedom to vote” is costly purchased in restraints upon my other actions, especially it seems, when that vote goes against me.

True “Freedom” would be not to need to yield my actions to the opinions of others in the decision to be made. Universal Freedom would be the anarchy of everyone governed by their own decision, unable to affect or to be affected by another person’s actions. Hermits might experience such, but not those of us living amongst others.

“Free” societies are not built to strengthen Freedom, but to harness its power of desire beyond self-interest into cooperative efforts and protections. The Declaration of Independence makes this point in its “self-evident truths”:

• that all men are created equal,
• that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness
• that to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,

These are truths which are universal (equal in all people) and not statements about our differences (in health, wealth, beauty, intelligence, citizenship, etc). There is a set of naturally provided (endowed) attributes that cannot be separated from the person to be given to another (unalienable). One person’s Life (organic being), Liberty (choices) or Pursuit of Happiness (desires) cannot be removed and placed in another person. And yet, these attributes are not secure. Although they cannot be transferred to another, they may be denied without the security of society (Government) and specifically a society whose agreements (rules of governance) are based on the protection of equal and shared rights being the purpose of that society. A Society that is “destructive to these ends” must be altered or abolished, according to the Declaration of Independence, in favor of another “most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness”. There is still no certainty of these goals ensured by this fundamental document of our American society, only best efforts.

To secure = “to make (something) safe by guarding or protecting it”; “to make (something) certain”; “to put (something) in a place or position so that it will not move”. Particularly, this last definition describes the relationship between Security and the Freedom it secures. In order to be secure, restrictions are placed on the range of motion (action) of the object. It is “tied down for its own safety”. Security and Freedom are opposing forces and it is the “consent of the governed” which decides the balance.

And thus, as a society, we vote, a compromise in every decision made between our individual Freedom and the Security of having any Freedom.

Discovery?

Discovery?

In fourteen hundred ninety-two,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
Across the unknown western seas,
He went to find the East Indies.
Twenty-four hundred miles he thought
Was how far to the lands he sought.
Wrong was he by fivefold or so,
But yet the Royals let him go.

Five weeks from Canary Island,
He led his small maritime band.
And there was seen a shore again
As ended the easterly sea lane.
The next four months he island-hopped
As for the Asian spices he shopped.
He found the chili pepper hot,
But not much else to spice the pot.

His eye did seek other treasure
To bring him and sponsors pleasure.
In the natives' trinkets of gold,
His chance for riches, he did behold.
One tenth was his by the decree
Signed when he was sent out to sea.
Perhaps they thought he would not return,
But the gamble might profits earn.

And so gathering what he could,
He turned back to make his claim good. 
His own success he richly praised
And soon a larger fleet was raised.
All of Europe passed 'round his name
Spreading wide his explorer's fame.
The Admiral, Governor too,
Had conquered the ocean blue.

Now the Spanish empire began
To add the conquest of the land.
All that was west of the Pope's line
Was Spain's realm by powers divine;
The riches, the land, even people,
Dealt cards from the Catholic steeple.
Subjects to rule by force needed,
Their pagan rights so quickly ceded.

Centuries later, in this land,
We celebrate the ocean spanned
And honor those who led us here
To this “discovered” hemisphere.
'Though helped by serendipity,
Europe took the opportunity
To fill the space (or seize a bit)
And, in their own eyes, upgrade it.

Who Hid My Cheese?

WHO HID MY CHEESE?

There are widely held beliefs that vocalization in the common house mouse (Mus musculus) are largely devoted to procreation and nurturing of the very young. Although selectively bred and altered for uses in laboratories for over a century, the study of the audible (to humans) and ultrasound speech of mice has remained in its infancy. Thus, I received the following with a great deal of skepticism, but consider it only fair to allow you, my readers, to draw your own conclusions.

My transcription from the near microscopic markings on the scraps of paper found on the floor of the Animal Care Facility may be somewhat inexact, but I have labored many a long hour over some years since their discovery to organize these materials. Nonetheless, gaps exist in the record that I have, perforce, needed to leave unfilled.

===

“George, can we go to the gym? Let's go to the gym, George. I like the gym.”

“Maybe later, Lenny. Algernon is coming over to help us plan for our future. We can't run the Boss' mazes forever. We need our own maze where we are free to decide whether we want to run today or just relax and have the cheese delivered.”

“But I like the wheel, George. I can run and run and run and I never get lost there, George.”

“Sure you do, Lenny. We'll have a wheel at our maze too and then you can run all day if you want. But we need to plan, we need to save to get there. Algernon's got a program for planful mice like us who want to get beyond this day-to-day working for the Boss.”

“Okay, George, if that is what you say, it's okay with me, George. But can we eat first? I'm hungry, George.”

“Yeah, go ahead. But try not to eat it all. We gotta think ahead.”

...

“So, the postponement of the immediate gratification of making a repast of every consumable good you find can yield you long term security. Allocating a small but steady contribution to the pooled trust fund provides all members with a dependable resource to support them in old age and disability when they have completed their working careers. Any questions?”

“Ah, Algernon, what's a con-sometable? It's good, right, Algernon?”

“It is the best, Lenny. The trust fund handles a variety of commodities; Agricultural and Manufactured. Seeds. Dairy. Pellets. And many more.”

“Algernon, if we eat what other mice are depositing for their future, what will they eat when the future gets here?”

“Well, George, the simple fact is that the shelf life of these non-durable goods means they won't last. The beneficiaries now provide an outlet for the commodity while it still has value and the depositors now receive credit towards the acquisitions more contemporary to the future date of their need.”

“But where do these 'acquisitions' come from?”

“The next generation, George. Your kids and your kids' kids. This a program for the ages. We are not a bunch of savages. A little help from everyone means everyone gets help when they need it.”

“Why won't the young mice just eat it? Or cache it away for themselves?”

“Decomposition in the latter case. Maybe obesity in the first. Waste does not preserve value, simple as that.”

“How much will we get back when we retire?”

“Okay, now, that's an interesting question.”

“Does it have an answer, Algernon?”

“Oh, certainly. But there are several variables involved, so the answer for you may not be the same as the answer for a different contributor. And since you do not yet have a history of contributions, it would be more a speculation than a guarantee to state a specific rate of return. But, be assured the system will take better care of you than having no support.”

“Well, okay, let's sign up. Is that okay with you, Lenny?”

“If you think we should, George. You understand these things, George.”

…

“George, do we got any more of those 'plan seeds' left?  I am hungry, George.”

“That's because you eat like six mice, Lenny. Here, I still have some.”

“Why are we getting fewer seeds, George?”

“Well, Algernon says that enrollment of new mice is down since the funding cutbacks at NIH and other research labs. It probably only temporary, he says.  Plus with all the exercise, nutrition, and medication we have been getting, there are more of us retired mice living longer.”

“Could we go back to work for the Boss, George? He fed us good.”

“No, he is not looking for old mice like us, Lenny. He cannot even support all the younger mice at the moment. I heard he set most of them out in the field to fend for themselves. Something about defaulting on a 'mortgage'.”

“What's a mort-gauge, George?”

“I am not sure. 'mort' comes from the Latin for death and a gauge is a device to measure, you know, like the treadmill the Boss used to have us run. So, I guess it is something to measure how dead or near dead you are.”

“I don't think I could run many laps on a mort-gauge anymore, George. I'm too hungry.”

“Well, I think they all expected us to be dead by now, Lenny. It will happen with their help or not.”

===

That is all I have been able to decipher from these mysterious scratching. I know nothing more of the fate of George, Lenny, Algernon, or any other mice from this facility.