Meeting with Myron

Meeting with Myron

As lord of the castle, one might expect I had more important matters to occupy my time and energies. But Myron is an old friend and has served my family and fiefdom for longer than anyone can recall. So here I am aside the moat, waiting unattended for him to tell me what is wrong this time.

“Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you, Charlie,” Myron addresses me as he has since I was a mere lad sharing an afternoon of fishing and swimming with him. “You are so kind to come down. I would come to see you, but I cannot fit through any of the gates.”

“Think naught of it, old friend. As steadfast and loyal of a protector as you have been all these years deserves my respect and attention.” I do not mention that his recent thrashing in the moat can be felt throughout the castle walls and floors and that nobody has slept well for two days with his nocturnal sobbing and moaning.

“Old! So you think so too!” wails Myron. “Yes, at last, the end draws near for me, Charlie.” He slumps down into the water until only his tear-filled eyes show above the surface.

“No, it is merely our friendship that is old. Myron, you are as ageless as the stones of the castle walls. You have lived in our moat while many generations of my family have come and gone and will do so for countless more.”

“Look, Charlie,” he says as he rears out of the water and turns to show me his side. “See that bare spot there. And here. And over there. I am falling apart.”

“Could you simply be molting? Maybe it is time for your next growth spurt,” I suggest cheerfully.

“Do you really think so, Charlie,” he brightens momentarily, but quickly sinks into the water again. “No, no, my molting days are ancient history – this is rot! Decay! The Slide to the End!”

“When did this skin change start, Myron? It seems early to be reaching such dire conclusions if we just need to cycle this stagnant water out with a nice fresh flow from the stream. I cannot remember when we did the last moat overhaul but we are probably overdue.”

“Fresh water would be nice,” Myron concedes. “Could we add some shady shrubs along the edge of the southside too?”

“Yes, certainly. I will have the chamberlain get the work started today.” Ah, problem solved, I think.

“It won't really do any good though,” Myron continues. “It'd be nice to be comfortable in my last days. Maybe we could carve a small grotto under the drawbridge where I could crawl in and finish out of the way. I don't want to be any trouble, Charlie.”

“You never have been any trouble, Myron.” I should have guessed that was too easy.

“That is not really my name, did you know?” he says quietly.

“What? Your name is not Myron? I have never heard anyone call you anything else. What is your real name?”

“Alas, even I do not know. Six hundred years ago at the next solstice I was bound by a wizard named Myron. He dealt in magical protections, Myron's Mystical Monitors. And I was a servant he sold to your ancestors. At first, they called me Myron's Moat Monster, then Myron's Monster, and finally, as the generations of castle dwellers passed, only Myron. So you might as well too.”

“Six hundred years?”

“Next solstice.”

“That is a long time. And you have never had a break in all that time. Is that what has you upset?”

“Oh, no, Charlie. At the next solstice my bewitchment will be over. I will no longer be the only thing I know how to be after all these centuries.”

“What will you do then?”

“I will do nothing. I will be nothing, Charlie. With my geas gone, I will have nothing.”

“But you will be free to do whatever you want, Myron. To go wherever you want. You could, of course, stay here if you wanted also.”

“No, the time for my retirement was set.” Myron sinks into the moat, sobbing.

What am I to do?  I did not make the rules that bind him and I have no power to change them.  Myron has made no preparation to be anything but what he is.  Many of us do not.  But what a misery to know with a date certain when such an end will come.

 

Laboring Under Misapprehension

Laboring Under Misapprehension

(a totally non-humorous reflection)

Today is Labor Day in USA, although most European countries celebrate May Day (in remembrance of the Haymarket) as the moment to reflect upon labor's struggles, progress, and contributions. For many Americans, the 19th century violence surrounding the workers uniting against employers to demand more favorable working conditions and better compensation is a faded story we were told but did not need to live in our working years. Our Labor Day has happier evocations of the passage of summer and the commencement of last part of the year. We scarcely think of laborers as we make our sale-priced purchases from the busy salesclerks or watch highly paid athletes toil on our extra day of leisure this weekend.

I easily fall into the clueless group for whom Labor Day is merely a phonetic collection of three syllables to mark a federal holiday. I do not think of myself as a laborer, although I work for hourly wages for a large organization. My wages are not the $1.50 for a 10-hour day paid (often begrudgingly) to those six-days-a-week laborers in the 1880s, even when adjusted for more than a century of inflation. I have come to accept the elevation of the norm for such workers as I without questioning the past. I do not belong to a labor union and view them as yet another factor (often a very provocative one) in the puzzle of running a productive enterprise. They are an insulating and an isolating layer between me and my employer. I will more often complain about their existence and impacts on me through their self-interested negotiation than to recognize any need for gratitude for some concession they have won in the past that endures today as normal business.

I am not resentful of labor unions so much as dismissive of their ongoing necessity. I view their aggressive posturing as more habitual than required and an obstacle to cooperation. Our businessmen today have grown up in a more sensitive (and rule bound) era, but they have not changed their genetic human nature from the controllers of wealth of previous centuries. So, perhaps it is the never ending battle with different skirmishes that the labor union organizers rally their troops to fight yet today. My preference that it were not so may have as little reality as that for no crime nor war.

So, I also accept the existence of “organized labor” as I must accept “organized armies and police forces” to combat “organized (and unorganized) crime” and the other organizations that oppose them. They are responses that often take on the methods of their opposition. On Labor Day, like on Veterans Day, I should pause to think about the undesired necessity that has been (and still is) met by people who struggled and often sacrificed (their lives and their peaceful principles) to confront the opposition that might oppress us today without their actions.  Perhaps, tomorrow I can go back to my self-deluded dream world.

The Hat Tree

The Hat Tree (circa 1968)

I wish I were a hat tree standing in the corner,

Laughing in a clown's hat, or don a derby to be a mourner.

I could change my whole personality with each different hat;

Without schooling, I put on a mortarboard and that would be that.

A scholar or dunce, a Mexican, Frenchman, or Russian;

I could be almost anything I want without too much fussing.

Ah, the quick change could be mine were I not an unchanging man,

But merely an imaginative hat tree set in the corner to stand.

In Preparation

In Preparation

With anticipation, imagined or real,

Resources are mustered and new plans are made

In hope to ease the anxiety I feel

For the future to which I am conveyed.

Some target the “soon”, say the coming week,

And some the “perhaps never to arrive”.

But to be ready then, I now do seek

Skills and supplies I will need to survive.

At least, perhaps I should so endeavor

To stockpile for every contingency;

Fretfully to scheme for any whatever,

Cede now’s is for maybe’s emergency.

But, I think, I do not worry enough.

Oh, I trouble some for the tomorrows

And about where I will store all this stuff.

But not for doom and the fear it borrows.

‘Though misfortune may come to knock me down,

Should I forfeit the boons of here and now,

To sulk with a forced, self-afflicted frown

And cut discomfort’s delay as I bow?

And when that sad downfall never does drop

And I leave with preparations unused,

Will lost opportunity for no swap

For very bad investment be confused?

How like a lottery becomes this game –

To be near certain to lose a little

And so unlikely a fortune to claim

When from life a small caution we whittle.

And when we took too many tiny nicks

From comforts we had for those we had not,

It was not our future which we did fix,

But more woes into the present we brought.

Let’s prepare for the known generously,

But, for the multitude of maybes, wait.

Allow life’s heap to serve capriciously

For those things we should not anticipate.

Sauce for the Gander

Sauce for the Gander

Most of us have entertaining pastimes in which we like to indulge. They may need to struggle to find moments of time amongst our many more compulsory tasks, but we are disinclined to neglect them entirely. They seem to be the difference between living and having a life.
 
Often our cherished indulgences are not particularly “good for us” in terms of the more practical activities in living day to day. The inebriation of alcohol consumption may be its entertainment goal, but it comes at a cost in deficiency in many life skills, such as judgment, emotional control, and coordination. It is most unfortunate when such a pleasant indulgence is interrupted by the demands of the everyday world to be elsewhere. The circumstances demand a return to a sober lack of impairment while the simple facts of metabolism make that impossible. Thus we have the clash of “I need to get home” and “I should not be driving”. When we cannot (or will not) resolve this problem with alternate transportation (taxis, designated drivers, walking), we invite trouble to sit besides us as a copilot.

How does a society solve this dilemma between desired indulgence and ubiquitous obligation of the everyday life of work, community, and plodding along? We have tried punishments, such as fines, incarceration, and denial of driving privileges. We have campaigns for designated drivers and responsible drinking. We have instituted treatment programs to instill better understanding of the causes and consequences in hope of promoting better judgment and control by the individual (before he starts drinking). Perhaps these have all had an effect to lower the co-occurrence of drinking and driving, but the problem persists in tragic amounts. A new strategy may be needed to move society's efforts to the next level.

The mistarget of our current DWI penalties is to disallow the person to drive, the socially requisite activity. The repeat drunk driver has often been shown to be scarcely motivated by the absence of a driver's license. He believes he is compelled to continue driving in order to meet his daily responsibilities.

What we need to remove is the person's permission and ability to drink. Certainly as a condition of treatment and correctional supervision, we often do prohibit drinking. The difficulty is in verifying and enforcing this ban. More than occasional spot checks by law enforcement officials are needed. A philosophy and method of community surveillance and access control must be established.

Specifically, we must license the right to drink. Under the powers of the 21st Amendment, the States now regulate and monitor the businesses which distribute and sell alcoholic beverages, but their customers remain largely unrestricted and undocumented. Our sole rule seems to be a prohibition against “under aged” customers for which we expect DMV documentation as proof of age. But what we actually need is “proof of responsibility”.

Some law-abiding drinkers will surely protest this intrusion of yet another government regulation and registration (You may take this bottle from my cold, passed out hands! (but it will be empty by then)). The departments of motor vehicles probably went through the same hassles when they were empowered to promote highway safety through the registration of vehicles and trained drivers. Nonetheless, all but the most die-hard libertarians now accept their role (if not their actual fees, rules, and paperwork).

Whether or not the departments of liquor control establish educational requirements for registration (or a learner's permit program), once the qualified drinker has received his license, he will have the necessary documentation to purchase and consume. Vendors under DLC regulations will not merely guess whether the buyer needs to prove his age, but will now be trained and required to see the drinker's DLC license. A revocation of this license attacks the drinker's voluntary (ignoring, for the moment, medically treatable addiction) desire in advance of its averted consequences if the sanctioned offender feels a transportation need. It moves enforcement from the relative anonymity of highway traffic requiring police intervention to the communal, face-to-face transaction with the regulated vendors. Beyond the highway, this community-based access control system may prevent drunken disorderly conduct and more violent crimes, such as spousal abuse and brawling.

Will vendors break the rules or make errors with false documentation? Yes, almost certainly, but not usually. Will friends serve alcohol to unlicensed friends? Yes, but perhaps a “do you know who is drinking your beer” campaign could heighten everyone's awareness of their role in enabling (or preventing) such violations.

Let's make “responsible drinking” everyone's responsibility. It is not prohibition on law-abiding citizens to regulate; it is society-wide control to be proactive and involved in preventing known violators from abusing privileges we might all wish to enjoy.

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

Light! The cover has been removed.

“What may I show you today, Mistress?” Little do you know that I cannot display anything that is not already within you as you stand in front of me. Shall I show you your fears, your hopes, your hatreds? Oh, yes, I see them all as you pose, peering into my surface. They are as real and as false as your own thoughts, but you will believe them readily when I reflect them back to you.

“Mirror, I command you to show me the greatest threat to my reign,” the Mistress demands. Not to your kingdom, eh, but to your position upon its throne. Perhaps, for the kingdom’s sake, that would be only your own face. But that is not your question or the answer you desire to justify your actions.

“As you command.” Your fear, it is then. Look upon your face grown old, fading into the face of your stepdaughter who is your current heir. Oh, what a curse to repay my vanity! Once I saw no farther than my own self-delusion as you do, Mistress. I felt no love, no pity, nothing for anyone except myself. And now I am trapped with only a view of the world through the eyes of another, condemned to parrot back only that given me through that narrow peephole.

“Ah, Snow White. I knew it! She plots against me! She sullies my majesty amongst this kingdom’s peasants and peers alike.” Yes, if you think it so, then you will make it so. I do not stare into Snow White’s soul and thoughts, so I do not know. But, at last perhaps, I have learned not to believe in the shallow view of reality bound by one person’s self-centered mind. If I could teach you that lesson, Mistress, I might be free of this curse.

“Well, she simply must go! But, how? How, Mirror, may I rid myself of this troublesome child?” Might I show you your own doubts? See, the people love her, even you know that, Mistress. To harm her is to arouse their ire. But only if they suspect you, you think. Perhaps a trip from which she never returns. Oh, how pleasantly you imagine yourself sending her off in the royal carriage, disappearing into the forests. To meet her future husband and their king, you have told everyone. But, bandits, brigands! The forests are full of them; you will make sure of that by disguising your own men. No, not men; only one man. You can see his face, the wretched poacher you condemned this morning. Mistress, your doubts are too easily defeated by your scheming mind. “Yes, Mirror, that is what we will do.” We? No, Mistress, you have no accomplice in me.

Darkness – Mistress has all she needs of me today.

Or have I abetted her in treachery again? Oh, ancient wizard, I have had enough. I see that I was wrong. Seeing only myself as important hurt those around me. Perhaps I even knew that then, but I did not care, for I was not them. Did they burn from this inability to speak their thoughts to me, only permitted to say what I wanted to hear? They at least could leave my presence and have discourse with other people. But as I isolated myself within that small world that was only me, you have left me alone in the solitude of another’s life, not even my own to control. Will my remorse satisfy your spell?

Perhaps this Snow White deserves the Mistress’ anger. There are evil people in the world, as I well know. Why must my old, scorning habits treat the Mistress with such disrespect? I want to believe I have learned my lesson, but even bound within this torturous prison, I still feel superior to the one person with whom I have contact. I was more beautiful than she, more clever too. Maybe, you should visit the Mistress too, wizard. But you have not yet, so perhaps I was deserving of a fate she has not the villainy to deserve. Hah, I was even better at being bad!

You used my own mirror as your snare, did you not, old man? I have seen it through her eyes – the runes have destroyed its frame, but I recognize it. You were no savior of the people. A lesson, ha! You were not trying to teach me anything.  I had thought to use you, but you were merely a glutton for power and I stood between you and my father's wealth and secrets. You spirited me in here, threw me in a sack, and carried me out of my own home like a peddler of used goods. How long ago did you leave me in the attic of this castle, bundled out of sight? How long before the Mistress found me and, at last, removed the sack?

Ah, that was a surprising discovery for both of us! Suddenly seeing light again, I awoke and looked at my mirror, I thought, only to see somebody else’s face. She was the new young bride, second wife to the old king, unsure of her place in his palace. As she thought about her concerns, I saw them. And scared the daylights out of her as I displayed them upon my surface instead of her simple reflection. Back into the sack she plunged me.

My confusion was joined by my anger. Oh, I still do not know what you did, husband, but I have been piecing it together. Before Mistress returned in curiosity weeks later, I had plenty of time to think. And I have been thinking of you and this enchantment for more than a decade since. I will get free someday. Through reform or revenge, I will find the key to break this spell. If you still exist, wizard, beware!

When Mistress came back, she cautiously uncovered me. She stood to the side where I could not see her, nor could she see my surface. “Mirror, what are you?” she asked.

“Your servant, Mistress,” I replied, hardly believing my own words. I, a servant? That is not what I planned to say in my weeks of awaiting her return. That is what she wanted me to be! I could think and scheme all that I might, but I was ensorcelled to do her bidding.

“And how can you serve me, Mirror?” my Mistress asked as she stepped in front of me. I gazed upon this young and frightened lady and saw her intense determination to overcome any obstacle. It was that fire in her soul which had brought her back to me in her frustration of being the second love of the king. She had known the king’s first wife, although she was only a child when they were married. And only a teenager when the former queen died a year after the birth of her child, Snow White. But her circumstances had changed much between her childhood and her teen years, for her family estates on the frontier had fallen to invaders and her family was slaughtered in the struggle. Her willpower had allowed her to escape into hiding, survive that destitution, grow strong and beautiful despite it, and attract a grieving king’s attention when finally he arrived to reestablish the realm’s authority within her family lands. This I saw and, as it entered my mind, its images played across my surface, to the amazement of both my Mistress and myself.

And now, she was unsure that she had truly captured the king’s heart. I saw her doubts and I fed them back to her. Oh, I was furious with you, husband, as the abasement you had heaped upon my imprisonment and exile dawned on me. I could not tell her what you had done to me, but I could chose to build her doubt into resentment with her own thoughts. The scenes of her flaming home. The reminder of the years before the king responded. Even her memories of the king’s embraces of his first queen and coddling of his infant daughter aided my design for revenge upon husbands, if not my own, well, then any husband would need to do.

Oh, yes, I supposed I was wrong to do it. If becoming a better person was the means to winning my freedom, I threw away the key that day. The Mistress is a clever minx though. Could I really have influenced her into doing anything she would not want to do? She certainly dreamed about it. And soon she schemed, staging her plans upon my surface. Ah, I enjoyed the way her mind worked.

But her revenge has not freed me. Her power has not freed me. Her confidence has not freed me – indeed it has bound me more tightly, for now she uses me for purposes in which I have no interest. She is a petty and mean woman. I would not have looked in her direction when I had a choice. Oh, husband, how do I escape? I might even love you if that would shake off this curse. But I think I would prefer to destroy you.

The Mission Statement

The Mission Statement

Gentlemen. Ladies. Thank you for coming. If you could all please take your seats, we can get started with today’s business.

In order for an organization to coordinate its actions, the communication of a Mission Statement to everyone, in and out of the organization, has been deemed very important. We need everyone on the same page, sharing expectations and direction. Therefore, at our meeting last week, we set today’s agenda to the creation of the Conundrum’s Mission Statement. We need to state who we are, what we intend to achieve, and the principles which will guide us to our goals.

Mr. Chairman, if I may submit this first draft for discussion:

“Conundrum Rules!”

Yes, thank you, Mr. Latimer. An excellent slogan. Perhaps a bit too terse to convey the full message, but a simple, easily understood summary. Our thanks to you folks in Advertising for getting the ball rolling.

Mr. Chairman, we are a secret organization, n'est pas?  The advertising it is outside our purpose.

Well, perhaps, Mlle Laflame, but much of the power of a secret is in people knowing the secret exists without knowing what the secret is. But you raise a good point in defining who we are and how we prefer to work with undetected but effective subtlety. Can somebody offer some phrasing to capture both Mr. Latimer’s and Mlle Laflame’s ideas?

Perhaps:

“Conundrum controls the economy through subterfuge.”

Thank you, Mr. Tao. More discussion?

Yes. Trickery alone sometimes does not get the job done, Mr. Chairman. We need to include some more strong-armed means in that statement. The Tactics Division suggests “by subterfuge, sabotage, and suppression.”

Ah, if we may also add. While wealth may be largely concerned with the economy, our business has other important dealing in people’s lives. International Affairs Division seeks to exploit the cultural rifts for opportunities to gain power and influence, often long before any actual capitalization of the advantage can be realized.

Ja, and let us not forget the resources in the physical world that we need to possess, develop, and deliver. Logistics and Engineering support the insertion of “environment” amongst the targeted elements.

Yes, thank you all. So we now have:

“Conundrum controls the economy, culture, and environment through subterfuge, sabotage, and suppression.”

Legal here. The word “controls” seems unfocused. Mr. Tkazal in International uses a much stronger word in explaining the process of locating and developing advantages – exploit. The implication of the purpose in whatever manipulations we may undertake is much clearer.

Mr. Chairman, I believe we also have neglected to state what is the underlying purpose and value to be achieved in our action. Who will benefit? What will that benefit be?

Very good point. Anyone?

Well, us, of course. With money and power to do whatever we want. Ba-ha-ha, so to speak.

Lacks specificity, but does provide flexibility for future expansion.

Y’know, youse guys (and gals) at the top of this pile needs to remember us in the ditches too. We ain’t getting all the money and power to do whatever we wants, but we’s part Conundrum’s success too. A little Conundrum applied grease to ease our way through them problem moments makes it worthwhile for us whilst we waits for ours bigger things to come.

Mr. Fingers, thank you for that reminder. An enterprise of our nature does not rest on plans and schemes alone without the staff to execute the necessary actions. Our mission must include the inspiration to recruit, reward, retain, and even advance our deserving minions.

Sir, Human Resources would like to propose the following addition.

“Conundrum strives to maximize its wealth, power, and influence to ensure the comfort and freedom of action of its officers, employees, and friends. All others are either obstacles or resources to be harvested.”

Oh, my, yes, Mrs. Gruber, that will certainly give staff and associates the understanding and incentive to be on the right side of that distinction. Might the Chair suggest we further qualified the “employees” with the term “loyal” to establish a properly elevated expectation of full-hearted participation in order to gain the benefits?

Is there any more discussion? All right then, the Conundrum Mission Statement shall be:

“Conundrum exploits the economy, culture, and environment through subterfuge, sabotage, and suppression. Conundrum strives to maximize its wealth, power, and influence to ensure the comfort and freedom of action of its officers, loyal employees, and friends. All others are either obstacles or resources to be harvested.”

As this statement meets with everyone’s satisfaction, Number Two, will you please see to its publication and distribution? Meeting adjourned. Go find us some more money, power, or whatever, everyone. That is your mission.

Mentally Stalled

I  am caught in other distractions, no thought complete,
So my avid readers (if any) this week are victims of the heat.
Return again next week if you would subject yourself to more,
And we both may see what from my mind does pour.

Conflict in Two Voices

Conflict in Two Voices

##-##

Scene: Advanced to downstage center, a middle-aged couple sit in two armchairs which are angled largely to face audience. There is a small table between them on which there are two empty glasses and a pitcher (of iced tea). When spotlight comes up, the couple is facing towards the audience. The stage is otherwise unlit.

Gloria (facing forward)

“A Poem of Love” by Mrs. Gloria Eversen

Sam (facing forward)

“A Poem of Hate” by Samuel Eversen

Gloria

The sun shone down on the golden field of grain.

Sam

Dark and overcast, the sky was drenched in black.

Gloria

Two persons approached amidst the splendor.

Sam

None trespassed upon this scene of bleakness.

Gloria

On the right walked he, on the left was she.

Sam

Forced together, in the dark inside, he and she sat apart.

Gloria

The plants filled the air with perfumes of sweetness.

Sam

The crude wood fire before them belched out its choking smoke.

Gloria

He looked at her, she at him, and their eyes sang songs of love,

Sam

Their eyes glared brighter than the fire, repulsing each other away,

Gloria

Clasping hands, their bodies merged into a kindling glow.

Sam

Until able to stand no more, the dark gap grew between them.

Gloria (turns towards Sam)

Good evening, Sam.

Sam (turns towards Gloria)

Good evening, dear.

Gloria

How was the office?

Sam

How was the house?

Gloria

Did business go well?

Sam

Was your bridge club successful?

Gloria

How is the Stock Market?

Sam

Is the washing machine working yet?

Gloria

It is working fine.

Sam

Business is awful.

Gloria (face forward)

“The Sea” by Mrs. Gloria Eversen

Sam (face forward)

“The Boulder” by Samuel Eversen

Gloria

Swiftly swirling sliding surf,

Sam

Steadfast sturdy stationary stone,

Gloria

Continuously sweeping in and out,

Sam

Perpetually standing still,

Gloria

Holding the harmonies of eternity.

Sam

Forming the foundation of forever.

Gloria (addressing Sam)

Care for some iced tea, dear?

Sam (turns to answer)

Thank you.

(Gloria pours and hands him a glass.)

Will you join me?

Gloria (answers, then look s forward)

No, thank you.

Sam (forward)

As a child, I was raised in the streets of the city amongst the cars and the crowds on the sidewalks. We moved to the country when I was ten, but my heart remained in the city, where I was raised as a child.

Gloria

As a child, I was raised in the fields of the country amongst the trees and animals. I remained there all my years, in the country, where I was raised as a child.

Sam

But when I became a teenager in the country, my attention turned from the city to girls, although I could hardly turn their attentions to me. I was never the athlete or the brain, but just a scrawny kid who was always hanging around.

Gloria

When I became a teenager however, I was suddenly confronted with something other than the trees and animals. Boys began to notice me and hang around. I guess I always was somewhat attractive. I could hardly find a moment alone.

Sam

I thought I was destined to the life of a loner, until I met my wife.

Gloria

I thought I would never escape the crowd, until I met Samuel.

Sam

I remember the first day we met. It was a hot summer day and I was mowing the lawn without my shirt on. I was so undeveloped that I hardly ever took my shirt off. Consequentially, I had nearly no tan. But the day was so hot, I had shed the shirt and thus acquired a full sunburn. I saw her coming down the street. She was a beauty, her hair blowing in the slight breeze, her face full of life. And I looked like a melted piece of bright red licorice.

Gloria

The first day we met was a blistery cold winter day. I was just coming down with a cold and I looked terrible. My hair had been tousled by the wind and my face was red from the cold. He was shoveling the driveway, all bundled up with nothing showing but his frozen face. But even then I could tell what a hunk of a man he was.

Sam

I had noticed her for several weeks, and finally I summoned up just enough courage to ask her for a date.

Gloria

He was a total stranger, but he just casually asked me for a date.

Sam

I could see she hesitated, but finally she murmured out a yes.

  

Gloria

I could not contain myself when he asked for some strange reason. Something inside just made me shout out yes.

Sam

I was so surprised. I never did get along with people very well. I was always contradicting them and arguing, until I met my wife.

Gloria

I guess it was just my destiny to go out with him on that first day. I could never disagree with anyone. Everybody claimed that I just could not say no, until I married Sam.

Sam

With my wife, I finally found somebody with whom I could agree. When we were married, we agreed to argue.

Gloria

And we have not had an argument about agreeing ever since we were married.

Sam (to Gloria)

Well, the night is late.

Gloria (to Sam)

Or the morning is early.

Sam

Good night, dear.

(They stand and embrace.)

Gloria

Or good morning.

(They exit opposite sides of stage.)

Guide to Playing with Invisible, Silent, and/or Imaginary Friends

Guide to Playing with Invisible, Silent, and/or Imaginary Friends

Many of us have enough to do in keeping up to the demands of friendships amongst those we encounter each day. Those so socially engaged oft have little understanding for people who would further complicate their lives with interactions with folks who are not there. Nonetheless, there are still those who willingly (even preferably) seek the companionship of our more inconspicuous friends.

A lack of presence does not terminate our relations with the absent. The persons around us who have never engaged with the missing person might readily dismiss that apparent void as unnecessary to the reality of the moment. But our insubstantial friend peers out of our eyes and listens through our ears from his enthronement in our minds. As the fancy takes him, he may added commentary and interpretation that may have otherwise passed unnoticed by us. Perhaps there are some we encounter whose quick mental impressions we can smooth out of the wrinkles of our brains, but once we have allowed a friend to take up residence for any time, we will forever find his footprints scattered throughout our domes. Sometimes we allow our enemies to stomp around under there too.

What should we do with these unevictible absentee lodgers? Some may chose to wall them up behind bricks of neglect and forgetfulness, writing off those rooms as irrecoverable losses; we use so little of our brain capacity that the depletion seems slight. Some learn to double-bunk (and more) our guests into composite memories from which the component entities can rarely be separated again (especially useful for multiple exes, I hear in country music). But I would suggest that the best approach is to be a courteous host and allow your guests to have their fun. You too will benefit if you follow the proper guidelines.

First, you should probably learn to distinguish the characteristics of your relation with your cerebral comrade. Friendships start, pause, and even end in many manners, with more variety than can ever be catalogued. I will offer here three simple bins into which to sort your non-apparent guests, but readily admit you may find them too restrictive, non-exclusive, or totally unnecessary. There are:

• Invisible friends - It may not have been so long since you have seen your friend that you no longer know what he looks like. But the people around you nowadays do not share your memory of the invisible friend. This is not somebody they know and, if they accept your avowal for his existence, they do so as faith in you, not in your friend.
• Silent friends – There is little to no fresh exchange with the silent friend. For a deceased friend, there may be scant prospect for any new input. Nonetheless, the wellspring of memories of a silent friend may provide endless re-runs and even revised editions.
• Imaginary friends – A simple lack of reality does not engender an imaginary friend in our minds. Many real people whom we have never met have been subject of enough tales that our imagination has constructed from them a persona for us to know (and befriend). Oh, yes, there are certainly imaginary friends who are totally fictional creations, but it is our ability to animate them in our brains that permitted our friendships to blossom.

Some suggestions to do:

To the degree that you share yourself, share your otherwise hidden friends. They are part of you now.

Listen to your friends. Ask them for assistance and amusement. Remember the good times. Remember the lessons learned and the techniques and thinking employed to learn them. So often you did these things together and you can replay them again (with variation) if you allow it.

Be prepared to hear something new from your friends. They are reacting to your new experiences, even with their old eyes, ears, and words. They will enliven your thoughts and provide new viewpoints when you allow their characters the chance to speak within the brain you share.

Respect your friends, but do not idolize them. It is okay to disagree with them (and they with you) in your thoughts just as you might in person. They are your friends, remember?

Maybe you should not:

Talk aloud to your friends when other persons are present. If you feel it is necessary to do so, please at least introduce them to the people in the room.

Close yourself off to the possibility of their return. Do not become so enraptured with your memories of a friend that you will dismiss an opportunity to extend your memories with fresh contact. Even the long-gone friend (prominent amongst the Silents) may have new material discovered by you or others. Sequels and remakes do occur and sometimes live up to or improve upon the original; if nothing else, they remind you of the original.

Allow them to take over. Hey, this is your psyche and your life. They have their own body (or book, or mythical beast) to inhabit. Let them talk to you, but draw the line when they attempt to possess you entirely. Friendship has its limits, doesn't it?

The friendships that go into making us who we are should be treasured even as they grow old and distant. Give them some attention and they will remain shiny, able to reflect back to you that which you store within. Oh, sure, some will have the warps and distortions of a funhouse mirror, but that is part of the fun of life too.

Under the Powdered Wig

Under the Powdered Wig

Without phone, light bulb, nor power of steam,
Our Founders forged the American dream.
Esteemed and praised, they guide us even now
With their thoughts to the laws they did endow.

We discuss what were the Founders' intents
As we parse our historic documents.
We oft forget they all did not agree,
But would trade one's wishes for all's liberty.

Do our minds today differ much from theirs?
Are ours a new set of worries and cares?
Or did they leave lessons on how to cope

With whatever new ages bring within our scope?

We need not stop thinking at pauses long past
Where they then decided on what then was asked.
They taught us to keep growing our country
With rules to talk and choose now as our key.

Pooka Privacy

Pooka Privacy
I was talking with Harvey yesterday and he made a very good point. People are seldom what they seem, he said, but we seldom seem to need to know who they are. Not that we never might not be safer to identify the deeply hidden lunatic or sociopath lurking amongst us. But the occasions which would make much difference to us personally are so rare that the investment of nervous energy to it will generally be wasted if repeatedly applied to everyone we meet.

Perhaps that is why I pay so little attention to people beyond the demands of courtesy. Courtesy is an important shield for both the wielder and the recipients seeing themselves in its shining surface. Harvey says so too and he is one of the most courteous beings I know. Oh, sure, he likes his little jokes, but he only pranks to help people, not to hurt or humiliate them. A bit of humor does not contradict the unfathomable sincerity of courtesy. It merely serves to bring attention back to the surface of what is seen and said and to remind us only internally of the mysteries and absurdities of what lies unseen and unsaid beneath.

But can we live our lives knowing people by what they publicly show and tell or do we need to know their inner beings? Who has permission to peek behind our (Jungian) character masks to glimpse at the selves even we often do not know? Do we grant this permission or is it the natural right of others to feed their curiosity and suspicion in precaution for their safety and security? Certainly our curiosities and anxiety-driven motivations are natural enough, but is trust not an evolutionary compromise to allow our species to cooperate rather than to skittishly remain frozen, unable to turn our back to our fellow Man?

Privacy has never been a big concern for Harvey, but he respects discretion. If folks have a story to tell, well, he’s all ears, so to speak. But if they prefer friendless silence, he will readily seek the more welcoming company of others. Nobody ever met and parted friends with a more convivial stranger than Harvey. He quietly accepts what others offer with the importance they place upon it. Infrequently, he may reciprocate, but not compete, with his own tales, whether truthful, fancy, or some proper blend thereof. But it is his willingness to listen to any and all who so often found themselves misheard, marginalized, or ignored which quickly endears him to them.

Harvey says it is the simple courtesy of acknowledging that anyone may have a story awaiting an airing, whether to share our human experiences of joy, grief, or inexplicable fortune, good, bad or not yet known. The storyteller has a license to withhold or to embellish his tale beyond simple truth, to don whatever masks his players require to animate their actions, and to set the stage as a frame for our attention. We, in the world surrounding the individual, are best served by our patience to listen from our seats in the theater, not by any desires to storm the stage and shut down the presentation. Wait for the Q&A, he says. A teller in a good mood from a receptive audience may be even more revealing (and entertaining).

Does an invisible Pooka in the room put people off? It only seems to bother some people when they know he is there and many others do not sense any malevolence either knowing of his presence or not. After all, they say, he is not listening to anything we are not saying to others already and who is he going to be able to tell?

But the troubled ones see it differently. The Pooka is uninvited, they say. Our public stories are only semi-public occasions to be relayed to our privately selected audience. Not that we have anything to hide, of course, they say, but we learned in grade school that etiquette requires that nobody in the chain is allowed to read a passed note except the recipient (unless the teacher spots its passage). It simply is not playing by the rules, they say. Nobody likes a tattle-tale. Mind your own business.

Well, Harvey knows who he is and what he does, so it does not upset him when some folks feel him step on their toes. He may be big, but he treads as light as air. His mission is to lend an ear to the neglected. People do not need to fear him. The Bogeymen will cause enough mischief to the deserving without his help.

Fore Father's Day

Fore Father's Day
Nearly all have had one,
Some had two, maybe more.
We grew up as their son
To inherit their chore.

On this day we may think
Of those who tutored us.
Generations to link
Through us to the next thus.

What of the old man came
To grow in the grandchild?
What role ours in the game
So long by the ages styled?

When the Hand is Ready But the Mind is Not

When The Hand Is Ready But The Mind Is Not
When the hand is ready but the mind is not,
Not a word can you write nor a thought can you jot.
And the hand hangs there, paused, ready to jump,
But without the mind's command, the whole body sits like a lump.

But the words don't come and the hand is dumb and still,
Sitting, balanced. On the very summit, but unable to roll down the hill.
Oh, please, send some words, a thought, to relieve this poor hand,
Who is posed hopelessly where the mind's conviction made him stand.

Saddling the Gerrymander

Saddling the Gerrymander

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We have gone through three consecutive Congressional election cycles (2008, 2010, 2012) with the measures of the public's approval rating for Congress sinking below 20% on Election Day. The opinion is shared by Republicans, Democrats, and Independents; Congress simply is incompetent to do the job for which they were chosen. It seems like a sure sign that it is time to replace these non-performers. And yet, in those three elections, only 8% of the incumbent U.S. House Representatives took the hint to retire (many to seek other offices). And when the other 92% ran for re-election, 90% of the time they won. These results are only slightly different than the three preceding election cycles (2002, 2004, and 2006) when the approval ratings were 47% (2002) to 26% (2006); then 7% retired and 96% were re-elected.

Why, we might ask, if nearly everyone believes the members of Congress cannot do their jobs, do we continue their employment? It is not that there are no other persons in the job-seeker pool eager to fill those positions. While the Gallup poll shows that 65% of adults cannot name their Representative, the approval ratings for those individual members in their home districts averages around 50% or above historically (and is currently about 46%). In the voters' minds, it is not the person they chose who cannot do the job, it is the other 434 Representatives who are interfering with their Representative's ability to “get it done”.

Thus, we enter the voting booth with a dilemma. Despite the urge to purge the country of all the incompetents, we tend to want to keep the one gem from our own district. We have no say in the ousting of the non-cooperative, counter-productive, and simply wrong-headed Representatives who hinder the progress of the person we chose before and whom we wish to choose again.

Well, then let's give ourselves the ability to tell those voters in the foreign districts what we think of their Representatives. I propose that in each U.S. House election we allow a randomly selected extra district to cast their “itinerant votes” to be counted alongside of the local vote. Since every Congressional district is approximately the same size, there will be no inherent imbalance between the local and itinerant votes, but at last our Congressmen will need to consider not just their parochial appeal but also the effects of their behavior on the larger national stage.

In order to not forewarn Congressional candidates (thereby allowing them to tailor their campaigns to the biases of a fully known electorate), the selection of the second voting block should be delayed until after the local primaries are completed. But within one or two days after the last party primary, the Federal Election Commission will oversee the coupling of every District with another in a random process. There will be no votes nor cognitive decision-making, simply the luck of the draw. But there may be some controlling rules to ensure diversity. For example, adjacent districts cannot be coupled nor may any two districts be paired (i.e. each are the itinerant district for the other). With this prompt national process in place, the information can rapidly be exchanged between the agencies administering the local elections and the final ballots prepared for the national Election Day.

By adoption of this vote-sharing process, we will double our individual influence in the democratic mechanism while indulging our national proclivity to tell others what they ought to think.  While there may be Constitutional and State regulation wrinkles yet to be worked out, moving forward with this idea offers greater accountability for Congressional results in governing our entire nation, not just the local pork barrel projects that endear our Representatives to their current constituents.