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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| Everyone loves Autumn. There’s a whole seasonal sub-culture of Autumn worshippers. There are rituals that they engage in to celebrate the changes in the weather - such as sprinkling pumpkin spice on everything they eat, drink or bathe with. Everything except pumpkin, of course, I don’t know many (besides myself) who are interested in eating anything made with actual pumpkins. A large majority of Autumn worshippers are simply anticipating the one day per year that they can play dress-up without seeming weird. It’s tough growing up and being an adult. Sometimes, adults just want to pretend to be someone else and on October 31st, it’s socially acceptable to do so. And this season worship raises the simple change of the weather and the scenery, to something that has become so revered that it must be called “Autumn” now by everyone, even those of us who grew up calling it “Fall”. There’s a good reason we call it Fall where we live. Things fall. Fall is so simple and descriptive. Look out the window and watch the cascade of colorful leaves falling to the ground. The wind may grab them and twirl them in a frenzied dance as they fall, but fall they must. I realize that Autumn isn’t the same everywhere. It doesn’t even come at the same time of year everywhere. But here in New England, the fiery festival runs from ‘ember to ‘ember. The first colors appear in September, heralding the beginning of the season. Autumn officially ends in December. But for me, the season is all about the Fall. And, I think that if you are lucky enough to live where the changing of the seasons is so beautiful, so dramatic, and so dependent on gravity, you ought to call it Fall, too. |
| Sometimes, the choice to go along is a good one. Keep the peace, keep smiling, "keep on truckin' " - just like the iconic '70s poster urged us to do. But those posters in the '70s were full of a lot of less than brilliant philosophical musings. Remember the one about setting your seagull free? The '60s were all unrest, protest and clamoring for change. Then the Vietnam War ended in defeat and with unimaginable casualties on both sides. The entire nation was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of violence, tired of hating each other for reasons that some could not even define. We started on a new era where peace and love were the only two human states mentioned. Protest was starting to be forgotten. By the 80s, it was non-existent. We would have protested, but nothing seemed that important. I was never a big fan of protests or hippies. I was a child, but I was born old. It all looked silly to me, blowing up things for peace, killing for peace, saying "peace" but spreading unrest. The time to be a hippie and buck the system is when you're young but I wasn't interested back then. That is why it is so strange to find myself full of revolutionary spirit at this advanced age. Sure, it has to contend with the natural urge to nap, but in between naps, when I am quite awake, I find myself getting quite riled about the world and its ways. But it's unlikely to make a difference. The young make the differences in this world. All I can do is hope that enough of them have the right vision to take the future down the right path. As for me, I shall still sit here and grumble at the state of the world and how quickly my coffee grows cold. That's what old age is all about, living long enough to earn the right to complain. |
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