Unknown

I’m writing this from a lovely campground where we spent the night and woke to a cool, refreshing rain. It’s a lot of pressure though, these words have to be good. You couldn’t script a scene more conducive to inspired writing.

Because my own inspired words are flowing meagerly, let me start with a few from one of the most inspiring writers of contemporary time—Wendell Berry. BTW: happy birthday, yesterday, Wendell.

“Always in the big woods when you leave familiar ground and step off alone into a new place there will be, along with the feelings of curiosity and excitement, a little nagging of dread. It is the ancient fear of the Unknown, and it is your first bond with the wilderness you are going into.”
— Wendell Berry

I’m not going to lie. As retirement draws near, I’m feeling a bit of “the ancient fear of the Unknown”. It’s not that I’m a workaholic or job-junkie. It’s not that I believe the role I play in the marketplace can’t be played by others. It’s not that I have some Trumpian savior-complex. It’s simple really: I’m addicted to a paycheck.

Is it science or speculation behind the statement that the two biggest fears people have are speaking before an audience and dying? Although I’m an extreme introvert, I’m not really shy and public speaking doesn’t bother me much. And when it comes to dying; I hold to the position of Woody Allen: “I’m not afraid of dying, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

For me Fear has pretty much been centered in those things like the Unknown, and lack of trust.

Take amusment park rides for example. While I have ridden a few of the mildly daring rides at amusment parks. I would never ride one at, say, the state fair. It’s not that I doubt the physics, or the compentency of the guy who engineered the ride. But, have you taken a close look at the guys who put those rides together after taking them apart two weeks ago at the carnival up the road? I’m not saying they don’t know their nuts from their cotter pins; but… I know this, I wouldn’t want to ride a ride that I had put together. (Note to self: Don’t try to put this ride called “Life” together by yourself. You have to ride it in to the sunset once it’s built.)

I try to own my fears, phobias, trepidations, and angst. I do know from whence cometh my hope; although you might not be able to tell it sometimes. I only hope that I can truly trust that HOPE.

Thining of Wendell Berry’s words again, imaging them as a conversation:
Here are the big woods.
   But the familiar ground is so; familiar.
But isn’t it exciting, aren’t you curious about the new place?
   But the nagging dread is real. There’s a reason it’s called the ancient fear of the Unknown.
It is your first bond with the wilderness you are going into.

The Journey

THIS IS AN ESSAY ABOUT JOURNEY. Let’s start here.

“The most important decision we make is whether we believe we live in a friendly or hostile universe.” — Albert Einstein

Kyle & Brooke Fuller. Photo and image by Molly Hennesy.

Kyle & Brooke Fuller. Photo and image by Molly Hennesy.

Let me tell you of a journey of two months and 6,000 miles; on a Vespa 150cc Scooter. A few years ago, I bought a Vespa. I called the moment a “mid-life crisis”. My Amazing-Missus said, “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re way past mid-life.” Nonetheless it was a courageous and/or stupid decision.

The long, 6,000 mile Vespa journey I’m talking about here was taken not by me, but by a young lady named Shreve Stockton. I came across her blog, Vespa Vagabond, about her adventure when researching my own Vespa decision, and I’ve been reading her blog ever since. 

In a recent post, she was talking about our desire for safety and security and remembering her Vespa ride:

“The illusion of safety” is a concept my aunt and I came up with right before my cross-country Vespa ride. I did not have room to bring a tent. And I didn’t want to bring mace because I didn’t know how the pressurized canister would handle the extreme heat and elevation changes of my ride (I didn’t want it to explode on me). And my aunt and I came to realize that “tent” and “mace” do not guarantee safety, or even do much to mitigate potential harm the way my helmet and leathers did. And even my helmet and leathers didn’t guarantee my safety. We want guarantees so badly and we just don’t get them. Perhaps a better term is “the illusion of control.” The ancient Greeks called it the “caprice of the Gods,” and built their entire mythology around it. I have an IRA and I wear my seat belt and I recommend both, but they don’t guarantee anything.

I like to think of our little Airstream venture as a Journey; a journey made up of small, individual journeys, adventures, and stories. Although we’ve had the trailer only a few weeks now, the Journey started years ago with the idea, the looking, the cost-counting, the dreaming of it all. Along the way, people have asked lot’s of questions. Here are some of the most frequent: Can we have a look inside? How do you sleep in that tiny bed? How do you shower in that tiny shower? How do you keep the toliet paper from getting wet? (This Bambi model has a “wet-bath” meaning the shower and the toliet are in one little space.) It’s a legitimate question.

Here are the answers: Yes, you may. Very well actually. It’s not too bad really. There’s a curtain that pulls across and blocks the water.

Another question I’m asked frequently, which really surprised me: “You do have a gun in that trailer with you, don’t you?” Here’s the answer: No. I’m assuming these people have answered Einstein’s dilema with “I believe we live in a hostile environment.”

I’m actually more frightened that lightening might strike. Is a little aluminum bubble where you really want to be in a lightening storm? I also worry that the big motorhome with all the slideouts up the hill will come unmoored in the night, bump our little Bambi and send her careening off a cliff with us inside. Obviously my nightmares are far more creative than some bad guy trying to break in and steal our peanut butter and jelly then shoot us.

“Oh, you should carry a gun!” they say. And I say, do you realize we have FIVE little Grand-Girls that play in this Bambi. If one of them were to find that gun… I can’t even verbalize the rest of that story.

Put me in the naive, “the universe is still friendly enough to survive” camp.

Maybe to Shreve’s point, a better question for Einstein to have pondered is: can we live with the “illusion of safety” to the point that we’re willing to risk all to go on the journey?

If you are married, remember your wedding day? The sweaty palms, the butterflies, the pounding heart. Remember the birth of your first child? Every news headline makes you wonder if you really should be bringing a child into this mess. Will they be okay?

If we truly could count the cost… Maybe we wouldn’t go. Fortunately, God somehow whispers to us through the beautiful stories of those who have gone on the journey before us, He gives us this inexplicable love that invites us to go on this journey for life. AND WE DO IT! Some of us take a metaphorical gun (just in case), some of us carry on in ignorant bliss. We learn that there will be pain, there will be scary times, there are no guarantees. And sometimes our toilet paper will get wet. But we go.

Last Friday night, our youngest, Kyle, and his beautiful bride, Brooke, said to the world: Our journey starts here, NOW. We have chosen to believe that the universe is friendly enough and together we move bravely forward. I am betting that these two will show others that the journey is worth it.


We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always -
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of a thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
—T.S. Eliot
(from ‘Four Quartets’)

For Sunday, February 7, 2016

Psalm 127. A PILGRIM SONG OF SOLOMON

If GOD doesn’t build the house,
        the builders only build shacks.
    If GOD doesn’t guard the city,
        the night watchman might as well nap.
It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late,
        and work your worried fingers to the bone.
    Don’t you know he enjoys
        giving rest to those he loves?
 
Don’t you see that children are GOD’S best gift?
        the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows
        are the children of a vigorous youth.

Oh, how blessed are you parents,
        with your quivers full of children!


    Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;
        you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.
 

pops and his "arrows", celebrating our 2016 birthdays.

pops and his "arrows", celebrating our 2016 birthdays.

Tis The Season...

Or, what to get that Man Of A Certain Age who has everything.

I can’t really presume to know what your average old geezer would put on his Christmas Wishlist, but I do have some thoughts. (Maybe what I’m doing is subconsciously making my own list, checking it twice and wishing for something naughty and nice.) So what we have here is pure conjecture, but maybe it will plant a seed or two of an idea for that special old guy in your house.

Let’s do this categorically.

CLOTHES.

This is a tough one for me, and especially for anyone who might be gift-shopping for me. I don’t color outside the lines apparel-wise. I like one brand and style of jeans, sweaters, shoes, underwear, socks, coats and hats. I don’t wear ties—in fact, don’t ever buy a tie for a guy for any occasion.

TOYS.

If your guy still has fantasies of being an athlete, you’re in luck. If he’s a golfer, take a peak in his golf bag and see what brand of balls he likes. (A golf pro I know recommends TaylorMade Project(a) balls.)  Check out his golf glove for brand and size. If he’s a tennis player, put together a bag with a can of balls, grip tape and a couple of energy bars. If he still thinks he’s a baller, get him a jock strap and a reality check.

Don’t miss out on the opportunity to put a toy or two in his stocking. There is an eternal child in every guy. Get him a yoyo. Make sure it’s a Duncan Imperial. It’s the brand he spun in his heyday. Think an egg full of Silly Putty is silly? Throw one in his stocking and watch him entertain himself for hours. He’ll be like a junior-high girl with a smart phone or a ten-year old boy with an iPad.

While we’re stuffing the stocking: Be sure to put in some beef jerky. Don’t buy that convenience store crap. Shop for some good locally made jerky. A little tin of Burt’s Bees can’t hurt anyone. I like finding a pack of bandanas in my stocking. I use them for handkerchiefs. If there’s a gang in your hood, make sure your bandana matches theirs, otherwise…

MANLY STUFF.

He may not need a pocket-knife, but most any guy will love opening a package and finding a knife on Christmas morning. It’s like saying, “You’re the Man, dog. We know that if something needs to be cut up, stabbed or whittled, you’re there for us.” If your man’s a hunter or fisherman, you can go to Bass Pro blindfolded, pretty much grab anything and you’re gold.

A nice pair of leather work gloves could be affirming without being condescending. A pair of gloves says, “I recognize that if you chose to get up out of the recliner and unhook the hose from the house before it freezes and bursts, you could. You’re a dude.” On the other hand, to get him a flannel shirt and an axe, could come across as harsh and insulting, sort of like if he bought you something from Victoria’s Secret (oh wait, he probably did).

Speaking of leather: if you have some cash and really want to impress, shop at Saddleback Leather. I have several items from Saddleback and have bought gifts from there as well. Their stuff is the best. Their slogan is, “They will fight over it when you’re dead.” It is really that good.

BOOKS.

Don’t just take my word for it.

“It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it.”   ― Oscar Wilde

Get him a book. A few posts back, I listed six (actually, eight) books of fiction, I would keep if I could only keep six. On that list is The Catcher In The Rye. If the old guy on your list has never read, buy it for him. If he has read it, he probably read it as a teen, when it was banned from schools.

“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”   ― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Here’s another idea: if he has grandkids, give him a book he can read with his grandkids. I highly recommend The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.

“No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.”   ― C.S. Lewis

You might want to choose an author that is still alive and writing. That way if he likes the book you given him, he can read others from the same author. I highly recommend Empire Falls by Richard Russo and Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry.

“I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in.”   ― Robert Louis Stevenson, Essays of Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island would be the ideal book for a grandfather to read with his grandson.

Need other ideas for books for guys, check out this list from Goodreads.com.

Back to that Stevenson quote, the one about two books; one to read and one to write in. Buy your man a journal. It could be the start of a great hobby. I love Moleskine journals but they’re expensive. So, I use Field Notes. They are wonderful and come in some interesting special editions. Field Notes motto is: “I’m not writing it down to remember it later. I’m writing it down to remember it now.” That’s esstential for us Men Of A Certain Age.

If he needs some help with how to get started journaling. Lead him to this post on The Art Of Manliness.

MUSIC.

Every guy needs music. Always has, always will. One year for Christmas, My Amazing-Missus gave me a little apple shaped computer drive with every Beatles album recorded, along with album artwork. It is a gift I cherish to this day. She paid more than I’m worth for it, but the value of it is in the fact that it is gift she chose just for me.

What was his favorite album in his first Coming-Of-Age? Find it and frame it for him. Or maybe his old turntable is in the attic and this will be the incentive he needs to bring it back to life. Careful though. I tried that, and ended up buying a new turntable. With my old hobby of album collecting renewed, I wouldn’t mind finding an album under the tree.

If he doesn’t have a good set of headphones, that would be a perfect gift. DO NOT go to Best Buy or someplace like that and buy a pair of BEATS or the like, unless you’re also getting him a skateboard. There is no better headphone for the money than Grado. I recommend the Grado Prestige Series SR80e. They’re under $100 and sound like they could cost $500.

GETTING PERSONAL.

Again, don’t take my advice. I’m no expert. For me personally, and forgive any sentimentality, but what I want most for Christmas is to sit at the table with our family. My Amazing-Missus makes the most amazing brunch. Her biscuts and gravy are renowned, and she serves it up with cheesy eggs, tater-tots, and fruit salad. I want pictures of our Grand-Girls. I want to hear laughter. I want to hear Luke’s version of the first Christmas. I want to hear my oldest Grand-Girl play the piano. I want the Grand-Girls to sit on my lap and watch Hugo or Peppa Pig. And, if it's not too much to ask; I want a nap.


Oh, and for you guys out this "Black Friday" shopping for the little lady, I found this.

Who knew?!