NOOKS AND CRANNIES

IT CAN HAVE A CERTAIN DESPERATION TO IT—we searched every nook and cranny. Or, you can describe your hoarding auntie—she has stuff crammed in every nook and cranny. Or, maybe it can prompt some sort of adventure—let’s explore every nook and cranny. Let’s talk about that one.

The Cambridge dictionary says that nooks and crannies are: every part of a place.

Dictionary.com says: Everywhere. This metaphoric idiom pairs nook, which has meant “an out-of-the-way corner” since the mid-1300s, with cranny, which has meant “a crack or crevice” since about 1440.

Since we’re going to go digging through nooks and crannies as a sort of adventure let’s start with the places. Places can be literal like an attic or basement, a library and even a book. Places can be your town, or your state, or beyond. Think about people like Lewis and his buddy Clark. As they trekked mapless across the continent it was pretty much all nooks and crannies. But, let’s go further, let’s say a place full of nooks and crannies can be your own mind and soul, your memories and your stories.

My adventure for now is sleuthing for goodness, truth and beauty in our modern day culture and in myself. I’m going to confess some despair, because in the thin, wide open, garishly-lit places of the 24-hour news cycles, politics, religion, social media, pop-culture, etc. I’m not finding much; goodness, truth, beauty that is. So, these must surely be in the nooks and crannies. I know they haven’t gone away completely. It’s just that most everything else is so loud, chaotic, shrill, flashing, strobing, grating, grinding, shallow, deceptive, false and dissimulating.

It sounds like I’m describing the Las Vegas strip. It’s kind of pretentious like that, but more pervasive and sneaky and ugly. I’ve been to Vegas twice: once for a trade show, once to accept an award for a web design project. I don’t like it at all. It’s not that I’m taking some moral highground, but I’ve been to Paris. I’ve been to New York many times. I would suggest that if you want to experience either, go there; not to some gaudy Vegas charade of those two great cities. (Although I would recommend seeing the 1963 film “Charade” starring Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn.)

Excuse me while I get my train back on the tracks.

Do you find all of this—our current state of affairs—a bit disorienting? I do. Do you sort of despise the “new normal”? I do. Do you long for something solid that you can count on? I realize this is beginning to sound like a set up for some product I’m selling like an herb or oil or potion, like a wand Harry or Hermione might have, or maybe a book or a sermon. Sorry.

I do have this though: there is goodness, truth and beauty all around us. There is a certain joy in the search and in the discovery. Looking in the nooks and crannies always promises a eureka moment. I often find them in song lyrics like this scripture turned popular song:

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

Or, in a verse:

“So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” —Jesus

Sometimes we can find them vicariously. Surely by now you’ve heard the stories of Steve Hartman. He is the Sherlock Holmes of uncovering goodness, truth and beauty; along the road. Here is his Facebook page. Click and rejoice. Discover them through Steve’s encounters.

Where do you find goodness, truth and beauty?

THE EYES HAVE IT

FIND A DIFFERENT DOCTOR. That was the advice my Dad got from a friend a few years back. Mom and Dad, along with Mom’s siblings and their spouses, made a winter trip to south Texas. While there, Dad had a heart attack and ended up having by-pass surgery at the hospital in Harlingen, Texas. After several weeks of rehab there, I flew to Harlingen to drive them home in their motorhome.

As we were unhooking the motorhome, preparing for our departure, a number of their friends gathered around to wish them well. Several of the old guys were veterans of the heart surgery wing of a hospital. Each had some advice to offer. My mom was asking them all questions about a new heart-friendlier diet and exercise plan. She mentioned that switching to a low-sodium diet would be challenging for them. One of the old guys said, “My doc told me to lay off salt.” Mom asked, “What did you do?” His reply: “Found a different doctor.”

When it comes to lifestyle choices, you can always find an “expert” to back up your choice. Right? Whatever it may be. Back then we didn’t even have Google or Facebook. Now you can truly find support for most any theory or opinion you want to have. And of course, you can also find hearty disagreement.

Take this hot potato for example: masks or no-masks. There is the argument about effectiveness. You can find support for the safety of wearing one. You can find mockery if you do. Some will say they are thinking of others when they were their masks. Others will tell them they’ve sold their soul to Bill Gates and given up their Freedom. Some will say to those refusing to wear masks they have simply sold out to Trump. Those will respond that if you wear a mask you love AOC and hate statues. Some will say, “My doc says I should wear a mask becausee I’m old.” Some will respond, “Then find a different doctor.”

Believe it or not, this post is not about further arguing the point. I figure by this time everyone has made up their mind on the matter. This post is about something wonderful I’ve observed in the midst of mask-wearing. It happened first at an eatery. I won’t mention the name of the place except to say that they do have good chicken nuggets and they seem intent on making an art form of drive through and curbside service. My favorite item from this little joint though is their frosted coffee drink.

One afternoon on a social-distancing road trip, My Amazing-Missus and I decided to get one of these tasty treats. I put on my mask. All of the worker bees in the drive through had on theirs. When a young lady held out a tray with our drinks on it, I said, “Thank you.” And then it happened.

Something I never would have noticed had it not been for the masks—I noticed her eyes. After my “thank you”, she replied. I’m not certain what she said, her voice was muffled some by the mask. But I’m certain, she said, “My Pleasure!” And then she smiled———with her eyes.

We don’t leave the house much, but occasionally we pick up food curbside. I never miss the opportunity to look into the eyes of our masked servers. Hopefully, they can see the smile in mine. In case they can’t, I’ve also become a bigger tipper. Wouldn’t it be weird if somehow in the midst of diminishing humanity from arguing and side-taking, we might actually discover a beauty in our fellow strugglers by looking each other in the eyes and smiling.

Can excessive doses of CO2 from mask wearing cause one to become a sentimental old fool? I’ll have to Google that. I’m sure I can find someone that supports the notion.

U OK HUN?

I DON’T KNOW THAT I HAD MUCH INTEREST in the United Kingdom until The Beatles rocked the music world and transcended pop culture by making culture. That of course was the 60s. In the summer of ’70, I got to visit England. My main three take-aways, best I remember: 1. it seemed so old, 2. why can’t you get ice in a glass of water, and 3. why do they call cookies biscuits?

Of late, I’ve had a renewed interest in the the UK. It may have started with Downton Abbey, but has gained momentum at about three miles an hour, watching YouTube videos about narrowboats slowing chugging along on the canals, really old canals, that meander across the island. One in particular, is a vlog called “Cruising the Cut”. I wrote about it a while back.

Apparently some YouTube algorithm—not to sound too paranoid—has decided I would like to, or should like to, know more about the ways of the Brits via video blogs, adding them to my “if you liked this, you might like this” list. Watching the videos has spawned a fascination with the ways and words of the Crown’s Subjects (or are they Citizens of the Commonwealth?) It’s confusing.

from the internet. not likely an actual Churchill quote.

One such phrase I learned just the other day: “U ok hun?” Apparently this is used when someone is being overly dramatic or seemingly stressed to the brink, particularly as expressed in their social media posts. It shows a bit of concern but with an unspoken hint of “maybe you’re overdoing it.” The fact that it’s made its way to t-shirts and coffee mugs (or tea cups for my British friends) signals it is woven into urban-speak.

It’s sort of like our: “Bless your heart.” Sort of sardonic sympathy, but not always. Sometimes it is full-on, beautiful empathy.

Isn’t it weird how almost everything can be divisive now?

I wasn’t there, but apparently back in the first century the issue of whether to eat meat that had been offered to idols was a hot topic. People were lining up, taking sides and throwing metaphorical stones. Paul the Apostle mentioned in a letter that sometimes knowledge can puff us up; even if that knowledge is based in truth and facts; or not. And when we’re all puffed up with superiority, knowledge becomes dogma and we become jerks. (That part wasn’t in Paul’s take on the matter. I added it on.) [I’ve included a portion of his letter below.]

What if we could sincerely embrace an attitude that regardless of how we vote, whether we’re mask/no mask, whether our favorite ammendment is the first or the second, we could say to each other with true compassion in these crazy times: “U ok hun?” And, no matter the answer, our response would be a sincere: “Bless your heart.”

And, if you’re thinking, “Bless his liberal, naive heart,” I feel that sarcasm. I’m empathetic like that. (Or would that be telepathic?)

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Paul’s first letter to a group in Corinth (chapter 8, The Message)

The question keeps coming up regarding meat that has been offered up to an idol: Should you attend meals where such meat is served, or not? We sometimes tend to think we know all we need to know to answer these kinds of questions—but sometimes our humble hearts can help us more than our proud minds. We never really know enough until we recognize that God alone knows it all.

Some people say, quite rightly, that idols have no actual existence, that there’s nothing to them, that there is no God other than our one God, that no matter how many of these so-called gods are named and worshiped they still don’t add up to anything but a tall story. They say—again, quite rightly—that there is only one God the Father, that everything comes from him, and that he wants us to live for him. Also, they say that there is only one Master—Jesus the Messiah—and that everything is for his sake, including us. Yes. It’s true.

In strict logic, then, nothing happened to the meat when it was offered up to an idol. It’s just like any other meat. I know that, and you know that. But knowing isn’t everything. If it becomes everything, some people end up as know-it-alls who treat others as know-nothings. Real knowledge isn’t that insensitive. We need to be sensitive to the fact that we’re not all at the same level of understanding in this. Some of you have spent your entire lives eating “idol meat,” and are sure that there’s something bad in the meat that then becomes something bad inside of you. An imagination and conscience shaped under those conditions isn’t going to change overnight.

HANDS, LIPS & THE DEVIL

MY MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER was a fount of wisdom and warnings: Play with fire and you’ll wet the bed. Hike in the woods and you’ll get a chigger on your wigger. And, one I heard often: Idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Each of her warnings was uttered with the authority of divine edict, or certainly, scriptural backing.

I’ve done a bit of Bible reading over my life and can’t remember a reference to bed-wetting, chiggers or wiggers (unless you count all that circumcision stuff). The line about idle hands didn’t appear in any version of the Bible until 1971, The Living Bible version, published that year, intrepreted Proverbs 16:27 as, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop; idle lips are his mouthpiece.” My grandmother was proclaiming this truth long before 1971.

I bring this up for a couple of reasons. #1) On that loose lips part, you should read what I wrote and was going to post before I chose to write this! #2) Apparently that idle-hands thing took root. I try to keep my hands busy so the devil’s workshop remains closed.

This also serves to meet the warning of my mentor and guide through the aging process who said that every old guy needs a hobby in retirement; or else. Retirement is at hand, so I’m trying to find ways to keep mine busy doing something besides running the TV remote and writing stuff that will get me in trouble. I’ve also discovered that if I don’t keep my hands busy, sometimes My Amazing Missus will find ways for me to get them busy.

I don’t play golf. I would play tennis but I think I’m too good to play with the old geezers. I don’t like yardwork, or sawdust. I like flyfishing but I live in central Oklahoma. The only trout you’ll find around here are in the freezer at the grocery store. I play my drums, but how much of that can we all stand?

So, I’m trying my hands at leatherwork. I did a bit of that back in the 60s and really enjoyed it. So why wouldn’t it work in my 60s.

Recently I made a leather case for a bottle of essential oil. It turned out well so I’ve made a few more.

My latest project was a bit more challenging. I decide to make a bag for My Amazing Missus. When I started on the project I thought, if this goes well I might make a few more and see if I could sell them to help support my hobby. The bag is done. Based on the work/time/materials, I think I’ll price them at $14,329.00 (including shipping). In other words: I don’t plan to make another one.

I don’t know what I’ll do with all the stuff I’m making but at least my hands are busy; some of the time.

Coaster set and holder

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