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[ NASA/Apollo 17 crew;photo taken by either Harrison Schmitt or Ron Evans 1972(Public domain)]
I do not always present my best side, especially when health insurance declines to co-pay my favorite mind-stimulant and tranquilizer --Cabernet Sauvignon from Woodruff Vinyard only 20 miles away. Magnum in Normaphoto was just carried home from RiteAid Pharmacy, under my protection. I still get carded there because I guess I pass for under 21 (can't help it if I'm lucky).
When I really was under 21, well over a half century ago, some high school acquaintances would organize recreational convoys over our southern border to towns like Tijuana and Escroto- Sangrante, both of which enjoyed Kakistocratic government. I learned about Kakistocracy in 1959, when our school bus driver, Mrs. Dixon, pulled over on a country road and addressed us passengers --many of whom were yelling, screaming and trading roars. She said: "Y'all quieten down, listen up, SMARTEN UP! And we'll get rollin' again!" It worked and she resumed driving our bus. Sadly, many rowdy belligerents grew into lifelong Kakistocrats -- a third party that obtained in 2016. By 2020 Republican and Democratic parties were able to restore governmental dignity and get the bus rolling again.
20th was a good century for me. People were having fun. When I turned 50, the Harlem Globetrotters inducted Pope John Paul II and gave him jersey number 75. That was year 2000, (Y2K!!!!!!!!) when we were all stripping store shelves of stuff we might need --but now can't remember what it was about. Number 75, I remember because the world still had some fun in it. We survived great hardships and little soft ones too, because sometimes we felt so loved, we'd never be unhappy again.
That's when I replay Mrs. Dixon in my mind, and feel better already.
When I was young and ignorant of how wise I thought I was, spring would bring forth allergies, early-morning hymns that went on and on --low melodious man-rumbles and spooky vibratous descants from church ladies-- until I declared "I descant do this anymore."
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I recall feeling relief at abstaining from church later on, except on Easter, especially after reading Paul Tillich, "Christ the sacrament of the encounter with God." Also read Martin Buber. In "I And Thou", wrote, "The world and I include each other reciprocally."
So how do I, from such foundations, explain Easter? I don't. I get my cane and shuffle out to the barn. I contemplate junk, like the fragments of a decoy duck Norma's enate great grandfather carved 100 years ago. It has the craquelure of wood long wet, then dried for many years. Poor duck's head fell off years and years ago.
With the thirty-year-old purchase on the Pumphouse shelf of OATEY pvc cement-- immortally waterproof, which was so sealed I needed 2 pipewrenches to open, I spooned enough waterproof glue to recapitate the duck. Then went at him with a collar of acrylic paint.
What did I learn? If we want to meditate upon resurrecting ourselves, our species, reading, church, it's going to take a lot of practice, treks out to the barn, avoiding prejudgement, skills that can raise from injustice what can be raised --and OATEY.
Clip above is among my favorites. What else can be said of this masterwork of actors and performers, Kelly Lebrock, Gene Wilder, Stevie Wonder? Its subtitles are in a language I loved in childhood, when my grandmother would hug me and croon,"Ah malnino, you be good!"
I thought it was a good way to return to blogging after some months of rather demanding distractions. I just called to say I'm ok, trying to be good, etc.
Let's begin this closing episode of the "Ago" post series with a photo--ago-go:
This beloved bug took us off to find America in 1968. My friend, Will, and I camped all over California, on into Nevada etc., then returned west. Him, to be a kind role-model to other fatherless kids. Me, to keep learning, by his example, and discover good ideas, no matter how old or new, politically and morally created in discourse of reason, stabilized lives.
Some years later, on Interstate 5, I was driving to work and was honkingly instructed to check my rear-view mirror by a fellow motorist. It appeared the sun was rising in the south that morning. Pulled over to let it pass, stopped, stepped out to watch Beloved Bug join eternity in a pillar of flame and drifting carbon. What does one do?
One gets another VW. This one emits carbon in the form of little yellow wildflowers.
We still have Van but I don't drive it in hot weather. I drive Mazdas from this century because of their excellent air conditioning --which strangely I like more and more here in my 7th decade. But Van has its charms. Here is a Normaphoto of Will (at right) and us headed for Russ Solomon's Tower Records and Cafe:
This is post 3 of the "ago" series, which is complete because there's nowhere else to take it since G.P. upped my medicine. Only thing I can hammer into a description is the old saw: "When I work, I works hard. When I sit, I sits easy. When I think, I falls asleep."--a desk-poster recalled from a friend and school counselor many decades ago. Time travels humor as easily as age and caducity. Normaphoto below shows effect of this axiom.
My head was already lowered to minimize projectile dysmorphia (deforming others by the force of my sneezes) caused by allergens and bad air, followed by sibilate hisses that alarm backyard cats.
But, closing a bright note, it's all followed by an exhilarating sort of exhaustion. Stay well, all.
As threatened in my prior post, "Photo, Tableau, Ago", I will continue the subject elsewhen.
