Lost

A message pops up on my computer telling me that Cranky Old Man has had a couple of new views. Surprising to me since the Old Man has been off doing other things.

This brings to mind the somewhat circular thought, "Not all who wander are lost."

This is part of a longer quote by J.R.R. Tolkien from The Lord of the Rings that goes: “All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."

One can take issue with this, one can take issue with anything, one often does when one is a Cranky Old Man. Thus, even gold may glitter and yet be bitter, some if not most are lost, the old eventually do wither, and deep roots are furthest away from the water.

J.R.R. Tolkien did get a lot right. In The Lord of the Rings, Frodo is a hobbit of the Shire who inherits the One Ring from his cranky cousin the older Bilbo Baggins and undertakes the quest to destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom.

One is left to wonder where Frodo goes at the end of his wanderings. In the book, he remains in Middle-Earth with his grandsons Elladan and Elrohir before departing some time in the Fourth Age. The shire is restored and it is the time of the ascent of man.

How is that working for us?

"Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead. So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?”
John Updike, Self-Consciousness

All who wander are not lost

Where has the Old Man been? Some say he went on vacation, some say he went to Kathmandu and joined a monastery, or got lost and discovered Shangri-La, or he died at the summit of Everest.

But like Mark Twain, the stories told of his demise are an exaggeration. No, the Old Man is not dead nor lost, he is just wandering looking for the Way.

Heraclitus was an old man

To Heraclitus who says,
All things pass and nothing stays
Could I not run ahead?
And stepping in the river,
Find the shoe I lost

Heraclitus of Ephesus was really not so old, 60 years old to be precise when he died. Unless, one considers the average life expectancy in ancient Greece was 25, and that Heraclitus was wise beyond his years, having written on topics diverse as nature, logic, learning, and human affairs.

Then we may conclude that he lived to a ripe old age, having learned that all things pass and nothing stays.

Raphael's School of Athens, Heraclitus sits in the foreground, apart from the others with his elbow on a box

On the road again

St. Augustine was not always an old man.

He was born in the year 354 in Tagaste, the Roman province of Numidia in North Africa. As a youth, he was known for living the good life.

the good life in Montana

After studying in Rome and Milan and after converting to Christianity, he retired to the monastic life in his native village. He was then called to become a priest and moved to the city of Hippo. In time he became bishop, and over the course of 35 years traveled to various councils in Carthage and North Africa. The journey from Hippo to Carthage was a journey of nine days.  One traveled by donkey or on foot,  wearing sandals over dusty roads along a rugged coastline where robbers lay in wait.

North Africa, coast line

In his 75 years on this earth, St. Augustine produced over two hundred books and nearly a thousand sermons, letters, and other works. But he never forgot the importance of travel and meeting other people.

St. Augustine has many quotes, of which I will quote one:

Hope has two beautiful daughters, whose names are anger and courage.  Anger is the way things are, and courage the desire to see that they do not remain as they are.

When asked why he left his studies, he replied, “The world is a great book. None study the book so much as the traveler; they that stay at home read only one page, and never know the joy of the journey.”

The old man is on the road again. This time in Montana, looking for answers, but more importantly looking for hope.

Cordelia Redux

The burden of knowledge my daughter says, is upon the writer and not the reader. Sometimes the burden is described as follows: "As we accumulate more knowledge, more knowledge must be known before new contributors can contribute." Here is it is simply that the reader must know who Cordelia is to appreciate the words.

So I explain...

The youngest and favorite daughter of King Lear is Cordelia, who struggles to find kind words to say about her father. William Shakespeare made a play out of it, which is correctly called a tragedy. Its first known performance was on St. Stephen's Day, December 26th, in 1606.

Cordelia Redux 

My lord and father, 

I am the last to speak, with the least to say 

Sad am I, I cannot heave 

My heart into my mouth, I love your majesty 

I love my father more, according to my bond, 

Not more nor less, I confess

Like any good daughter, I would love and be silent 

Leave me to my duty, I have no need to boast 

That the truth is so untender 

To obey and love and honor 

And nothing can I add

Dear Dad,
Okay, It is sad, but

Every daughter does what she should do

Nothing more nor less need be said

To obey and love and honor is the past

The truth is

I have no time to stay

I need the keys, the car, some cash

I’ve got to dash

Cordelia, a painting by William Frederick Yeames

Back in the saddle again.

I see it has been awhile.

I've been wondering if you wondered where I've been. Well, I've been here and there, mostly there, but now I am back, back in the saddle again.

Back in the saddle

I don't suppose I have much new to add.

Just remember, no matter how much time passes between our meetings, no matter what takes place in meanwhile, there are some things we can never assign to the trashcan, memories are like embers in the fireplace, and there is always a spark to rekindle the flame.

But I will leave you with Gene Autry's lyrics from Back in the Saddle Again. Take from them what you will.

I`m back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again

Ridin` the range once more
Totin` my old .44
Where you sleep out every night
And the only law is right
Back in the saddle again

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh
Rockin` to and fro
Back in the saddle again
Whoopi-ty-aye-yay
I go my way
Back in the saddle again

I`m back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again

Ridin` the range once more
Totin` my old .44
Where you sleep out every night
And the only law is right
Back in the saddle again

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh

Rockin` to and fro

Back in the saddle again

Whoopi-ty-aye-yay

I go my way

Back in the saddle again

Waiting

Out there something incredible is waiting to be known, look for it.

Winter's Pie

Kansas Blackbird

Sing a Song of Sixpence
By Mother Goose

Sing a song of sixpence, 
A pocket full of rye, 
Four and twenty blackbirds 
Baked in a pie. 
When the pie was opened 
The birds began to sing— 
Wasn't that a dainty dish 
To set before the king? 
The king was in the counting-house 
Counting out his money, The queen was in the parlor 
Eating bread and honey, 
The maid was in the garden 
Hanging out the clothes. 
Along came a blackbird 
And snipped off her nose.

Bede's Advice

Female Sparrow, England, image diliff, cc

Bede’s Advice

 

"O’ King,

It seems to me

The life of man on earth

Is short and swift

Like the flight of the sparrow

In the darkest winter

That flies through the room wherein you sit at supper,

With your earlmen and thegns,

As the fire blazes in your midst,

As the meadhall is warmed,

As drinks are raised about

In salute of your wealth and health

As the wintry storms of snow rage about. 

The tiny sparrow, black and brown, grey and white

Unarmed except for wings

And a chest to boast its prowess

With feathers loosely fitting

As if it forgot to tuck in his shirt

As indescript as the twigs

With which it makes its house

As grimy as the dirt wherein it finds its food

The life of man, O’ King, is short

As this tiny sparrow, who

Flying in the door at once is quickly out the window

O’ King,

While within he’s safe

From the wintry tempest,

From his kith and kin who plot,

From his neighbors who covet his lot,

And would steal his kingdom

So, this life, O’ King, of ours,

Appears for a little while

And what may follow or went before

Is uncertain

[Note. This poem is based a passage from Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, Chapter XIII, (Bede c. 673-735). The pagan King Edwin of Northumberland wishing to marry a Christian princess was told he must convert. He assembled his advisors and, after listening to the Christian Paulinus, one of Edwin's advisors recited the parable of the sparrow, concluding that if this new Christian teaching brings knowledge more certain, it seems right that the king should follow it.]

Non-sequitur

Childhood is a time when a goose could write rhymes and it would all make sense.

So where is the dog, where is the dish, Where is the star with which to make a wish?

I had a dream about non-sequiturs. I was a cow, you were the moon, my little dog laughed, and the dish ran away with the spoon.

And somehow it all made poetic dianoetic sense.

Consider present tense.

I have a plan, I am a cow, might I jump over the moon and would my little dog laugh to see such a sight, let the dish run away with the spoon.

Doesn’t follow does it?

The Violinist

Writing poetry, you start with and idea. There you are with your mum... and where does it take you?

violin from 1658 by Jakob Stainer

The Violinist 

There you are
With your mum inside her tum
She stops
In a second hand shop in Notting Hill
What will she buy while you wait?
Something vintage, something quaint,
Perhaps a brush, some tubes with which to paint
Something to inspire
A work of art as beautiful as Renoir
If she dares something rare and not a coffee cup

Something quirky as a turkey
Stuffed and mounted
Made up by a taxidermy
All the while you squirm all wormy
Worried
With thoughts
Of who knows what
Hoping that her choice is socially acceptable
Something conventional
Perhaps a book to while away the hours
Waiting patiently for you

You listen
Imprisoned as you are
For some apparition of the future
And her dreams of what is to come for you
Finally, her indecision is over
And you hear
In your still unformed ear
The gentle sound of the strings of a violin
And within the mother’s tum
Stirs the ambition to be a musician

Winter Squirrels

Winter Squirrels

Winter comes and autumn goes
And so any squirrel knows
To hunker down when it’s cold
In cozy dens with many friends
Curled up in balls of fir
Hardly wanting
From the frozen morn that’s dawning
From their sleeping bliss to stir
Purring softly, dreaming jolly thoughts of play
Warmed by nuts and leaves and odds and ends
They sleep, but

Should the day be bright and warm
The squirrels are up to play
An hour or two, no more
To find the scraps of bread
I left the night before
Then it’s back to bed

Free-riding - Nordhouse

Free-riding, Nordhouse 



 Sea gulls are free-riders.

sea gulls are free-riders

Reality check, in a group project, some always sit and watch while others do the work. That is called “free-riding.” And the problem is that given enough “free-riders” everyone quits working. No one and nothing works. So says Yale economist William D. Nordhaus, truth-sayer of climate change economics. But the truth of the matter is that it goes beyond climate change. A few of his examples are jumping the turnstiles on the subway, leaving dirty dishes in the sink for others to wash, not pitching in for pizza, but why not throw in picking up the trash in city parks, public welfare, and paying taxes. 

It seems that we can’t agree on free-riding and climate change, but that is part of the theory, we can’t make up our minds as a group. 

And what does it matter? As another economist, John Maynard Keynes, said, “In the long run we are all dead,” whether from waiting for humanity to accept that 7 billion human beings can change the climate for the good as well as the bad,  a failed nation-state, or simply old age.

Where do Bees go in Winter?

If you are a cranky old man like me, then you are asking: 

Where do bees go in the winter? 

Honey Bee on a Button Bush

In summer, the worker bees have gathered pollen into the pollen baskets on their back legs, carried it back to the hive where it is used for the developing brood. 

Now it is winter and the bees have a big job —take care of the queen bee. This means they must keep her safe and warm. So, worker bees surround the queen and form a cluster with their bodies, then flutter their wings and shiver.

Brrrr. 

Bees die of hypothermia if their body temperatures are lowered to approximately 7 degrees Centigrade, so the colder it gets the more they flap their wings.

The moment or the memory

Beech Lake

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse
Was tender, musical, and terse;
The inspiration, the delight,
The gleam, the glory, the swift flight,

Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem
The revelations of a dream,
All these were his; but with them came
No envy of another's fame;

He did not find his sleep less sweet,
For music in some neighboring street
Nor rustling hear in every breeze
The laurels of Miltiades.

Honor and blessings on his head
While living, good report when dead,
Who, not too eager for renown,
Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown!

Longfellow, The Prelude from The Wayside Inn

Two cats in the yard

Our house is a very, very fine house with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard, Now everything is easy cause of you ... Crosby Stills Nash and Young, Our House, album Déjà Vu, 1970.

The very private Canadian Joni Mitchell opens up to Mark Bego (Joni Mitchell, Mark Bego, 2005.) revealing the story behind her brief time with Brit Graham Nash. Nash even wrote a song about their time together, Our House. Graham Nash is living with Joni Mitchell and her two cats in a house on Laurel Canyon in LA. After breakfast Nash bought a cheap vase on Ventura Boulevard, stuck a flower in it and gave it to Mitchell.

two cats in the yard, life need not be so hard

Nash wrote the song in an hour, on Mitchell's piano. 

Graham Nash tells Terri Gross the story on NPR's Fresh Air. 


Okay, you know this is not Laurel Canyon, not California, and not Joni Mitchell's house; and the vase with the flower is replaced by a cheap figure of a plastic man in bright yellow and blue. 

Two cats, but only one chair to watch the world go by in Mt. Moriah, Missouri. A cooler behind the file cabinet from which to grab a frosty one. 

Life need not be so hard. But it was. After Joni broke up with Nash in 1969, he plus buddies Crosby, Stills and Young, came out with the album Déjà Vu and she went off to Greece and the island of Crete where she slept on the rocks in a cave with Carey. 

I'll let the Wall Street Journal take up the story from here. Life used to be so hard.

Quit your bitchin'

Any cranky old  fool can criticize, condemn and complain - and most fools do. Benjamin Franklin

The shorten modified version comes from Dale Carnegie. A misplaced and long ago forgotten longer version, part of a self-improvement plan Franklin drew up as a young man in 1726, goes:

 ...I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever, not even in a matter of truth; but rather by some means excuse the faults I hear charged upon others, and upon proper occasions speak all the good I know of every body.

While we are on the topic of fools, let's quote Buck Owens:

There's no fool like an old fool 
That's loved and lost at least a hundred times 
There's no fool like an old fool 
That keeps on falling for the same old line.

his and hers?

Fools come in all sizes, shapes, and ages, mostly recognizable to everyone but the fool. The old man has lots of things to bitch about, still he keeps them to himself.

As Lou Holtz said, “Never tell your problems to anyone...20% don't care and the other 80% are glad you have them.”

What one thing guides you in life?

Daughter (to father): What one thing is your one guiding principle in life?

Old Man : Be curious and ejoy life.

Daughter: That is two things.

Old Man: Then, 'Be curious.' Curiosity drives the human mind to new experiences and consequently to life's enjoyment.

Be ... more curious about ideas - Marie Curie

Vacationing with her husband in Brittany, Marie Curie was mistaken as a housekeeper by a reporter seeking an interview and asked if she could reveal any titillating gossip. 

This was her response.

"Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas."


[As told in Living Adventures in Science‎ (1972), by Henry Thomas and Dana Lee Thomas]

The Secret of the Sea

The mystery of the sea

The Secret of the Sea

By Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me

  As I gaze upon the sea!

All the old romantic legends,

  All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

  Such as gleam in ancient lore;

And the singing of the sailors,

  And the answer from the shore!

[Tell me of] the Spanish ballad…

Of the noble Count Arnaldos…

Like the long waves on a sea-beach,

  Where the sand as silver shines,

With a soft, monotonous cadence,

  Flow its unrhymed lyric lines;--

Tell [me] how the Count Arnaldos,…

Saw a fair and stately galley,…

How he heard the ancient helmsman

  Chant a song so wild and clear,

That the sailing sea-bird slowly

  Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,

  And he cried, with impulse strong,--

"Helmsman! for the love of heaven,

  Teach me, too, that wondrous song!"

"Wouldst thou,"--so the helmsman answered,

  "Learn the secret of the sea?

Only those who brave its dangers

  Comprehend its mystery!"

In each sail that skims the horizon,

  In each landward-blowing breeze,

I behold that stately galley,

  Hear those mournful melodies;

Till my soul is full of longing

  For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean

  Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

A slightly shortened version, the full version is found here.

my soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea