Of Age and Time

I thought I enjoyed aging. My impressions have told me that, for some people, aging is a fearful thing. I  never really understood and felt slightly alienated by the difference. 

For some people, childhood was a utopia; one long, carefree summer vacation. Life sprouted complexities during teenage years, but energy eloped with beauty, providing plenty of excitement. However, between young adulthood and seniorhood, something changes. Perhaps it's the mortgages and minivans. Whatever the case, old age appears as Hitler himself. Once again physical beauty has eloped. Even the eyes of the beholder struggle for a glimpse. Glasses are mistaken for protective, bullet-proof devices. Hair and hearing become endangered species, while original joints are altogether extinct. Teeth have attained the status of the stars: they come out at night. 

I don't anticipate diapers and denture glue; I simply view aging differently. Age is beautiful, for age brings wisdom. While physical beauty declines with age, wisdom only grows stronger and more beautiful each day.  Age provides wisdom to appreciate small things. Age provides wisdom to extract every ounce out of life. Age provides wisdom to live more fully.

Or so I thought. I'm not so certain now. You see, age also brings change. Sometimes change is fun; sometimes... it's not. Whether good or bad, life can never be the way it was.

I recently experienced a most curious encounter with time. I was wandering outside at night, under a beautifully clear sky. I raised my hand to obscure the rising moon, when I heard it: a steady tick... tick... tick. Irony of ironies, I thought. Lost in the unchanging timelessness of the heavens, I listened to single seconds silently slipping away - never to return.

"What day is it?" asked Pooh.

"It's Today," squeaked Piglet.

"My favourite day," said Pooh.

Destination: Nostalgia

Beware of the rampage. Consider yourself warned.

I recently visited the drainage ditch behind our place, officially called The Creek. I was awed by the incredible biodiversity. All types of plants, bushes, flowers, rushes, and grasses grow in or along The Creek.  Plus, there are singing insects and their less musical relations; the frogs and their slimy, bubbly noises; and all sorts of watery creatures that I didn't see, but knew were there anyway.

The orderly randomness of nature fascinates me - but it's exceedingly difficult to describe. Essentially, whatever grows best, lives. How can beauty arise from mere competition? 

Parts of The Creek were completely overgrown with flowering bushes. Hidden were the steep banks, hidden were the flowing contours, hidden was the very water. Partially hidden were some sort of red berries that I would have killed for as a kid. And so the journey to nostalgia begins.

Large bushes are a monument to passing time. They never had a chance to grow while certain young boys were on the move. Mighty waterworks we built: large-scale dams, locks, reservoirs, islands, and dredging projects. These grand constructions, however, were products of cognitive maturity. The history of The Creek began years before our brains bloated. The history of The Creek began with a curiously endless succession of muddy pants.

The Creek's entertainment started with its wildlife: both human friends and animals. We were captivated by trying to capturing everything we could: frogs, tadpoles, minnows, crayfish, and even a snake or two. On bold and blood-thirsty days, we armed ourselves with sling-shots and obscure plant bulbs (don't ask me to explain) and set out frog hunting. Luckily for the frogs, our aim was atrocious.

Depending on who you ask, age brought compassion. In this case, it meant tormenting frogs instead of attempting to murder them. We were geeks from the get-go. Cutting-edge technology in the form of odd bits of PVC pipe revolutionized our fun. Bopping frogs on the head grew boring swiftly. A new method involved carefully sucking the pipe full of water and blasting a frog with a tremendous water canon salute. Another favourite was placing the end of the pipe directly beneath a frog and levitating it by blowing bubbles like mad. Fortunately for us, the frogs were too stupid to find a new location along The Creek.

Although summer brought the highlights, winter could be great fun. Well, except for a singular sledding incident. My older siblings constructed a great snow jump on the steep bank - and were too chicken to try it themselves. So yours truly was stuffed squalling into a small sled and shoved heartily down the slope. They thought it was fantastic. My tongue, on the other hand, suffered from a close encounter with my teeth. As you can see, the term "compassion" is rather ambiguous.

The past wasn't without terror - maybe the rustling in the grass was something more than a muskrat! But as I wandered and remembered and relived, I smiled. The memories I have forgotten remain forgotten, for I can't remember that I have forgotten them. My journey ended as I considered nostalgia of itself.

As we know, events happen before nostalgia happens. What would happen if we would switch the two around; have nostalgia before the event happened? What are those feelings of "having been here before" or "having experienced this previously," even though you can't remember when or how?

I have heard the thought that heaven is like earth, only far more real. (And perfect, obviously.) How can something be more real than the reality we live in? But maybe it's this way: maybe the reality we live in now is just the nostalgia. Maybe the love, joy, and peace we experience here feels faded by time in comparison to heaven's reality. Maybe the real event is yet to come.

Am I crazy? Quite likely. But whatever you do, don't hold me responsible for ideas encountered through nostalgia.

Genius

I recently read a compilation of articles by Albert Einstein, titled The World As I See It. Remarkably, this book excludes all mathematical and scientific writings, simply because we're too dumb to catch on. In fact, most people are too ignorant to realize they're too ignorant to understand his theory. 

Years of study are required to understand all the technical terms, much less the concepts they represent. Comprehension of his theory of general relativity won't fully reveal his genius. Only after one digs through science history to discover what knowledge he had to begin his journey; only after one walks in his mental footsteps; only after one comprehends the "before" and "after" pictures; only after one views and understands the progress his theory made - only then can one more fully grasp his intelligence.

However, this book reveals a more personal side. His sense of responsibility towards his fellow humans amazes me. In his perspective, all that he had - including knowledge and relative ease of lifestyle - was a gift from previous generations. Therefore his responsibility with these gifts was to improve them for the proceeding generations. He writes, "The life of the individual has meaning only in so far as it aids in making the life of every living thing nobler and more beautiful." His foremost desire was to make the world a better place.

At least, that's what I understood from the book. I haven't encountered so many new, big words since Wordly Wise in my school days. (Doesn't that make me sound old?) Never underestimate the effect a single word has on a paragraph. Apparently "anthropomorphic" - er - didn't mean quite what I thought it did.

No need to idolize the man, but the mysteriousness of his theory only increases my awe. However, I must admit I admire genius. I see its streaks in the people I encounter every day. And I marvel at it, wondering if they know it too. For I think when God creates people, he only makes geniuses.

I guess I'm pretty stupid - not in a derogatory way, but simply facing the facts. I think it's okay to be stupid, for God doesn't mind so much. Rather, I think He prefers me - us - that way. Cause when we lose our knowledge, then He becomes Wisdom. 

Swiss Cheese

...vowing that this one would be different. This blog wouldn't fizzle out like so many others. I would stick to it and continue posting. Only I didn't, as you can see. Hark! The sound of crunching as I eat my hollow words.

It hasn't been from lack on ideas. No, they have perpetually bubbled from the great artesian aquifer of Thought. Perhaps the abundance of ideas has churned into a marsh I dare not trust. Other things fill my days. Books to read, routes to ride, obligations to fill, and, of course, work. What would we do without work?

Not work, perhaps?

Ho, ho, so silly. Thank you, smarty pants.

Please excuse us for a moment.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to write full time? Devote every day to the craft, instead of only the spare moments. Forget about work. Hide away from annoying interruptions. Find a houseboat home. Enjoy writer's high - and writer's perspective - every day.

Writing is shockingly similar to painting. I prefer realism when it comes to painting, although I admire all styles (excepting cubism, of course). My limited experience has taught me that everything is never as it seems. Let's pretend we are painting a picture that contains a door. Everyone knows that doors have square corners. Okay, so let's ensure the door we are painting has square corners.

Except not so fast. Depending on the perspective, the door we are painting might have very un-square corners. Therefore, to create a realistic reproduction, we must paint exactly what we see - not what we think we see.

In writing, the picture becomes an idea and the paints become the words. The difficulty lies in "painting" the idea how it actually is, not how one thinks it is. The difficulty lies in choosing concise words that portray no more, no less, than the original. How often do figurative doors contain square corners, simply because I have
mis-chosen words.

Differences of perceptions always form; misperceptions always form. This is simply a product of perspective. Ironically - there is always a flip side - these differences and errors produce refreshing individual style, both in painting and writing. The artist's signature appears through the very inconsistencies of which they are unconscious. Yet the term "inconsistencies" is purely subjective. Who can rightly judge one perception as more nearly correct than another? However, when striving for excellence and all realism flees, humour covers a multitude of sins.

Back to the writing dream, I'm afraid it is an illusion. After all, a dream is purely a vacation from reality. To spend time in recluse is to cut oneself off from reality. And how could one portray - and discover - reality when they are isolated in an artificial world?

Dreams are fantastic, but I'm afraid this one is Swiss cheese - full of holes. Yet very well aged.

Camaraderie of Literature

I have a delightful, insightful passage to share with you. It comes from the book titled The Master's Violin by Myrtle Reed. An excellent read if there ever was one.

I'm fascinated by the physical book itself. Copyright in 1904, it is over one hundred years old! My mind wanders through the history of this span of time. The paper and binding that I hold in my hand has survived the mistaken glory of World War I. It escaped the perilous, penny-pinching poverty of the Great Depression. Then it soldiered on through the next global conflict: World War II. In fact, it was forty years old by the time the atom publicly unleashed its astronomical power. Danger wasn't past. Its next foe was subtle: consumerism. The post-war economic success ruled: if it's old, junk it and buy a new one. And still it lived on. Today it combats the digital revolution. Liquid crystal is the new paper and binding. And just this morning, it was bombed by cinnamon roll icing. A certain careful reader wasn't quite careful enough.

I love to wonder where this book has been. Whose bookshelf has it sat in? Whose hands have held it? Whose mind delighted in its semi-philosophical lapses? Perhaps someone... No, to begin would only lead further from the paragraphs I am unsuccessfully trying to share.

So here you are:

      "Of the things that make for happiness, the love of books comes first. No matter how the world may have used us, sure solace lies there. The weary, toilsome day drags to its disheartening close, and both love and friendship have proved powerless to appreciate or understand, but in the quiet corner consolation can always be found. A single shelf, perhaps, suffices for one's few treasures, but who shall say it is not enough?

       "A book, unlike any other friend, will wait, not only upon the hour, but upon the mood. It asks nothing and gives much, when one comes in the right way. The volumes stand in serried ranks at attention, listening eagerly, one may fancy, for the command.

     "Is your world a small one, made unendurable by a thousand petty cares? Are the heart and soul of you cast down by bitter disappointment? Would you leave it all, if only for an hour, and come back with a new point of view? Then open the covers of a book.

      "With this gentle comrade, you may journey to the very end of the world and even to the beginning of civilization. There is no land which you may not visit, from Arctic snows to the loftiest peaks of southern mountains. Gallant gentlemen [and ladies, of course ;] will go with you and tell you how to appreciate what you see. Further still, there are excursions into the boundless regions of imagination, where the light of dreams has laid its surpassing beauty over all.

      "Would you wander in company with soldiers of Fortune, and share their wonderful adventures? Would you live in the time of the Crusades and undertake a pilgrimage in the name of the Cross? Would you smell the smoke of battle, hear the ring of steel, the rattle of musketry, and see the colours break into deathly beauty well in advance of the charge? Would you have for your friends a great company of noble men and women who have wrought and suffered and triumphed in the end? Would you find new courage, stronger faith, and serene hope? Then open the covers of a book, and presto - change!"

Sounds a bit like God's Book, doesn't it?

Too Much Green

If only this radar could detect aircraft. A certain POTUS and First Lord of the Admiralty wouldn't have believed it for a moment. In fact, they might have dropped dead. Even a contemporary air traffic controller would be shocked at the volume of information this thing displays. Alas, that is the essence of the problem. So perceptible and sensitive, it picks up everything. Unfortunately, "everything" is too much. If only there was a way to dismantle it, or leave it behind, or something. Good grief, even an off button would be rather handy.

The targets never suspect its presence. In most cases, they don't realize it exists. But woe to the carrier in an environment crowded with targets. The green blips will multiply. They will invade the screen. Every minute detail will appear. Only there are too many of them. The information will come faster and faster. No time to sort, process, or absorb it. This torrent will build up into a creeping pool of green. Don't underestimate its power to overwhelm. Perhaps it will drown you. The only way to reduce the flow is to reduce the number of targets. Flee! Except after you have vacated the zone, the echos will come. And then you will remember that you forgot to forget the instrument. Hurray. Perhaps there is a flip side.

If you identify, my condolences. If you don't, my congratulations.

-radar kid

Two Thoughts

No one is completely open-minded. And I doubt anyone is completely close-minded. Are you open-minded enough to accept your close-mindedness?

Now onto a different thought, here's a beautiful paragraph from the Max Lucado Daily, titled "The Same Hands."

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 21:4) Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears.

More Questions Than Answers

"Hey, how are doing?

"Fine, and you?"

"Pretty good."

Really. 

It's a knee jerk reaction. Of course I'm fine, what else would I be? Everything is always "fine." There is no such thing as pain or sorrow or depression or confusion. Yeah, right. And nothing ever goes wrong, does it.

Have you ever told someone that your life is falling apart, or that you are depressed and you don't know why? Has anyone ever replied to you in that way? Why can't I look at things the way they really are and say things the way they really are? 

Sometimes I'm scared of myself. I used to think I had a pretty good idea of who I was. Right now I have no idea. Sure, I know my personality and my interests, but why do I react this way, when everyone else seems to react a different way? Why do I say the things I do?  Or more aptly, why don't I say the things I don't say? Lol. I really don't know, but I know Someone who does.

No, right now everything is not going perfectly. But I'm not worried. When I admit to a problem, God can work with it. When I admit I need help, I can accept help. Between God, the exquisite thoughts He sends,  prayers, and friends, it is impossible to not succeed.

Less Is More

I admire people who can say much with few words. Simple is profound. And now I shall likely disregard my preferences and ramble for awhile. When someone speaks simply and succinctly, their thoughts stay with me. When they don't, on the other hand, I have to sort and sift to find the point, and in the mean time, I've forgotten what they've said, and do you suppose this would be considered a run-on sentence?

I thought I was looking forward to winter. Apparently I was deceived.

I was rummaging in my closet, and suddenly, quite un-biddenly, a winter glove jumped out and plopped onto the floor. Shudder! I closed my eyes to the hateful thing. I've really enjoyed summer, and I'm ready for autumn , but please, no winter quite yet! By the time the snow starts flying I'll probably embrace it whole-heartedly, but just think of bundling up every time you head outside...

Big Deal, Little Deal

As big of a deal as you make it. That's my new philosophy. 

I've found out time and again that most situations or tasks usually become as big of a deal as you make them. Most of you can probably think of times when you made a big deal out of some insignificant thing you dreaded, and later realized that your worrying had been a waste of energy. If you hadn't made it into a big deal, it would have been simple.

What would happen if you flipped the idea around? Take a little thing that you enjoy and make it into a big deal. Not to the point where you would fret over it, but rather that you could stretch it out as long as you could to squeeze every drop of enjoyment out of it.

One of Two Minds

Watch out! The following is a favourite subject of mine. I hope I won't bore you to tears...

Do you find yourself dreading large parties because they can be exhausting? Do you find it confusing that you don't seem to enjoy socializing like everyone else? Do you find yourself being overwhelmed by a task that others seem to think is simple? Do you often need time to organize your thoughts before you answer a question? If you answered yes to more than a couple of these, chances are you are not abnormal like you think; you're probably just an introvert. (Further down, I've posted a link that will help you decide)

Introversion and extroversion could be considered personalities, but really they describe the way our brains our wired. Introverts are happiest when by themselves, with well known friends, or in any restful setting. They recharge themselves mentally when they have time to rest and reflect. Extroverts, on the other hand, love socializing and adrenaline. They recharge when there is lots of excitement. While some people are extreme introverts and others are extreme extroverts, most people are somewhere in between, usually defaulting to one side or the other. Others, however, are very balanced, and can operate on both sides. As you grow older, you will slowly drift towards the middle of the scale.

Neither side is right or wrong. However, because introverts make up only 25% of the population, they often think something is wrong with them; the world they are in is geared towards extroverts.

If you know that you're an introvert, there is a way that you can function in this majority of opposites. The key is to understand how to recharge yourself. Maybe before you go out for the evening you can read a book, take a nap, do some easy tasks, or just simply sit and do nothing. This will give you extra energy, which you'll need, because being in a big group can be very draining!

Most importantly, you are not abnormal because you don't like to socialize like extroverts. Most likely, you can remember a time when you socialized with just a few friends and you had a complete blast. See if you can do that in large groups. Pick out another person that looks like a fish out of water, and try start a slow, relaxing discussion by tuning out all the people milling around. I think you'll be surprised.

Here's a website that will help you determine whether you are an introvert or not: Being an Introvert If you think you are an introvert or if you have a close friend who is an introvert, I suggest you read the book, The Introvert Advantage, available at Chapters. It'll really open your eyes!

The diversity in mankind is truly amazing!