life

Quanda what?

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Quandary: “a state of perplexity, or uncertainty over what to do in a difficult situation, a dilemma.” So says the Oxford Dictionary.

Ever been in a quandary? Near one? Seen one from afar? Picture a mime trying to get out of a real box.

We all probably know what a quandary is, just never knew what to call it. If it helps, picture our modern world: one, big quandary. Dilemma. Perplexity.

Our country mired in a quandary is not new. The Civil War, Viet Nam. Nixon. September 11, 2001. The Spanish Flu. WWI. WWII. The Great Depression. The last, final, episode of “Friends”. To prevent depression, I’ll stop.

Quandary. The Oxford people say it comes from the late 16th century Latin word “quando”, which means “when”. So “when” became “quandary”? Thanks, Oxford, for a new perplexity. They do add an interesting chart showing how popular “quandary” has become over the centuries, with a plateau of usage in 2000. What did educated people use before quandary came along? Mess? Dilemma? Pile of crap? And why plateau at year 2000? Has the quantity of qualified quandaries declined in the last 20 years?

That fact proves there isn’t as much “perplexity” now as there used to be. Early days were probably nothing but quandaries. Imagine the first sunset? Did early man/woman know the sun would be back in a few hours or was he/she in a quandary, wondering where it went? What about when he/she had their first bowel movement? Did they think their insides were falling out? Talk about a dilemma. “Should we push it back in?”

Perfect segue into Donald Trump. He is a Master Quandary Maker. How perplexed must Republican voters and politicians have been to support him in the first election, let alone the second. Did any 2016 voters face the “dilemma” of voting for the felonious Trump in 2024? Were they perplexed? Dilemmed(sic)? Quandrasized(sic)? Uncertain?

It doesn’t appear they were. In fact, a feature of Trump support is the CERTAIN, unwavering, unperplexed knowledge that Trump is…something. What? What is Trump outside of politics? Is he a fabulously wealthy man, born with a silver spoon, who has never worked an honest day in his life? The Second Coming? A taller, hairier Napolean? A spray-tanned Mussolini? Putin’s long-lost brother?

Let’s go back to the original: he is quandary. Unperplexed American voters have ceded so much power to Trump, why is he not using it to remove all quandaries from our lives? Or at least his voters lives? Why isn’t he un-perplexing our perplexities? Why is he doing what he is doing? Does he need more money? Power? Maybe he just wants a good pizza. Or is it Melania, the new Nancy Reagan?

I surrender. It’s usually years before we can accurately assess the damage/benefit an American President effects over his/her (Sarcasm.) term in office.  It appears Trump is trying to write that assessment, now, after one month. Or at least keep anyone else from writing it, ever.

It’s hard to know what to make of it all. It’s a quandary. For those of us without any power over rich, selfish people, it’s more than a quandary: it is a disaster.

Happily, yes, happily, I’m old, almost out of it all, another benefit of old age.

Hallelujah.

Jackson Browne, a benefit of old age and progress

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From memory: music at age 10 (in 1960) was late night AM radio. At 13, it was a “box” record player for 45 rpm, two sided records, one song each side, A and B. At 15 it was a “monoaural” stereo placed next to the bed so sleep could be induced by listening to the big albums of Steppenwolf, The Troggs, The Kinks. The Kingsmen, and et.al. Age 17, a real stereo. At college, I learned how much sound ceiling-high, high-fidelity speakers could make, and how all my old favorites sounded “different”. Volume was important and if anyone complained, it was ignored and counted as an honor. 8 tracks, cassettes, Cds, MP3 and others followed, but I have no clue where the free music on Youtube comes from these days

The point I’m trying to get to (when not sidetracked by reminiscing), is music seemed to have evolved over time in partnership with the devices offering the sounds. Hmph. That’s not really the point but it helps to know because now—at this late stage in my life—I’ve been exposed to the wonderful world of ear buds. Good ear buds. They’re not new to me, but the ones I tried costing less than $300, never seemed to work good. (Well?) Same with headphones.

So I went back to listening as if in college: naked and close to the speaker with volume on 11. And I meant a “naked” ear, juveniles.

In 1970-something, Jackson Browne “dropped” an album we now refer to as “Saturate Before Using”, even though…long story for later. Let’s go with that title. Google it if you’re curious. The record had some good songs but nothing that made the record worth buying after hearing AM radio, and juke boxes. My disinterest did not stop Jackson and he continued to make records and two years later “For Everyman” hooked me. It got worn it out over the next 5 years or so.

 Then, I lost track of music, hearing it in the background, but not asking it to come forward and be the focal point of life. It was just there. Important note: there was all kinds of good music coming from good musicians (Eagles? Fleetwood Mac?) in the years between the late 1970s and when music reintroduced itself decades late, at my retirement. Not working gave me free time.

Let me end this because you’re drifting away…in 2023, while being treated for cancer, I accidentally purchased a pair of ear buds for $19, They were so fantastic they changed everything about music and life. No hyperbole.

Then, the ear buds got ahold of Jackson’s “Saturate Before Using”. The intricacy and flourishes, and backing sounds, and bass lines, the drums, and the shear musical craftsmanship coming from those ear buds brings me back to The Chair EVERY DAY, for at least an hour of music. And each time, there is something new and wonderful in songs I’ve listened to for many years but never really heard. Thank you, Ear Buds, and the company which finally decided to sell them at a decent price. (Not naming the company, but they know who they are. Call me?)

          Besides Jackson’s songs, find “Melissa” by Greg Allman with Jackson Brown. “Harvest Moon” by both Neil Young, (who wrote it) and a cover by The Brothers Comatose. And “River of Dreams” by Billy Joel. Find these songs, sit in your favorite chair, plug in your GOOD ear buds, and “Drift Away”…and find your own music.

Education, shmeducation…

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As a farmer’s child of the 1960’s, I was acutely aware of the mess adults made of the world. The cities were burning from race riots, friends were being killed in Viet Nam, and politicians were letting the Earth die. My news sources on the farm were late night AM radio, music, books, and Walter Cronkite. Life was a steady stream of reading, listening, and eventually protesting, when Dad and the chickens allowed it. Damn chickens.

The protesting life came to a head on Mayday 1971 when I stumbled into a high level, east coast organizational meeting of antiwar groups in the dining hall at Colgate University. Sadly, my life of organized protest ended when I showed up too late the next day for the storming of the Administration Hall. All my friends got arrested and I got to watch them get carted away. The close proximity to a possible felony–and a baton to the head– scared me straight and I took my disillusion on the road to pursue education in a non-traditional way.

Somewhere in the mid 1970’s, I was married, with two kids, and starting a great job with the state of New York. I began to feel positive about life in the United States and was slowly growing more confident about the future. Why? The Education. My track through the hallowed halls exposed me to others like me, who thought about things, and paid attention. We met in college dorms, YMCA gyms, beer gardens, and even strip clubs. Everyone seemed aware, thoughtful, and critical but with a positive vibe. It was as if everyone was determined to make a better life for themselves, and then for the world. Many did not have the college degree, but had the college/university exposure and could put coherent sentences together. At that level of involvement, with minds like that, the world was in great hands.

It appears the schools I attended, at every level, provided a way for me (and the people I met), to learn to see and think critically. To be active listeners as well as talkers. We were Compassionate Skeptics. My Generation was going to save the world one life at a time. And trees, too. I truly believed it.

It is an old man’s favorite lament: things aren’t like the old days. I don’t know how our country got from Compassionate Skeptics to Election Deniers. Or Flat Earthers. Or Fake Moon Landers. Maybe I was mistaken all those years ago. Delusional. But, um, like, I’m pretty sure, like, that I wasn’t, you know?

At my orientation meeting with 20 incoming freshmen in 1970 the University asked us what we came to College to accomplish. Many had a good idea of where the university could help them, but several of us said “We came here to be educated, to learn how to think, and to find out what we might want to be.” Education was for education’s sake. To learn. To grow. To be able to see.

To this day, I am skeptical of a young person, 17 or 18 years old who knows what he or she wants to be FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIFE. To be fair, I envy the early drive of doctors, and health care professionals, and Taylor Swift, but most of the students in 1970 who professed a certain career path were doing something else in 1976. At least they got a good enough Liberal Arts education to be able to determine what was best for them. Not so, these days. Liberal Arts education is as forbidden as DEI.

How can we teach kids to think? Don’t know, but maybe after 50 years of screwing it up, we can at least start trying to get it right. An educated populace will find it’s way and Make American Great Again, like it was in 1976.

And if we don’t, what do I care?

Some bad things?

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It is a curse to be self-aware, especially if you don’t know it.

The title refers to things about myself that I don’t notice. They get put in a pile, get forgotten (really: ignored) and then sooner or later, they get addressed. It is later, now.

I don’t really mind other drivers: it’s the yelling at life, I like. You “no-signalling turners” and “stop-at-yield-sign” drivers are not as irritating as you might think. They simply “release the hounds” of profanity. Since it happens in an empty car, with the windows rolled up, there is deniability built in if the other driver chases me down and has a Glock.

Things fall all around me for no reason, making me pick them up. I curse them with the common lament of the persecuted: “Why me?” It does help when other people my age say they feel the same. It doesn’t end the feeling of persecution, though, and I might rather enjoy that, too. (See above paragraph.)

When things are going good for me, I make the mistake of saying out loud a phrase that acts as a trigger and ruins the mood. Can anyone guess what the phrase is? It is the universal wail of the optimist who is skeptical: “Something bad’s gonna happen, soon.”

My life (which is probably at least similar to yours) is comprised of different moods, and I feel like wearing an apology sign for all those who get in my way when I’m in my Bad Mood (BM…please don’t confuse it with doody.) In a BM a slow clerk is the End of the World, and society is coming apart. In a BM the slightest grammatical error, the slightest slight from a public servant, the lack of efficiency of a waitress makes me start planning an underground bunker with lots of frozen pizzas.

But in a Good Mood (GM, no not the car company), those events listed, above, make me smile, and wonder what the future holds for the guilty person. At the grocery store this morning, I used a real person for checkout since there was only one man in front of me with a small order. But when it came time to pay, that’s when he took out his voluminous wallet and started counting out bills, and then change. Oddly, I felt the line growing behind me more than I felt the usual annoyance of being slowed down, AND I felt sorry for the old gentleman. What is happening to me????

Here’s another Bad Thing. I feel so good this morning I wrote a nasty, “let’s end things” text to the woman who screwed me over this past summer. As a good, decent man I had been trying to save a 21 year relationship but suddenly decided to believe–and act on–what my friends liked to say about her: “She is a cruel, selfish bitch.” Oddly, sending the “close the door on all possibility” text made me feel better.

I do not look my age. Two doctors this week, alone, who had not read my file yet, accused me of being “Mid-50 years old”. One last month thought my 50-year-old daughter was my wife. You probably can’t see the problem, so I’ll explain: I look too young for woman my age, but am factually too old for women the age I look like. If you’re married or in a committed relationship you won’t understand. But try and imagine being a 72-year male back on the market, back on the prowl. I tried a dating site for a few days but stopped because it took too long to prove the profile picture was recent. One “lady” (the quotation marks will be explained in the next sentence) asked for a pic of my birth certificate. With hindsight, she was probably a Nigerian Romance Scammer. Maybe I should have just lied and looked for younger women. Imagine, too, a 72 year-old woman being “accosted” by a 55 year old man asking for a date. (No, I have not encountered any Cougars in Upstate NY, they all moved to Florida.)

It’s too bad a GM can’t just be enjoyed. And a BM ignored. But it is much better to be alive and aware, than lost in The Calamities and eternal doom. A close, younger friend just learned he needs a pacemaker. The news saddened me at first, but then the news sidled up next to what the worst could be and life got back to balance for him, and for me as an accessory to the fact.

With all the bad that can happen, balance is heaven.

Morality? Logic? God? Belief?

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The subjects listed above are “hot button” philosophy subjects debated, discussed, and verbally torn to shreds over the many centuries since man gained enough free time to stare at his navel. Morality is a major topic because it underpins the nature of society, at least a successful one. For my money, I always thought morality came from God. All Christians feel the same way, and it puts atheists in a bad jam: how can atheists be moral if they do not believe in, and hear the Word of God (WOG) directing them?

I did an end run around the conundrum by accepting full-throated agnosticism and allowed morality to be the WOG, if He actually existed. Lazy, lazy, lazy man. There are those among the enlightened who think the existence of evil negates the concepts of morality as the WOG and dumps the whole idea of Morality into a recycle bin for another generation to bring up and hash, I mean, hack to pieces.

At my age its hard to learn a new trick but just now I stumbled upon an article that sparked an “Aha” moment. Entitled “How a Huguenot Philosopher Realized That Atheists Could Be Virtuous” by Michael Hickson, the author exposed me to a philosopher heretofore not on my reading list: Pierre Bayle. In Mr. Bayle’s book “Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet” published in 1682, Mr. Bayle presented an argument for atheism that settled once and for all the question of atheism and morality.

“It is no stranger for an atheist to live virtuously than it is strange for a Christian to live criminally. We see the latter sort of monster all the time, so why should we think the former is impossible?”

In 1682. It is a statement loaded with Logic. (capitalized to show how important it is). Logic. What a wonderful thing. Logic. No matter how many times I say it, it keeps its meaning. Logic is “a particular way of thinking, especially one that is reasonable and based on good judgement” says an unknown google writer, probably an AI personality. No, they didn’t have AI in 1682, nor did they have the benefit of instant communication. Mr. Bayle’s statement, therefore, about the “sort of monster” he sees “all the time” must have been from first hand experience. Sadly, it is a statement as true today as 1682…343 years later. Religion, belief, morality, all seem unchanged after nearly four centuries. Why?

I’m getting the book and reading it, but–with apologies to Spock and all offended Star Trek fans–we might be better off with lives based on Logic instead of Belief. As a possible Clue, The Bible’s WOG “Golden Rule” is loaded more with logic than faith. You have to wonder why.

As usual, a short space makes for an oversimplification, but is it?

Of course it is, since the modern sophists among us can easily rip apart the “reasonable” and “good judgment” parts of googe’s AI statement, But will the rest of us let them?

In this day and age, Logic is taking a beating. Forget–for example–your politics and wonder how many good, reasonable, and moral people there in the world waiting for…aw, forget it. We pay football players more than we pay police. Is that logical?

We’re doomed, but I’m going to find out about that comet.

California Dreaming…

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If you are from anywhere in the world and you’ve spent any time in Southern California you can understand the love/hate relationship we non-residents have for the state. Sunny, dry, oceans, beaches, skiing, natural beauty, movie stars, Venice Beach, all co-exist with high prices, bad traffic, wildfires, mudslides, and the looming, lurking, specter of The Big One.

In these days of political polarity, California gets another rap for not being conservative, as if The Redwoods and beaches were destined by our creator to be marxist-liberal phenomenons.

So it’s understandable the response of some MAGA and conservative idiots to the devastating wildfires. Idiots, includes you-know-who who’s name can’t be mentioned because of a New year’s Resolution. No sense in wasting time talking about the idiots. God will settle that score.

But the time I’ve spent in California was more than wonderful, it was joyous: sun every day, no humidity, gastronomical assortments unrivaled by any location, and scenic views to die for. By my calculations California’s pluses far outweigh it’s minuses, and I do not not move there simply because they do not have a winter with snow so great it confines me to my apartment for days…maybe I should reevaluate.

My guess is a lot of California hate is similar to homophobic hate: people don’t want to admit they might like it if they tried it, and they’re afraid of the temptation.

No matter what your beliefs or your political idiocy, no one deserves what is happening to Southern California, these days. Most residents are life long residents, all with transplants somewhere in the generations past who found California a great place to live and raise a family. Over–sometimes–centuries they built a web of family and locations, all under the constant welcoming sun.

My family’s generations are in the Northeast, but I wonder how it would feel if all homes, all records, all memorabilia, all traces of the past were incinerated to ash in 5 minutes.

For some reason, Nature or God or some unnamed creator decided to visit our earth with disasters of wind, rain, snow, fire, or shaking ground. It happens all over and it will continue to happen.

And every time it does, we should thank our lucky stars it didn’t happen to us. If we can’t roll up our sleeves and offer help, we should shut our pie holes and hope for the best for those suffering.

And stop the looting!

To all who feel the urge to pile on to a disaster, whether it be in Florida or California or Iowa or Texas or New York or Hawaii, beware. Karma is a bitch.

Philosophy For Dummies

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As a young man attending a small, Liberal Arts University in 1971, I took great pleasure-and invested lots of time–in reading, studying, and debating Philosophy. Full disclosure, my heart wasn’t in the winning of late night debates, or even in the final, complete understanding of Kant’s Moral Imperative. I was a young man with young man hormones and young man desires: my main purpose in “debating” was to make new friends, especially those of the opposite sex. You are then, entitled to wonder with the 1970’s drug and sex culture if any of us remembered the substance of the all-night-long “debates” and associated dalliances. I learned early on some of my contemporary females enjoyed being supported in their arguments and some enjoyed being challenged so I seldom argued the same philosophical “position” two nights in a row or slept in the same bed. All the more support for the notion “youth is wasted on the young.”

It came to pass then, by accident, that I became proficient in understanding, regurgitating, and arguing for or against the entire curriculum, and passed daylight tests with ease. Profligate, with benefits.

The main thought, or belief system gained from the best year of my life was the amount of bullsh##, I mean sophistry, ahem, surrounding Philosophy. There is no right or wrong philosophy. No right or wrong view of the world. No single, unifying theory of the origins or purposes of life. (It should be noted there are extreme cases of minorities having severely dangerous and “unproductive” theories of how to live life, but are they wrong?)

I left college for life on the road, but never lost sight of the nature and innate absurdity of professing a belief in anything unknown or unverifiable. And living life to follow that absurdity. Debating anything related to life’s secrets became a game of Devil’s Advocate over the next few decades, the simple ability to be a Devil’s Advocate proving its need. Res ipse loquitor, legal but succinct.

You’re obligated to read about all this because there is currently a ton of bullsh@# being manufactured and spread about. While Kant’s Moral Imperative is not the end-all of philosophies, its simple premise is one all modern citizens should learn: “Act in the way you want others to act.” (Way over simplification, but if you’d care to debate, leave a comment.) A variation is the Golden Rule. (Matthew 7:12) which came directly from God as noted in the Bible.

Any one of the 70 per cent of Americans not dumb, (see older post) could argue forever about right and wrong, and throw some pragmatism, and utility into the word salad but could anything be simpler than The Imperative? The Golden Rule? Imagine a killer stopping in his/her/their tracks because he/she/they realize he/she/they don’t want anyone to kill him/her/them? Or a politician voting against the minimum wage, but for a raise to his own pay? You see the breaking of the Imperative/Golden Rule most often in politics and many religions. The modern term for it is Hypocrisy. It should be noted, too, The Golden Rule and Kant’s Moral Imperative have been expunged from Capitalism, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

The lesson learned in debating (unfaithfully and unabashedly) for both side of a philosophy was that nothing mattered, anymore. It’s all just words. Modern civilization is at that point. We’re not talking nihilism, here, after all life has to go on. But there is way too much of people doing to each other what they would not do to themselves. Why? (Capitalism, again?)

Organized religion is an existential trap, but each and every religion has good points. Personal reflection, investigation, and faith can do wonders for life. But don’t let dogma, creed, screed, belief, or an inflated sense of one’s worth cause a loss of vision about what life is really about: people living together.

The entire world should be locked in a student dorm and not allowed out until they reach agreement on…hm…what?

Let’s start with The Golden Rule. Nice and simple.

As Luck Would Have It…

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One of the awesome and unfathomable aspects of life is Luck. Fate. Chance. It begins at birth and never really ends. It is the luck/fate/chance of genetics which first forms us and sets us on a path to whatever it is we are supposed to do.

The first, Genetic Luck, we have no control over, as it is determined by the luck/fate/chance surrounding the lives of our parents, which illustrates the duality of luck and its partnership with context/perspective. I am unlucky to not be 6 foot 6 inches and earning millions of dollars playing basketball in the NBA.

But I am lucky to not have genetic irregularities like blindness and deafness, or deformed extremities, or even no extremities.

So am I lucky or unlucky? Let’s use the slot machines at Turning Stone Resort and Casino (TS) to find out.

When I first moved to upstate NY, I frequented TS about twice a week, and earned measurable rewards in playing a certain Japanese slot machine. Good luck, right? Shortly after I started playing it, the machine was removed. Bad luck?

Since then I’ve searched for another machine at TS that allows 25 cent bets, so my $5 bankroll would last a little longer. But it was like looking for a unicorn, as TS management removed low income machines and replaced them with greedier ones. My $5 now lasts about 10 plays on a 50 cent machine, unless it “lets” me win another 50 cents, then its 11 plays. Bad luck?

It was so disheartening I stopped playing. Good luck?

My recent hip replacement (VERY good luck!) kept me from TS for 4 weeks. I use the Fitness Center at TS, by the way, which is why I visit so much, and had to stay away until after recovery.

When I returned, it was hard to find even 50 cent machines. That is, on the gaming floor, not the Fitness Center. But I did find one gathering dust in a corner off a side hallway. Luck? It hurt, but I played out my $5 without winning a cent and got up to leave, unhappy as can be, and down $5. Unlucky?

So there I was pissed, as well as unlucky, and said to myself, “Screw it, blow another $5. It’s Christmas.” It was and why that mattered, is irrelevant, maybe. When I slid the new, crisp $5 bill into the slot of the slot machine, I could feel myself slowly going over the precipice of recreational gambling and falling into the deep, dark abyss of addiction. I immediately promised: “One play. Just one”. (Where we at on lucky, unlucky? Lost track.)

It doesn’t matter. The machine lit up like a Christmas Tree (irony?) and started making sounds and sights only ever associated with “Jackpot!”. When it was done jingling and sirening (sic), I kept my promise and cashed out after one play. Lucky.

I stuffed the winnings into my wallet and walked to my car a happy man, and let Luck have some credit, too: with apologies to Lou Gehrig, I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth. For now.

And the $24.35 I won will help with medical bills in the New Year.

Remember: context/perspective.

Repair and Recovery

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The removal of natural bone and replacing it with titanium made a vast improvement in my quality of life. The surgery inspired a reassessment of a past, the re-measure of the present, and realignment of goals for the future. Doesn’t that sound nifty?

Before anyone asks me to write a self-help book, it should be noted the biggest driver of the self-examination has been the “down time” associated with recovery. The operation removing years of pain came with a requirement to sit and not move, not do anything, really, for “several” weeks as the incision heals, bruised tissues return to their original color, and the therapeutic drugs work their magic preventing clots and excessive bleeding.

There’s nothing to do but reflect, and it’s been fun to sit in The Chair and watch and read and think.

But the world didn’t stop and wait for me to get better. The world didn’t know I was recovering. It went on without me, all the while shoving its onward motion in my face with news and stories I couldn’t help but read. Some scientists want to “inject” diamond dust into the atmosphere to reflect sunlight and lower the Earth’s temperature. Trump wants to take The Panama Canal Back and annex Greenland. An 81 year old politician not named Biden stopped legislating and entered a nursing home, or “memory center”, without telling anyone. Soto signed with the Mets for a salary higher than some countries GDP. Musk…well, Musk is busy being Musk, an easily distracted, bored, multi-billionaire who knows how to fix America. BTW, if he gave $3 Billion to each state to do with what they want, it might make a difference.

All in all, the month of December has been an example of how important we think we are, followed by the sharp, direct, reminder of how important we aren’t. Sprinkled in this life lesson is some exceptions. For example, how important is toilet paper? Don’t answer, but I now know the man who invented one of the most important things in EVERYONE’S life was Joseph Gayetty, in 1857. His “invention” was “sold in flat sheets watermarked with his name.” It was also medicated to prevent hemorrhoids. His contribution to life is celebrated every minute of every day all over the world, and I’ll bet no one knows his name. For some really good reading about how the cleaning of our butts has changed through the ages, google it. If you have time…like I do.

So is this essay a lament or what? A celebration? A reveal of anything most of us don’t know already?

It is nothing. It is simply a grown man, sitting in a recliner, with nothing to do but ponder.

James Thurber would be proud. (Google him, too.)

Tuesday Morning Wha’??

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On Tuesday morning, October 8, 2024, God (Of any denomination) saw fit to install a rainbow outside the balcony of my apartment. It was awesome. Spectacular. Divine. It was full size and the entire arc of its beautiful design could be traced with my finger. I took lots of pics and videos but mainly stood there, jaw dropped, while the camera clicked away. The rainbow was so bright…and it had a partner. The second rainbow ran parallel to the first for most of the arc of the first, but didn’t have enough oomph to make it all the way. For moment I felt bad for the second, but then remembered There’s Two rainbows outside my window!

Never, ever have I witnessed two rainbows at once. Not in over 72 years filled with rainstorms, morning afters, and weather catastrophes. Never. even after Our Tornado this summer.

The colorful entities filled me with a sense of wonder lasting hours, and never fully dissipated until after the hours of rain the rainbows had presaged. There was a feeling of satisfaction, too, that someone, somewhere, felt I deserved not one, but two morning rainbows. My life on earth is being monitored and appreciated. The Boss had noticed my work!

A reason the awe and wonder faded was as the morning went along, I talked with others and they, too, had seen two rainbows…just before the rains. I wasn’t the only one….

Who cares about the others? The rainbows were there for me. The ‘Bows became a sign, an omen, to me. The rainbows were a delight, a blessing, a message to remember what’s important in life, and not stoop to cheating, lying, and taking advantage of others in our modern, self-centered world. And to remember to be happy with enough, and not long for too much more than what we need.

Then, another thing happened: contentment washed over me and settled in my pockets, my hair, and all the horizontal surface areas of my body. Even up my freshly plucked nose and recently shaved ears. I felt it burrow into my beard. It was going to be around for awhile. I wasn’t going to shower, ever.

As with the rest of you, there is a lot going on in our lives. Whatever it is, whatever bothers us, it’s nice to know a rainbow (or two) can make it all go away…for a day or two.