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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
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Saturday Mar 13, 2010
Saturday Mar 13, 2010
A Technical Error
by O Henry
I never cared especially for feuds, believing them to be even more overrated products of our country than grapefruit, scrapple, or honeymoons. Nevertheless, if I may be allowed, I will tell you of an Indian Territory feud of which I was press-agent, camp-follower, and inaccessory during the fact.
I was on a visit to Sam Durkee's ranch, where I had a great time falling off unmanicured ponies and waving my bare hand at the lower jaws of wolves about two miles away. Sam was a hardened person of about twenty- five, with a reputation for going home in the dark with perfect equanimity, though often with reluctance.
Over in the Creek Nation was a family bearing the name of Tatum. I was told that the Durkees and Tatums had been feuding for years. Several of each family had bitten the grass, and it was expected that more Nebuchadnezzars would follow. A younger generation of each family was growing up, and the grass was keeping pace with them. But I gathered that they had fought fairly; that they had not lain in cornfields and aimed at the division of their enemies' suspenders in the back -- partly, perhaps, because there were no cornfields, and nobody wore more than one suspender. Nor had any woman or child of either house ever been harmed. In those days -- and you will find it so yet -- their women were safe.
Sam Durkee had a girl. (If it were an all-fiction magazine that I expect to sell this story to, I should say, "Mr. Durkee rejoiced in a fiancée.") Her name was Ella Baynes. They appeared to be devoted to each other, and to have perfect confidence in each other, as all couples do who are and have or aren't and haven't. She was tolerably pretty, with a heavy mass of brown hair that helped her along. He introduced me to her, which seemed not to lessen her preference for him; so I reasoned that they were surely soul-mates.
Miss Baynes lived in Kingfisher, twenty miles from the ranch. Sam lived on a gallop between the two places.
One day there came to Kingfisher a courageous young man, rather small, with smooth face and regular features. He made many inquiries about the business of the town, and especially of the inhabitants cognominally. He said he was from Muscogee, and he looked it, with his yellow shoes and crocheted four-in-hand. I met him once when I rode in for the mail. He said his name was Beverly Travers, which seemed rather improbable.
There were active times on the ranch, just then, and Sam was too busy to go to town often. As an incompetent and generally worthless guest, it devolved upon me to ride in for little things such as post cards, barrels of flour, baking-powder, smoking-tobacco, and -- letters from Ella.
One day, when I was messenger for half a gross of cigarette papers and a couple of wagon tires, I saw the alleged Beverly Travers in a yellow-wheeled buggy with Ella Baynes, driving about town as ostentatiously as the black, waxy mud would permit. I knew that this information would bring no balm of Gilead to Sam's soul, so I refrained from including it in the news of the city that I retailed on my return. But on the next afternoon an elongated ex-cowboy of the name of Simmons, an oldtime pal of Sam's, who kept a feed store in Kingfisher, rode out to the ranch and rolled and burned many cigarettes before he would talk. When he did make oration, his words were these:
"Say, Sam, there's been a description of a galoot miscallin' himself Bevel-edged Travels impairing the atmospheric air of Kingfisher for the past two weeks. You know who he was? He was not otherwise than Ben Tatum, from the Creek Nation, son of old Gopher Tatum that your Uncle Newt shot last February. You know what he done this morning? He killed your brother Lester -- shot him in the co't-house yard."
I wondered if Sam had heard. He pulled a twig from a mesquite bush, chewed it gravely, and said:
"He did, did he? He killed Lester?"
"The same," said Simmons. "And he did more. He run away with your girl, the same as to say Miss Ella Baynes. I thought you might like to know, so I rode out to impart the information."
"I am much obliged, Jim," said Sam, taking the chewed twig from his mouth. "Yes, I'm glad you rode Out. Yes, I'm right glad."
"Well, I'll be ridin' back, I reckon. That boy I left in the feed store don't know hay from oats. He shot Lester in the back."
"Shot him in the back?"
"Yes, while he was hitchin' his hoss."
"I'm much obliged, Jim."
"I kind of thought you'd like to know as soon as you could."
"Come in and have some coffee before you ride back, Jim?"
"Why, no, I reckon not; I must get back to the store."
"And you say -- "
"Yes, Sam. Everybody seen 'em drive away together in a buckboard, with a big bundle, like clothes, tied up in the back of it. He was drivin' the team he brought over with him from Muscogee. They'll be hard to overtake right away."
"And which -- "
"I was goin' on to tell you. They left on the Guthrie road; but there's no tellin' which forks they'll take -- you know that."
"All right, Jim; much obliged."
"You're welcome, Sam."
Simmons rolled a cigarette and stabbed his pony with both heels. Twenty yards away he reined up and called back:
"You don't want no -- assistance, as you might say?"
"Not any, thanks."
"I didn't think you would. Well, so long!"
Sam took out and opened a bone-handled pocket-knife and scraped a dried piece of mud from his left boot. I thought at first he was going to swear a vendetta on the blade of it, or recite "The Gipsy's Curse." The few feuds I had ever seen or read about usually opened that way. This one seemed to be presented with a new treatment. Thus offered on the stage, it would have been hissed off, and one of Belasco's thrilling melodramas demanded instead.
"I wonder," said Sam, with a profoundly thoughtful expression, "if the cook has any cold beans left over!"
He called Wash, the Negro cook, and finding that he had some, ordered him to heat up the pot and make some strong coffee. Then we went into Sam's private room, where he slept, and kept his armoury, dogs, and the saddles of his favourite mounts. He took three or four six-shooters out of a bookcase and began to look them over, whistling "The Cowboy's Lament" abstractedly. Afterward he ordered the two best horses on the ranch saddled and tied to the hitching-post.
Now, in the feud business, in all sections of the country, I have observed that in one particular there is a delicate but strict etiquette belonging. You must not mention the word or refer to the subject in the presence of a feudist. It would be more reprehensible than commenting upon the mole on the chin of your rich aunt. I found, later on, that there is another unwritten rule, but I think that belongs solely to the West.
It yet lacked two hours to supper-time; but in twenty minutes Sam and I were plunging deep into the reheated beans, hot coffee, and cold beef.
Nothing like a good meal before a long ride," said Sam. "Eat hearty."
I had a sudden suspicion.
"Why did you have two horses saddled?" I asked.
"One, two -- one, two," said Sam. "You can count, can't you?"
His mathematics carried with it a momentary qualm and a lesson. The thought had not occurred to him that the thought could possibly occur to me not to ride at his side on that red road to revenge and justice. It was the higher calculus. I was booked for the trail. I began to eat more beans.
In an hour we set forth at a steady gallop eastward. Our horses were Kentucky-bred, strengthened by the mesquite grass of the west. Ben Tatum's steeds may have been swifter, and he had a good lead; but if he had heard the punctual thuds of the hoofs of those trailers of ours, born in the heart of feudland, he might have felt that retribution was creeping up on the hoof-prints of his dapper nags.
I knew that Ben Tatum's card to play was flight -- flight until he came within the safer territory of his own henchmen and supporters. He knew that the man pursuing him would follow the trail to any end where it might lead.
During the ride Sam talked of the prospect for rain, of the price of beef, and of the musical glasses. You would have thought he had never had a brother or a sweetheart or an enemy on earth. There are some subjects too big even for the words in the "Unabridged." Knowing this phase of the feud code, but not having practised it sufficiently, I overdid the thing by telling some slightly funny anecdotes. Sam laughed at exactly the right place -- laughed with his mouth. When I caught sight of his mouth, I wished I had been blessed with enough sense of humour to have suppressed those anecdotes.
Our first sight of them we had in Guthrie. Tired and hungry, we stumbled, unwashed, into a little yellow-pine hotel and sat at a table. In the opposite corner we saw the fugitives. They were bent upon their meal, but looked around at times uneasily.
The girl was dressed in brown - one of these smooth, half-shiny, silky-looking affairs with lace collar and cuffs, and what I believe they call an accordion-plaited skirt. She wore a thick brown veil down to her nose, and a broad-brimmed straw hat with some kind of feathers adorning it. The man wore plain, dark clothes, and his hair was trimmed very short. He was such a man as you might see anywhere.
There they were -- the murderer and the woman he had stolen. There we were -- the rightful avenger, according to the code, and the supernumerary who writes these words.
For one time, at least, in the heart of the supernumerary there rose the killing instinct. For one moment he joined the force of combatants -- orally.
"What are you waiting for, Sam?" I said in a whisper. "Let him have it now!"
Sam gave a melancholy sigh.
"You don't understand; but he does," he said. "He knows. Mr. Tenderfoot, there's a rule out here among white men in the Nation that you can't shoot a man when he's with a woman. I never knew it to be broke yet. You can't do it. You've got to get him in a gang of men or by himself. That's why. He knows it, too. We all know. So, that's Mr. Ben Tatum! One of the 'pretty men'! I'll cut him out of the herd before they leave the hotel, and regulate his account!"
After supper the flying pair disappeared quickly. Although Sam haunted lobby and stairway and halls half the night, in some mysterious way the fugitives eluded him; and in the morning the veiled lady in the brown dress with the accordion-plaited skirt and the dapper young man with the close-clipped hair, and the buckboard with the prancing nags, were gone.
It is a monotonous story, that of the ride; so it shall be curtailed. Once again we overtook them on a road. We were about fifty yards behind. They turned in the buckboard and looked at us; then drove on without whipping up their horses. Their safety no longer lay in speed. Ben Tatum knew. He knew that the only rock of safety left to him was the code. There is no doubt that, had he been alone, the matter would have been settled quickly with Sam Durkee in the usual way; but he had something at his side that kept still the trigger-finger of both. It seemed likely that he was no coward.
So, you may perceive that woman, on occasions, may postpone instead of precipitating conflict between man and man. But not willingly or consciously. She is oblivious of codes.
Five miles farther, we came upon the future great Western city of Chandler. The horses of pursuers and pursued were starved and weary. There was one hotel that offered danger to man and entertainment to beast; so the four of us met again in the dining room at the ringing of a bell so resonant and large that it had cracked the welkin long ago. The dining room was not as large as the one at Guthrie.
Just as we were eating apple pie -- how Ben Davises and tragedy impinge upon each other! -- I noticed Sam looking with keen intentness at our quarry where they were seated at a table across the room. The girl still wore the brown dress with lace collar and cuffs, and the veil drawn down to her nose. The man bent over his plate, with his close cropped head held low.
"There's a code," I heard Sam say, either to me or to himself, "that won't let you shoot a man in the company of a woman; but, by thunder, there ain't one to keep you from killing a woman in the company of a man!"
And, quicker than my mind could follow his argument, he whipped a Colt's automatic from under his left arm and pumped six bullets into the body that the brown dress covered -- the brown dress with the lace collar and cuffs and the accordion-plaited skirt.
The young person in the dark sack suit, from whose head and from whose life a woman's glory had been clipped, laid her head on her arms stretched upon the table; while people came running to raise Ben Tatum from the floor in his feminine masquerade that had given Sam the opportunity to set aside, technically, the obligations of the code.
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Friday Mar 12, 2010
Friday Mar 12, 2010
Stress Dance
When my wife had cancer, it was a very stressful time for her. As a family we tried to do what we could to help. Concerned neighbors delivered food, and we learned to deal with the stress. One of the ways she coped was to have a theme song. I think it really helped.
If you are familiar with the song “Ain’t Nothin’ Gonna Break My Stride” by Matthew Wilder, there is a verse which says:
Ain't nothing gonna break my stride
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Oh no, I've got to keep on moving
Ain't nothing gonna break my stride
I'm running and I won't touch ground
Oh no, I've got to keep on moving
She really doesn’t listen to the song anymore, but she listened to it constantly while she was getting treated. There really is a strong survival message in the song, but the rest of the lyrics aren’t really about surviving. But for her it really worked. Along with the chemotherapy, transfusions, morphine and lots of love cured her and now it’s been 15 years since the diagnosis.
Music really does have an important part in keeping us healthy, and if you are dealing with stress in your life every day – and who isn’t – music can be an important tool in relieving some of that stress. Studies have shown many benefits from listening to music. From giving us a more positive state of mind to keeping depression and anxiety at bay, it also can help prevent stress from damaging our bodies. It can also help produce higher levels of creativity and optimism.
Listening to music you like can have other benefits, like lowering blood pressure, boosting your immunity, easing your muscle tension which can all reduce the risk of stroke and other health problems. My wife is convinced it helped her overcome cancer.
Music with a strong beat can stimulate brain waves and can sharpen concentration and thinking. If the music has a slower beat, it can promote a more calm and meditative state. Even after you have finished listening to music, there are changes in your brainwave activities which continue.
When plants were subjected to many different kinds of music, they seemed to prefer sitar and baroque music, but withered and died when exposed to Led Zeppelin music. If you aren’t familiar with Led Zeppelin, it’s a heavy metal group from the seventies. I like their music, but I can see how plants might die if it was played 24-7.
I like what Heinrich Heine said about music: “When words leave off, music begins.” Maybe what we need is not more talk, but more music. I think it even helps when we are lonely. Robert Browning said, “Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.” When I hear certain pieces of music, memories about my past are often conjured up as if by magic. Friedrich Nietzsche said it this way: “Without music, life would be a mistake.”
Perhaps George Eliot said it best. “I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.”
Music does calm the savage beast, and if we listen to the music we like, we can relieve some of the stresses we all experience. It does explain the continued popularity of the oldies and the oldies stations. When I need a break, I like to listen to music from the seventies and eighties, but modern music is also good. You may like classical or country western, but whatever the kind that appeals to you, try listening to some music next time you are stressed.
Remember, not only can it relieve stress; music can manage pain, improve your mood and mobility, reduce the need for pain relievers and other benefits.
Think about your favorite music, and you may already be feeling the stress melt away. As T.S. Eliot said, “You are the music while the music lasts.” We are dancing through life to the music we create, and when all is said and done, music may be the way we all communicate. If you remember the film “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, the aliens and humans bridged the communication gap with musical notes which you can probably still recreate. But what can we do about today? Laurie Anderson once said this, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” I may not be able to explain how much can change us, but now would be a good opportunity to remember some of your favorite music. Bob Marley summarized it for all of us. “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain."
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Tuesday Mar 09, 2010
Tuesday Mar 09, 2010
Jumping Jester
I was being paid to be a jester. Tupperware had booked the campus, and as a starving student, twenty-five dollars for dancing from one part of campus to another while dressed as a jester seemed like easy money. Wrong.
This is back when 25 dollars could buy a couple tanks of gas; not just one. It could be a week’s worth of food, and as I put on the jester costume, I could feel my wallet getting fatter. As I danced across a table, I thought to myself I only had to hop, skip and jump for about half a mile. I walked this same sidewalk four times a day, every day for a year. It was a piece of cake.
As I jumped off the table, my foot turned slightly sideways and I landed on the side bones of my little toe on my right foot. All my weight snapped the bones and I collapsed into a heap. But then I jumped back up and started to hop on my left foot. The conventioneers thought I was hilarious. I knew if I complained my foot was broken, I wouldn’t get the money for the part. I needed that money.
So I limped, jumped and cavorted along about half-a-mile so I could get paid. The doctor put me in a cast and I had to quit my job as the corn poker at the Del Monte plant. The insurance screwed up the billing and I got a ding on my credit rating from it, and I started working at another gas station.
It made me stressed. Stress is something we can’t avoid. How we deal with stress can determine how healthy we are, how long we live, how well we live. Stress is an everyday occurrence and there is no way to escape most of the stress we will encounter.
It may sound selfish, but unless you make some time for yourself, you may not have a self for very long. Dealing with stress by drinking, smoking, or using drugs or food to cope will only make the stresses worse. Learning to relax and doing things you enjoy may be the two best things you can do for yourself.
Things I find relaxing might not make your list. I can lose myself in the yard for hours at a time, and it is some of the most relaxing time I spend all summer. There are no deadlines in the yard, even though you may have a limited time to do the work. The weeding is done when the weeding is done, and it may not get done today, but it will get done. When you are planting with the hopes of a future harvest, the time it takes to get them all planted and ready to grow really isn’t important. The important thing is that they are planted well.
I even like to relax by jogging. There really is something about plodding along looking at the scenery, and doing something nice for myself at the same time. It turns out exercise is also another good way to deal with stress. Even just a stroll around the block to give yourself a break can break the back of stress.
In fact, one of the best ways to deal with stress is to do those things you like. Doing something for yourself, for even as little as 15 minutes a day can dissolve the stress that kills us unless we do something. Maybe you like bubble baths, talking to old friends, completing a crossword puzzle or listening to your favorite music. Whatever it is you have been neglecting to do because you have been too busy to sit down and enjoy yourself, you need to indulge.
Get a massage, meditate, take a yoga class, deep breathe, read a book, or just taking a few minutes for yourself to simply sit and relax. Pretend your doctor has written a prescription for you to relax in your favorite way every day. Set aside those 15 minutes for yourself, and don’t neglect the most important things you can do each day – take care of yourself.
It may not be your style to dance around campus in a jester costume, but if this is the way you relieve your stress, go for it. Just be careful when you jump off that table to make a firm landing. Otherwise you’ll get the chance to walk around in a cast, run after birthday presents, break the cast, and get another one. But that’s another story. Oh, and that’s another way to relieve stress. Find something, or someone you can laugh at. When we can laugh at our problems, or even the problems of someone stupid enough to hop across campus on a broken foot. It’s good against stress.
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Saturday Mar 06, 2010
Saturday Mar 06, 2010
Differently Similar
I like a world where there are differences, and the incongruity fascinates me. I see a couple walking down the street; one person is glamorous and beautiful, the other a slob. I still don’t know what my wife sees in me, but judging by the other strange pairings I usually see out and about in public, some people have strange standards of what is beautiful and what is ugly.
For us ugly people, it’s really nice there is some tolerance in the world for the unattractive, but the attraction of opposites doesn’t stop there. Every day you can hear warning voices of doom and gloom, and then there’s the opposite side like me who think everything is great with the world. I wonder about a world where there are people who love to work and work really, really hard. Then there’s me, who prefers to laze about every chance I get. I have to schedule myself pretty tightly or I really don’t get much done, and the regular schedule seems to others to be one of busyness, but really it’s just me trying to keep myself busy.
It makes me sad to see those who go through life unhappy, when there is so much to be happy about in the world. I know there are problems in the world, and the tragedies make me sad, but I don’t have to be this way all the time. There are problems everyone deals with everyday, and yet they seem to find a way to cope. Life is more than sobs and sniffles, but there are times for that, too.
Passion and apathy seem to be polar opposites, too. I’m really amazed at the passion which people have for their hobbies; spending hours and hours doing things others might consider insanity. I’m not prepared here to criticize the interests of others, because I have some hobbies others think are insanity. From windsurfing, skiing and collecting rocks to gardening and selling little trees on EBay, most people just shake their heads and walk away slowly. But what surprises me more is how much apathy fills the world, where it seems many people just don’t care about what is happening anywhere but here. It’s sad to see how self-absorbed some of us have become. If it doesn’t have to do with us or our family, or maybe those we know, then most of us don’t really care enough to be interested. Can our world expand beyond our living rooms and the television? Do we care enough about our neighborhoods and cities to actually leave the house and do something which doesn’t directly benefit us? Something which might make this world a better place?
What is really interesting about finding out what difference you are here to make is, it changes your perspective. The world becomes a place of possibilities instead of problems; a place where scarcity is replaced plenty; a place where we can love others as ourselves, because we get outside ourselves.
What is it you are here to do? I can’t answer that, but I do know you are here to do something no one else can do. That’s why you are here. You make a difference, and no one but you can determine what that difference is going to be. Perhaps you will be the one to lead us to a happier place where we can all finally get along. This reminds me of what Jonathan Swift said almost 400 years ago. “We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.” Does another 400 years have to pass before we realize we are more alike than we are different?
When I think of all of the time we have wasted persecuting those we hate? Think about the energy it takes to keep all of the enemies in the world hating each other. Let’s think of a way to harness all that time and energy to unite us in purpose and direction. I’m doing my best to try to get us all to be a little more positive; what is it you can do this week to bring about more unity?
Here’s the weekly assignment. Smile instead of frowning when you get cut off in traffic. Wave your whole hand instead of one finger, unless you’re telling me I’m number one. Stop to think about what others may have had to endure this day before you snap at them because you’ve had a bad day. Cheer up someone else by saying “Thank you”. Don’t forget to tell those you care most about how important they are in your life. This whole process starts with us, today, right now. I’m glad we’re all different. It’s why we’re here. Now go out and get busy.
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Saturday Mar 06, 2010
Saturday Mar 06, 2010
Emotional Rollercoaster
Emotions are a necessary part of being human. Sometimes we get to experience the emotional rollercoaster of life and wonder after the jolts and jars if it is all worth it. I’m here today to tell you I am grateful for the emotional ride I’ve been able to survive during my lifetime, and I’m sure there are many more ups and downs yet to come in my future. The good news is the ride seems to be leveling out a bit, and the ups and downs aren’t so scary anymore.
It seems the biggest upheaval we get in our early life is our experiences with first love. The incredible highs combined with the desperate lows are a good preparation for the shakes and shimmies yet to come in later life. The girl I was passionately in love with in junior high continued to be the flame of my teenage years, and whenever I saw her after we broke up my heart with flutter and skip. Even when I would go to the mall and see her working at Orange Julius; be still my heart. And this was after she had a new boyfriend and wasn’t even available.
Perhaps you have had a similar experience, and still carry a secret flame for someone in your past. It seems we are always hearing about some octogenarians finding their true love from high school and getting back together. It is interesting that those images from so long ago can continue to circulate in our brains.
Children bring up an entirely new set of emotions. When they are young, they help us remember how fast emotions can change. From happy to snarling, to whining, to crying; which can all happen in moments. They are packages of extreme emotions, and as we learn to regulate our own emotions in response to their outbursts, our emotional rollercoaster doesn’t really slow down. It just seems to moderate.
Lifelong partners can teach us much about emotion, and as they go through their ups and downs, we get to help them cope with the changes. They also get to help us as we go through all of our own problems, and we may even get to experience some of these emotions together. But at one point or another, one of us leaves this life first. This emotional ride can break some of us.
We have the same struggle when our parents are gone. Where once a strong support and encouragement we could depend on was just a phone call away, now an empty space remains with only memories to sustain us.
It is a strange incongruity that the highs and lows make up most of the memories of our lives. The regular days blend together and the routine gets lost in the continued sameness, but the emotional rollercoaster we call life shows us just how good and how bad life can be. It reminds us we are alive.
It’s like George Santayana once said. “There is no cure for birth or death save to enjoy the interval.” Can we enjoy the ups and endure the downs? We only get one pass, and 31 millions seconds per year is all anyone gets. As we spend our seconds, we get a chance to help others as they negotiate their own rollercoaster. Our own experiences may be the guide someone else needs, so that they too can understand, “This too shall pass.” This phrase is based on the Old Testament story tells of King Solomon requesting his minister to find the ring which makes a happy man sad and a sad man happy. After searching, a merchant engraved a ring for the minister, which he gave to Solomon. As King Solomon received the ring, which he supposed did not exist, he became very somber. The phrase, “This too shall pass” made Solomon realize the reality of this fleeting moment of happiness, and of the passing of the sad moment. Abraham Lincoln said this of the moral of the story. “How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!”
So this week as you experience the ups and downs we all have to endure, remember what thrills you sought as you boarded this emotional rollercoaster. And remember, the ride must someday end, so enjoy the ride while it lasts. Ups and downs, sadness and happiness; just remember how lucky we are to be here sharing this incredible universe. The fact it exists, that we exist, that we can help each other along on this wonderful journey called life is such a miracle in itself. Just don’t forget the miraculous as you travel the mundane. Watch for those special moments which tell us we are really here for a reason. Enjoy the ride.
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Friday Mar 05, 2010
Friday Mar 05, 2010
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Friday Mar 05, 2010
Friday Mar 05, 2010
Three and One are One
by Ambrose Bierce
In the year 1861 Barr Lassiter, a young man of twenty-two, lived with his parents and an elder sister near Carthage, Tennessee. The family were in somewhat humble circumstances, subsisting by cultivation of a small and not very fertile plantation. Owning no slaves, they were not rated among “the best people” of their neighborhood; but they were honest persons of good education, fairly well mannered and as respectable as any family could be if uncredentialed by personal dominion over the sons and daughters of Ham. The elder Lassiter had that severity of manner that so frequently affirms an uncompromising devotion to duty, and conceals a warm and affectionate disposition. He was of the iron of which martyrs are made, but in the heart of the matrix had lurked a nobler metal, fusible at a milder heat, yet never coloring nor softening the hard exterior. By both heredity and environment something of the man’s inflexible character had touched the other members of the family; the Lassiter home, though not devoid of domestic affection, was a veritable citadel of duty, and duty—ah, duty is as cruel as death!
When the war came on it found in the family, as in so many others in that State, a divided sentiment; the young man was loyal to the Union, the others savagely hostile. This unhappy division begot an insupportable domestic bitterness, and when the offending son and brother left home with the avowed purpose of joining the Federal army not a hand was laid in his, not a word of farewell was spoken, not a good wish followed him out into the world whither he went to meet with such spirit as he might whatever fate awaited him.
Making his way to Nashville, already occupied by the Army of General Buell, he enlisted in the first organization that he found, a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and in due time passed through all the stages of military evolution from raw recruit to experienced trooper. A right good trooper he was, too, although in his oral narrative from which this tale is made there was no mention of that; the fact was learned from his surviving comrades. For Barr Lassiter has answered “Here” to the sergeant whose name is Death.
Two years after he had joined it, his regiment passed through the region whence he had come. The country thereabout had suffered severely from the ravages of war, having been occupied alternately (and simultaneously) by the belligerent forces, and a sanguinary struggle had occurred in the immediate vicinity of the Lassiter homestead. But of this the young trooper was not aware.
Finding himself in camp near his home, he felt a natural longing to see his parents and sister, hoping that in them, as in him, the unnatural animosities of the period had been softened by time and separation. Obtaining a leave of absence, he set foot in the late summer afternoon, and soon after the rising of the full moon was walking up the gravel path leading to the dwelling in which he had been born.
Soldiers in war age rapidly, and in youth two years are a long time. Barr Lassiter felt himself an old man, and had almost expected to find the place a ruin and a desolation. Nothing, apparently, was changed. At the sight of each dear and familiar object he was profoundly affected. His heart beat audibly, his emotion nearly suffocated him; an ache was in his throat. Unconsciously he quickened his pace until he almost ran, his long shadow making grotesque efforts to keep its place beside him.
The house was unlighted, the door open. As he approached and paused to recover control of himself his father came out and stood bare-headed in the moonlight.
“Father!” cried the young man, springing forward with outstretched hand—“Father!”
The elder man looked him sternly in the face, stood a moment motionless and without a word withdrew into the house. Bitterly disappointed, humiliated, inexpressibly hurt and altogether unnerved, the soldier dropped upon a rustic seat in deep dejection, supporting his head upon his trembling hand. But he would not have it so: he was too good a soldier to accept repulse as defeat. He rose and entered the house, passing directly to the “sitting-room.”
It was dimly lighted by an uncurtained east window. On a low stool by the hearthside, the only article of furniture in the place, sat his mother, staring into a fireplace strewn with blackened embers and cold ashes. He spoke to her—tenderly, interrogatively, and with hesitation, but she neither answered, nor moved, nor seemed in any way surprised. True, there had been time for her husband to apprise her of their guilty son’s return. He moved nearer and was about to lay his hand upon her arm, when his sister entered from an adjoining room, looked him full in the face, passed him without a sign of recognition and left the room by a door that was partly behind him. He had turned his head to watch her, but when she was gone his eyes again sought his mother. She too had left the place.
Barr Lassiter strode to the door by which he had entered. The moonlight on the lawn was tremulous, as if the sward were a rippling sea. The trees and their black shadows shook as in a breeze. Blended with its borders, the gravel walk seemed unsteady and insecure to step on. This young soldier knew the optical illusions produced by tears. He felt them on his cheek, and saw them sparkle on the breast of his trooper’s jacket. He left the house and made his way back to camp.
The next day, with no very definite intention, with no dominant feeling that he could rightly have named, he again sought the spot. Within a half-mile of it he met Bushrod Albro, a former playfellow and schoolmate, who greeted him warmly.
“I am going to visit my home,” said the soldier. The other looked at him rather sharply, but said nothing.
“I know,” continued Lassister, “that my folks have not changed, but—”
“There have been changes,” Albro interrupted—“everything changes. I’ll go with you if you don’t mind. We can talk as we go.”
But Albro did not talk.
Instead of a house they found only fire-blackened foundations of stone, enclosing an area of compact ashes pitted by rains.
Lassiter’s astonishment was extreme.
“I could not find the right way to tell you,” said Albro. “In the fight a year ago your house was burned by a Federal shell.”
“And my family—where are they?”
“In Heaven, I hope. All were killed by the shell.”
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Friday Mar 05, 2010
Friday Mar 05, 2010
Daily Drill
I like to go to the dentist. It took me a long time before I reached this point, but this week when I emerged from the three story building he has an office in, I looked at my teeth and for the first time I can remember, I saw no fillings.
I have spent more time in a dentist’s chair than I care to recall, but it is probably into the thousands of hours. I’ve had many, many root canals, as in more than 5 and less than 10, and too many fillings to count. I have a bridge across two of my teeth, and I really don’t know how many crowns I have in my mouth. It’s that bad.
My daughter texted me last week and said the dentist told her she had her father’s teeth. It made me feel sad for her, because I know the kind of pain and suffering she will face throughout her life. She was fitted for another crown this week, and on the same day the same dentist fitted me for another crown. She in her late twenties now, and we have paid for extensive work on her teeth including braces and veneers, and now she is finding out how expensive bad teeth can be.
When I was young, my teeth hurt so often I had to choose which side of my mouth to chew my food on, and it was usually the side with the least cavities. To make my teeth fit in my small mouth, the dentist pulled four teeth and the others straightened out, so I did escape having to have braces.
But I know my mother paid for several very nice boats for the dentist while my teeth rotted away. We all know the main culprit for my teeth problems is the amount of soda I drink. My teeth are so weak the dentist even gave me prescription strength fluoride toothpaste. Well, he gave it to me and then charged me for it. But I thought it was a nice gesture.
Teeth are an interesting symbol of strength. We don’t want our teeth to be weak, and we don’t want the pain associated with weak teeth. So we do a few things to make sure they stay in good health, like brushing, flossing, and visiting the dentist regularly.
In my forties, I finally got most of my teeth in shape. I still had some of those ugly silver fillings from the sixties, but I can say I spent a decade or two without tooth pain because I actually kept going to the dentist.
Our lives can be like teeth. Without the proper examination, we may be rotting away and not even know it. If we find ourselves in a place where we feel bitter, disappointed or angry, the decay into this condition started long before today. Perhaps we are harboring bad feelings, which rot away our soul as surely as sugar rots my teeth.
The decay in our lives doesn’t have to match the gradual decline of our bodies. With proper intervention, we can live interesting, fulfilled lives until the day we begin to decay after our death. But the mental brushing and flossing might include things like hobbies, puzzles, new interests, and it may even include a general restructuring of our lives.
The dentist had to drill away what was left of my broken tooth, but the good news is he also got rid of a really prominent silver filling. Now the temporary cap they put on matches my teeth, and the ugly darkness which had greeted me every time I looked in the mirror, and for the last four decades or more. But first he had to build up a post of new material so the crown had something to hold onto.
We may have to restructure our basic foundations to be able to secure the new habits we want to build. If I want to be a writer, I may have to do some writing every day. I can do all the planning I want about my book, but until I actually put pen to paper, or type some words into a word processor, I will never start to become a writer. We can dream all we want, but when the dreaming stops and the work begins, we will find out just how much we want something.
I have been to the dentist so much I can have him drill on shallow cavities without being numbed up. The dental assistants can’t really believe when I do this, and then I don’t have to worry about the numbing stuff wearing off. Are you ready to jump into life? Maybe it’s time to get up out of the chair and face the work we need to do.
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Wednesday Mar 03, 2010
Wednesday Mar 03, 2010
Incongruous
Life is full of contradictions, but this doesn’t mean we need to label one side good and the other bad. This world can be both a beautiful and an ugly place at the same time. When I see abundance in the universe, it doesn’t mean I don’t know about the pain and suffering that also exists locally and across the world.
It may seem incongruous to acknowledge abundance when there are still people hurting. But I really think there is no other way to improve this world unless we gain a positive perspective and try to emphasize what is good.
Let me explain one of the ways I have come to have this peculiar appreciation of the incongruity of life. While I was taking a Russian language class in college, the cute little lady from Germany who was struggling to get me to speak Russian without a western drawl told me a story about the Soviet Union. She said if you were walking the street in the Soviet Union and you saw a line, you should get in it. She said when there was a line; it meant there was something being sold which most people would want. She used the example of pineapples. She said when you get to the front of the line; you should buy all you could carry. It still made no sense, so she said you would take those pineapples home and give or sell them to your neighbors, who would do the same for you next time something was being sold which everyone wanted. The shortages made the lines something you should never pass up.
This reminds me of the defection of a MIG pilot during the Soviet Union era. When he decided to come to the United States, he was convinced every place he was taken had staged the plenty we have become accustomed to here in the West. So the pilot decided to run-away from his supervisors and see for himself. He was sure the stores with plenty were prepared just for him, and after searching for the kind of scarcity he knew from the Soviet Union, he turned himself back in after a month or so. It was so unbelievable to him he had to prove it to himself.
Do we really need to live for a while in a less fortunate place to appreciate the bounty we have all around us? I’m not only talking about pineapples, but the opportunities we are surrounded with which we take for granted, or worse, ignore. Best of all, many of the most glorious things we can enjoy aren’t really things. Here’s a list I was making this morning on the way to work. I was able to enjoy the radiant sunshine reflected off a snow covered peak to the north with a reddish pink brilliance. Since I was driving, I was only able to look at it for a moment, but it was an amazing sight.
Then as I drove South, I recognized the sun rising in the same place it rises during this time of the year. It’s been a favorite time for me since it is a precursor to the approach of spring. But the sun was still a little too far north, and it wasn’t rising on the same bridge it does at the end of next month. I considered why this was, and with the education I’ve received in excellent public schools, I was able to imagine our part of the hemisphere tilting away from the sun on our yearly trip around the sun. As I drove to work, in my mind I could see the planet slowly revolving around the sun until we are pointing directly at it and we are basking in summer glory. It was another amazing opportunity to acknowledge the incredible, wonderful and amazing life I am living.
Where millions of people in the past cursed the winter and wondered what ceremonies they needed to perform to make the spring return, I live in a world where the wonders of science can explain why it is fifteen degrees outside this morning, and it has nothing to do with offending the gods. I drive along in a car going 75 miles per hour, and think about the fact that people believed the human body couldn’t survive speeds faster than 40 miles per hour. I work in a climate adjusted building, enjoy plentiful food, affordable clothing, and can provide for my family.
It can’t really explain why I wore a Hawaiian shirt to work when it was fifteen degrees outside. I told everyone I was trying to hurry summer along, but the truth is I just like the shirt. I maybe in my own superstitious way, I am trying to offer my own sacrifice so summer will return.
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Tuesday Mar 02, 2010
Tuesday Mar 02, 2010
This is the complete episode from February 21st.
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