I got no job

sheep lamb

If you are lucky, very lucky, no, very, very lucky, when you grow up you won’t have a job.

You will have a calling.

And if you are one of the lucky ones, then you will know what I mean.

sheep lamb

In the beginning

In the beginning, we all worked.

Even in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve gathered the fruit that they ate and built the shelter in which they slept. It got worse after their expulsion. Since then work has been part of the human experience. It defines us. It makes possible the good life.

Back in the day, work and jobs were passed down from father to son. A trade was something you learned from dad, and if not from dad, then some uncle.

Education changed that. Go to a university, learn something, contribute to society. Thus, doctors and lawyers filled the earth. And there were hospitals full of patients and courtrooms full of plaintiffs and defendants.

Ouch!

Then Oz had this thought: Artificial Intelligence is making possible another Paradise on Earth. Imagine machines manufacturing things, machines driving cars, cooking food, doing all the things we used to do.

Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out like H.G. Wells dystopian vision in The Time Machine.

All this talk about work reminds Oz of what his father used to say:

Find a job you like and you will never work another day in your life.

The Calling

Gotta go…, Oz hears his wife calling.

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What will the New Year bring?

What will the New Year bring?
Hopefully boundless joy, loving family and friends, few cares and an abundance of God’s blessings, then it helps to have a nut or two to tide you through the winter days, an adventure that lets you venture somewhere you’ve never gone before, and, at the end of the day, a thought to keep you warm in bed, may there be peace on earth.

 

What will the New Year bring?

It is that time of year when we all pause to think back on what the past year meant, on friends no longer with us, and what will the New Year bring.

Friends I have lost keep piling up like the round smooth stones hikers leave on the way up to the peak of Colorado’s Mt. Long. Hikers know what I mean, the rest of you need to get off your chair and hike a mountain to know.

Words and songs that keep coming back to mind. How about Donna Fargo’s What will the New Year bring? Friends, if you have tears, listen and prepare to shed them now.

And yes, I know this is copyright material, but I can’t help but think it is fair comment and a salute to a great artist from Mt. Airy, North Carolina and all the folks in Mayberry, including Andy, Barney, Aunt Bee and Gomer, who are now gone from us.

If you don’t know what I mean, you are under thirty and you don’t watch TNT.

This past year was good to us the one before just a little rough
The one before that was an awful thing what will the new year bring

Will it bring us a little boy to fill our lives with love and joy
We’ve had our share of growing pains what will the new year bring

You’re still one and one makes two now one and one make one
I hope you will love me throughout the year to come

We’ve made our mistakes with love we learned that it can’t promise us
Tomorrow and forever things what will the new year bring

Wish I hadn’t read our horoscope things look stormy for Scorpios
Virgo’s posed to sprout their wings what will the new year bring

Will you want me to love you the way you know I do
And will you walk through life with me another year or two

Or three or four or five or six hundred years or more
Happy New Year darling for whatever is in store

winter-2

Look if you dare

LIFE AMONG WAGE-EARNERS 1880

To the men who work the docks, coal shovelers, hucksters, women who work for a day, sell newspapers at the ferries, or work in the factories, every child in the alley who does what one can for a penny from the time one could walk.

To the men at their clubs, to the women who shop, to those that dine without a thought of the cost.

Look if you dare
Look at the life of a wage-earner
Where life is lived
Simply
The needs so evident, the value of words not at all
Where
Action expresses the heart perfectly
The baby with brother or sister
Each dependent on the other
The child finds that in a morsel of bread weariness
A father or mother in words unspoken
Knows the sadness
And still make
Sacrifices
Their ease and their comfort and even their sleep
To provide a home
And what is more important
Love
To nourish the soul

Inspired by author Lillian William Betts, who wrote books and articles about life in the tenements at the turn of the 20th century. The Leaven in a Great City is one such book.

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Where do they go?

I got to thinking the other day, Where do old artists go?

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Christopher Cross tells you on his website that he was one of the biggest breakout artists of the 80’s. True and a little self-aggrandizing. But, as I have always said, Toot your own horn when no one else does.

Well, surprise, Christopher Cross is still performing, singing the oldies, and coming up with a few new ones.

Maybe, it is not them. They do not go away. It is us. We move on to other things.

And forget…

Until the wind kicks up, and the smell of salt is in the air, and a dream carries us away to a place where I always heard it could be.

P.S.

Top Chrisopher Cross song of all time, Sailing, with its thrilling chimes and steady beat of the drumsticks.

sailing

 

Checking in and out

adventure_red_cap_oil

Checked my computer for emails, posts, and tweets; found there is nothing needing my attention, so, I am checking out, mindful that:

What we do we may partly compute, but what we experience can only be felt.

adventure_red_cap

And what we say will never be understood by those who don’t experience life as it really is.

The school of hard rocks

 

beach_sit

Does it matter, she asked herself, does it matter that all this must cease to exist – the jagged rocks, the warm sand, the wide ocean and the blue sky, and even the birds that glide on the gentle breeze itself must go away when she dies. Or, is this why we have children?

This is not an original thought, she thought, and then she realized, we do not procreate with a purpose other than to find relief. To momentarily escape reality before reality again rears its ugly head. Oh, she realized, that it is only in the long years of child rearing that one signals one’s hope that life should go on and that others should ask this same question.

Then she had a strange thought that life is an endless series of steps. One starts and stops, like life itself. The distance from beginning to end being both insurmountable and unknowable.

A lesson from the school of hard rocks

Kansas Spring

March 31, 2017

blossom-bird

It is spring again in Kansas.

March 31st, the course of the sun has run halfway through Aries, the sign of the ram. It is Kansas and so it is the South Wind, not the West that warms the earth. The farmers give thanks for the sometimes-gentle rain that falls from the heavens above, and curse instead when it hails.

The earth, which a few weeks ago, was brown and grey is now green and lush, and the morning’s silence is broken by the Robins’ song.

What follows is a modern translation of Chaucer’s Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer: Modern English, French, and original Middle English,

Modern English

English did not become modern until William Shakespeare and the King James translation of the Bible, a fact that will surprise many “modern” high school English students.

When April with its sweet showers
Hath pierced the drought of March to its root,
And bathed every vein in such liquor
By which virtue engenders the flower;

When the West Wind also with his sweet breath,
Has inspired In every woodland and field
The tender crops, and the young sun
Has half its course within the sign of Aries run,

And small fowls make melody,
That sleep all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them in their hearts),
Then folk long to go on pilgrimages,

And pilgrims to seek strange shores,
To distant shrines, known in sundry lands;
And specially from every shire’s end
Of England to Canterbury wend their way,
The holy blessed martyr to seek
Who helped them when they were sick.

Language Barriers

When I was a little boy the joke was told,
Q: Why did Peter throw the butter out the window?
A: To see the butterfly.

It is a joke that works in English but not in French, since butterfly in French is papillon.

Language barriers are large but none so great as that observed by the Welsh and English cleric Matthew Henry, There are none so deaf and none so blind, as they who refuse to see and will not listen.

French

Quand avril avec ses douces douches
La sécheresse de mars à sa racine a percé ,
Et a baigné toutes les veines dans une telle liqueur
Par quoi la vertu engendre la fleur;

Quand le Vent de l’Ouest aussi avec son doux souffle,
A inspiré dans tous les bois et champs
Les plantes tendres et le jeune soleil
A couru la moitié du cours en Bélier,

Et les petites volailles chante la mélodie,
Qui dormir toute la nuit avec l’œil ouvert
(Donc la nature les pique dans leurs coeurs),
Ensuite, les gens souhaitaient faire des pèlerinages,

Et les pèlerins cherchent des rivages étranges,
Aux sanctuaires lointains, connus dans les terres diverses;
Et surtout depuis la fin de chaque cours
De l’Angleterre à Canterbury se promène,
Le saint béni martyr à chercher
Qui les a aidés quand ils étaient malades.

Middle English

Geoffrey Chaucer (1343 – 25 October 1400) is the grand daddy of English literature. Thank God he wrote in the vernacular and not in Latin as had been the custom. English is the most polyglot of languages. Sprinkled throughout Chaucer’s English, one observes bits of French, German, and Latin.

If one looks at the words of Chaucer and then listens to the sound, much of the meaning will become clear.

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour,

Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,

And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

The “hooly blisful martir for to seke”.

Alas, it was St. Thomas Beckett, murdered by followers of the king, who was the “holy blissful martyr” the pilgrims sought to seek. His shrine in Canterbury stood until 1538, when, on orders from King Henry VIII, it and Beckett’s bones were destroyed, and Henry ordered that all mention of his name be obliterated.

Lost in Translation

Even the most literal of translations can be deceiving. Lovers, poets, and politicians know this for that is why words matter. This is a good thing for it means that Google Translate will forever require human intervention.

Some place, some day.

Thoughts on the movie La La Land – It was La La Land until there was Moonlight.

There are dreamers and doers and if I could be but one, I suppose I’d rather dream of things to be when I leave Oz. To go some day to some place I long to go, might just spoil the dream.

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Far away, there is a cabin on the lake I long to go. I will someday but will it be too late?

Loin, il y a une cabane sur le lac que j’ai envie d’y aller. Je vais un jour, mais sera-t-il trop tard?