Little Things
I like little things. I do not know why, but I tend to interested in things that are “different”, out of the ordinary and unique. I seek out the details that others miss. Things that are little are often overlooked.
I am also a geographer, and understand the role of “scale”. Tiny animals like spiders, bugs and ants exist on a much smaller scale than humans do. What for us, is just a few steps is for them a journey. Yet they not only live, but seem to survive quite nicely.
There is something comforting to me about the fact that, in the midst of human chaos, life goes on. For example, at work one day I looked down and, there just inches from a heavily-travelled road was a line of ants. They seemed oblivious to the loud cars and trucks overhead. Instead they walked along the white line, in search of food, or water, or mates or whatever. Maybe that white line was a highway for the ants, and they were on a journey to visit other ant-friends a few ant-miles away (which for us would be a few feet).
Another time I was in an argument --a very heated discussion that had moved to a neighborhood park. I, and the person with whom I was losing the argument to, thought that going to the park would help to calm the situation. When we sat a picnic table, a tiny green bug, about the size of a comma, walked across the tabletop. I pointed it out. And stared at it, since staring at my argument opponent was not in my best interest.
Something happened! Quickly, the problem that had brought us to that picnic table seemed to—at least for a while—float away. We were both engrossed in the happenings of this tiny bug. It went between the wood planks, but did not fall. It traveled, as if on a mission, across the table top. In a moment the world seemed simpler, less complex, for this tiny bug had no knowledge that it was on a table, or was being spied upon by others who were not seeking prey.
Tiny little things are all around, be they small ants along a road, tiny bugs on a table, or small fish in the backyard pond. All these living things exist in spite of human interference and encroachment. Not only that but they seem content, and at peace with their space. That to me is a nice thought.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Must. Write. Blog
Personal Essay
Must. Write. Blog. . . .
I think, for me, one of the most difficult things is self-discipline. I am too much of a free spirit. I do not like to be tied down. It’s okay if someone tells me to do something—like for class or for work, but left on my own—well, that is another story.
That is why writing a blog is important. It kind of forces me to write something. There, staring at me every day is the little icon, with my blog’s name on it.
It’s not as if I have nothing to say. Ask anyone. I have opinions. I am to be listened to. If only word of my well reasoned arguments can reach the masses, then maybe things will change. (Maybe my dogs can figure out how to open the front door and “go potty”, all by themselves too! They can just bark and we will let them back in.)
Part of the problem is that there are so many other things to do. Maybe, these aren’t the best things to do, such as watching TV. or surfing the ‘net, but they do manage to control a lot of time.
They say that the world is filled with good intentions. People often seem to live unfulfilled lives.
Yet, some folks are focused and disciplined. They have learned how to manage their time, plan their activities and accomplish their tasks. I am sure that these people must feel happy, but too often those who are driven seem unable to relax, smell the coffee, and enjoy some pointless show on TV.
Mom is like that. She does not slow down. But she is not unhappy. She enjoys her activities, and although she rarely watches TV. –especially when there is work to be done, and there is always work to be done! She does relax, with family and friends.
In short, mom likes to keep busy.
Sometimes it drove me nuts. “Geez, mom, I’ll do the dishes, but let me see this show first!” Eventually she’d relent and before I went to bed, I would finish the chores.
I guess I am still like that! (Sigh) My wife knows that I will do the dishes, and whatever, but first, I need to do this, or do that.
I think I will always battle this desire for freedom and responsibility. I am a rebel in that way; don’t tell me to do something for I may not.
I am also a dreamer—I like to think, and this thinking (er, dreaming) takes a lot of time. It can not be rushed. Like grilling meat, it is best to let it cook nice and slow, otherwise part of it is too done and part is not done enough. Yet, at some point, it’s time to take the food off the grill and move on to the next step. Dang it’s hard—I mean too well done!
Must. Write. Blog. . . .
I think, for me, one of the most difficult things is self-discipline. I am too much of a free spirit. I do not like to be tied down. It’s okay if someone tells me to do something—like for class or for work, but left on my own—well, that is another story.
That is why writing a blog is important. It kind of forces me to write something. There, staring at me every day is the little icon, with my blog’s name on it.
It’s not as if I have nothing to say. Ask anyone. I have opinions. I am to be listened to. If only word of my well reasoned arguments can reach the masses, then maybe things will change. (Maybe my dogs can figure out how to open the front door and “go potty”, all by themselves too! They can just bark and we will let them back in.)
Part of the problem is that there are so many other things to do. Maybe, these aren’t the best things to do, such as watching TV. or surfing the ‘net, but they do manage to control a lot of time.
They say that the world is filled with good intentions. People often seem to live unfulfilled lives.
Yet, some folks are focused and disciplined. They have learned how to manage their time, plan their activities and accomplish their tasks. I am sure that these people must feel happy, but too often those who are driven seem unable to relax, smell the coffee, and enjoy some pointless show on TV.
Mom is like that. She does not slow down. But she is not unhappy. She enjoys her activities, and although she rarely watches TV. –especially when there is work to be done, and there is always work to be done! She does relax, with family and friends.
In short, mom likes to keep busy.
Sometimes it drove me nuts. “Geez, mom, I’ll do the dishes, but let me see this show first!” Eventually she’d relent and before I went to bed, I would finish the chores.
I guess I am still like that! (Sigh) My wife knows that I will do the dishes, and whatever, but first, I need to do this, or do that.
I think I will always battle this desire for freedom and responsibility. I am a rebel in that way; don’t tell me to do something for I may not.
I am also a dreamer—I like to think, and this thinking (er, dreaming) takes a lot of time. It can not be rushed. Like grilling meat, it is best to let it cook nice and slow, otherwise part of it is too done and part is not done enough. Yet, at some point, it’s time to take the food off the grill and move on to the next step. Dang it’s hard—I mean too well done!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
“My two cents and/or Superstition”
Personal Essay
06-28-11
While walking my dogs, I picked up two pennies that were on the ground. If my wife was there, the first thing that she would have asked me, “is it heads up, or heads down?”, indicates what she thinks is important about the penny. A heads-up penny is valuable; it brings good luck. Yet heads-down; leave it alone.
I never cared about that. To me a penny is a penny—one tenth of a dime or one hundredth of a dollar. If I pick up two pennies, then I am now two pennies richer. True nothing can be bought with 2 pennies, but, I am not broke. Perhaps, I can find some use.
It seems that few people are concerned about pennies anymore. Though old superstition is cute, I think that hardly anyone takes it seriously anymore. Or do they? Superstitions are persistent; they must have some sticky glue for they never completely leave the brain.
I always wore a blue shirt when taking a test in High School, and though I never take tests anymore, I still think of blue shirts as lucky.
Pennies are not picked up any more. I have heard people (my wife, but also others, so as not to point her out) say that they do not bother to pick them up since they are nearly worthless. Sad! At least pick the poor thing up and let it mingle with other coins; it’ll be happier with its own kind instead of out in world alone.
Perhaps old pennies and silly superstitions are similar. They are part of us; part of our collective identity. Add all those pennies up and you may have enough for a stick of gum, or a bag of chips. Add all those superstitions together and—you get a myth or a legend. (Some say that religion is superstition, but that is another story.) At least they make a good story. Either way you have something! It all has value. That’s cool! So as I put my two pennies in my pocket, I smile. I am not broke!
Oh, by the way the first one was heads-up, the second was heads-down. I hope they cancel out!
06-28-11
While walking my dogs, I picked up two pennies that were on the ground. If my wife was there, the first thing that she would have asked me, “is it heads up, or heads down?”, indicates what she thinks is important about the penny. A heads-up penny is valuable; it brings good luck. Yet heads-down; leave it alone.
I never cared about that. To me a penny is a penny—one tenth of a dime or one hundredth of a dollar. If I pick up two pennies, then I am now two pennies richer. True nothing can be bought with 2 pennies, but, I am not broke. Perhaps, I can find some use.
It seems that few people are concerned about pennies anymore. Though old superstition is cute, I think that hardly anyone takes it seriously anymore. Or do they? Superstitions are persistent; they must have some sticky glue for they never completely leave the brain.
I always wore a blue shirt when taking a test in High School, and though I never take tests anymore, I still think of blue shirts as lucky.
Pennies are not picked up any more. I have heard people (my wife, but also others, so as not to point her out) say that they do not bother to pick them up since they are nearly worthless. Sad! At least pick the poor thing up and let it mingle with other coins; it’ll be happier with its own kind instead of out in world alone.
Perhaps old pennies and silly superstitions are similar. They are part of us; part of our collective identity. Add all those pennies up and you may have enough for a stick of gum, or a bag of chips. Add all those superstitions together and—you get a myth or a legend. (Some say that religion is superstition, but that is another story.) At least they make a good story. Either way you have something! It all has value. That’s cool! So as I put my two pennies in my pocket, I smile. I am not broke!
Oh, by the way the first one was heads-up, the second was heads-down. I hope they cancel out!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
R.I.P Squirrel
Personal Essay May 14, 2011
“I saw a squirrel get hit by a truck”
While walking the dogs along the street that runs through our subdivision, I saw (and heard) a squirrel get hit by a truck. The driver no did not stop, or even slow down. The old man seemed in a hurry to get to where he was going.
I heard the Thump; and saw the final shake, as the tail twitched back and forth. Cars zoomed by. Though now a carcass, I did not want another to hit it. They missed as they hurried up the lane.
I looked around. Trees were in full bloom. All bedecked in green, as squirrels and birds lived among their branches. Flowers and grasses marked the path ahead. All was alive.
I stopped to take it in as my dogs were panting; waiting patiently for me to move.
Such is life. But a death too early is not a happy thing.
I thought of the Native Americans’ view that everything has a spirit. Father Sky, I’ve heard them say. Something in that way of thinking brought peace.
Everything is Spirit. The Imago Dei, image of God.
As I continued my walk, nature seemed to echo this statement. Wind rustled through the green canopy above. A squirrel on a nearby tree stopped mid-climb to stare at me, the human stranger. My dogs’ tails swayed happily back and forth.
Life continues on.
Rest well little squirrel. Your spirit moves on.
“I saw a squirrel get hit by a truck”
While walking the dogs along the street that runs through our subdivision, I saw (and heard) a squirrel get hit by a truck. The driver no did not stop, or even slow down. The old man seemed in a hurry to get to where he was going.
I heard the Thump; and saw the final shake, as the tail twitched back and forth. Cars zoomed by. Though now a carcass, I did not want another to hit it. They missed as they hurried up the lane.
I looked around. Trees were in full bloom. All bedecked in green, as squirrels and birds lived among their branches. Flowers and grasses marked the path ahead. All was alive.
I stopped to take it in as my dogs were panting; waiting patiently for me to move.
Such is life. But a death too early is not a happy thing.
I thought of the Native Americans’ view that everything has a spirit. Father Sky, I’ve heard them say. Something in that way of thinking brought peace.
Everything is Spirit. The Imago Dei, image of God.
As I continued my walk, nature seemed to echo this statement. Wind rustled through the green canopy above. A squirrel on a nearby tree stopped mid-climb to stare at me, the human stranger. My dogs’ tails swayed happily back and forth.
Life continues on.
Rest well little squirrel. Your spirit moves on.
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