They Walk Amongst Us

 

Boot up and view these weirdo’s and whackos and hero’s and Patriots whose stories the news highlights to shock, intrigue, titillate us and wonder where did they come from.

As you bow you head in prayer at the house of whatever faith you subscribe to, take a peek around the congregation.

These are the same people you see at the Tummy Temple. They are the same folks who assemble every week in worship in hope of a better life or out of tradition. The faces look familiar but many of the names are vacant. They attend the same restaurants that you take you family to. They work in the same office building or job site that you do, but they are still strangers.

There’s Frank. Speak to him in Bible class but know nothing about him or his family. There is no familiarity of education, occupation or assimilation. A short conversation on the day’s events and a handshake are enough to get through another week without any other sharing of personal information.

I think her name is Nancy. She always sits in the same pew and always carries a white Bible. I’ve heard she is a nurse but know nothing more. Someone said she is a single mother?

Those four guys always sit together. They kid each other like a locker-room until the organ starts playing. When they do not attend, they are out in the woods dressed in camo with high fives at their slaughter killing animals while they innocently eat unaware of the firepower endangering them.

George lives in the neighborhood. He buys a new car every year. Have no idea what his occupation is, but he gets his lawn mower by a service every Tuesday. Seems like a regular guy but is carrying the weight of impregnating his neighbor’s daughter.

Sarah works the soup kitchen. Somebody has to feed the poor and she is rewarded with the feeling of doing good in this world. At night she is a pole dancer at the gentlemen’s club.

Timmy sings in the choir. He seems bored with the whole process, but it is requirement of following the adult instructions. He is a good student and participates in sports, but is more interested in dance. He’ll take his own life with his father’s gun.

Kelly has her own coffee shop. I buy a coffee and doughnut from her every morning. She hires girls who have had questionable upbringings. Her boyfriend picks her up in a Chevy Camaro muscle car with a confederate battle flag painted on the hood and playing Dixie on the horn.

Ronnie carries a gun. He has strict political opinions based on whatever he believes. Don’t mess with Ronnie.

Bonnie works at the local bakery. Always friendly to the customers while covered in white powder. She lives with her father who abuses her every night.

Tony works the frozen food section at the Tummy Temple. He is reserved but dedicated to his task. He has been missing after ICE came through.

Hillary is as pleasant as she can be. Obviously limited, she attends her formatted duties with questionable conversation response. She jogs in my neighborhood.

Mister Bondawill is on a walker. Retired from a profitable insurance agency, his only outing is to venture into the Tummy Temple on Sunday afternoons in hopes of seeing survivors to have a brief conversation over a grocery cart. He was knocked down in the parking lot by a driver on their phone.

Sally seemed outgoing and comfortable with everyone. Personable but not elite, she fit in every occasion. Attractive, but not beautiful she always had a fine-looking man on her arm. You can guess what happened to her.

Bobby was the school bully. Somewhere along the way he converted to being spiritual. He heads the Bible class and sometimes sings in the choir. He wears his mother’s underwear under his robes. He was shot in an alumni party.

These are the folks you see at the neighborhood diner. They attend the same plays and sporting events and festivals. Their kids go to the same schools and they remember the words to the songs learned in their teen years. They are accepted due to the cut of their jib and the car they drive. Other than that, they are still strangers. Fewer show up every year and there are no replacements.

While you scan the disasters of the day, you see a name that looks familiar. Is that?

They walk amongst us.

Work, without pay

 

With the current governmental shutdown, essential workers must still work without pay. Others are on furlough, a mandatory unpaid leave of absence yet still employed. A third group lay-offs or fired as a reduction-in-force are no longer on the payroll. There is talk of shuffling around other appropriations to pay the military.

The guys and gals who caused all this mess are still getting paid 6-figure salaries.

As I recall, work was to extend labor or product or service with the expectation of monetary compensation. Taking out the trash and cleaning your room maybe work for an allowance. Cutting the neighbor’s grass with a manual push mower may get you some sawbucks. Some find bartering equal rewards but doesn’t pay the rent.

When asked if I could produce some art for free because it is just drawing a picture, I’d say, “Then let your cousin do it.” When a club owner asked a band to play the weekend without taking any dollars out of the till, the exposure doesn’t pay the gas to travel, place to stay and food to eat.

Whether you feel your salary is equal to the amount of talent or effort you put in, how long can you go without? If you are an essential worker, how hard will you work without pay? How long will it take for a paycheck to show up after the shutdown is over? Will the grocer understand that you will gladly pay them next Tuesday for a hamburger today? Will your landlord be so empathetic to not have the funds to pay the property tax or water or electricity? The federal contractors who do everything from cleaning the bathrooms to providing ammunition to the armed services do when their department is shutdown? The coffee shop loses customers, the dry cleaner closes and no one is hiring.

What do tell the kids when there are no toys under the tree? Don’t need to string the lights when the power is cut off. There will be no traveling to grandma because you can’t afford the gas. Don’t expect a turkey on the table.

Back in the day, there were apprentices or interns who learned the trade without pay, before being qualified to be hired. Volunteers work for free for a variety of reasons, but somewhere, someone is the bread winner who pays the bills.

Sooner or later, the government will open up and turn on the lights and go back to doing bureaucratic stuff with whoever is left and the congress will appropriate more raises and the public will pay their taxes and all will be right with the world.

Until next time.

The Brotherhood of the White Beards

 

Yesterday, or so it seems, there was a gathering of gentlemen on an autumn day in the sunshine to converse as friends near and far. Some names are more familiar and some faces have changed but this congregation of white beards were civil due to laughter and adult beverages.

Some go back to the last century and others are links to occasional meetings. As these are all men beyond their prime, they speak of manly topics while dipping into the hummus.

As elderly do, we start with the topics that are not threatening or challenging. There are no competitions other than stand up and walk to the loo, but the sunshine kept them semi-warm in the forest.

Being manly men, they spoke of their latest purchases of mobile machines and FYI renovations for the next generations. Mild music waffled through the air of soft songs not requiring dancing. There was no talk of politics or religion or even grandchildren (though I find that rare with online comments and grandmothers). No comments were made about fashion, except for those who wore shorts on this chilly afternoon. There was no talk of previous or contemporary relationships. A few gaps were filled in with pointed questions but nothing demanding a confrontation.

All in all, it was a pleasant afternoon among geezers of the Brotherhood of the White Beards.

Now the season is here for the weather to force everyone into shelter and decorate and accommodate for immediate family and friends. Gifts are bestowed and celebrations are had through the dark holidays with good food and cheer by the warm fires of memories made or remembered.

The Brotherhood of White Beards may never recure without any record of it ever happening. The names of the attendees will go unmentioned. No property or person was harmed as I could tell. The accommodations and transportation were paid in full and there was very little waste for the proprietor.

The decorations will fill the neighborhood with light and celebration while I will creep back into the woods to awake the warmth of spring and coming of the dawn.

Question: WHY?

 

?

Every day we fire up our screens and through blurry eyes and a weak warm cup, we view the latest news brief.

The talking heads talk over each other trying to make the events seem urgent, but they can only answer the ‘who’, ‘what’, ‘where’ and ‘when’ with any accuracy. The videos that flood the internet show the authorities and the flashing lights on the multiple cars and military equipped milling about the carnage picking up evidence for the next wave to evaluate and speculate and hypnotize and investigate and analyze and explore and examine and research and probe and study and inspect and inquire and scrutinize in hopes of answering the question ‘why’.

No matter the studies and reports and charts and graphs, there may be no answer to this question.

So, each and every one speculates and comes to a conclusion on their own personal bias and background opinions fed by influencers emphasizing a point-of-view to validate a belief.

Mental health is always a good excuse for a random act of violence or abnormality. With all the categories of behavior not consistent to what is acceptable to the norm, everyone would be rounded up and put in a white jacket with a belt in the back.

Family interactions and school classmates can form hormonal reactions that can be adjusted to introvert or extrovert reactions. Acceptance or rejections can reward or defeat conformity. Rules and laws may define the good and the bad or must be avoided.

If we ever find the answer, then we would not need a faith in an invisible GOD? Would we not come together, singing songs, reading scriptures, preaching pious homilies of good over evil and forgiveness rather than revenge? Why do we continue have wars?

You walk into a room and wonder why? You see a stranger and can’t stop thinking about them and wonder why? You choose the blue shirt instead of the white shirt and wonder why? You read a book or go to a movie or listen to some music then wonder why you wasted your time? You get passed over for a raise and don’t know why? You eat a meal and then feel bloated and wonder why you ate all that stuff?

We question everything. Why is that a rock and that a tree? Why am I attracted to blondes over brunettes? Why did I buy this car over that model? Why did we break up? Why do some die early and others just keep plugging along?

Why ask why?

A person walks into a school or church and opens fire and we question ‘Why’? Even if we thought we had found rational reasoning for the action, does that solve the problem? Not enough security? Why? Too many weapons easily available? Why? Belief in a different spirit or wrong haircut or different language worth such a reaction? Why?

We seem to return to the eternal answer to ‘Why am I here’? All the academic opinionated writings and spiritual teachings and political leanings to the left or right or engrained heritage, there is no suitable answer for all to accept.

To be dropped on this blue marble in space without asking and experience the interactions with other species of this planet until our clock runs out and our being is disposed of in rituals from before time, we do not get the answer of ‘why’.

Why ask?

Racial Profiling

 

After the war of the worlds, life tried to become normal again. Instead of every city being crowded in soldiers and sailors and flags everywhere, houses and families and schools and churches became the focus of the population.

Veterans who could still fit in their uniforms would pin on their jewelry and walk down the street on holidays to the cheers of the bystanders celebrating their heroes, they put it back in the closet and get back to the daily grind of commuting from suburbia to playing golf and cutting the grass on weekends.

Early law enforcement officers looked like every other cowboy except they had a bright shiny silver star pined to their shirt. They had been chosen by the township or community or county to break up bar room brawls, out draw the high noon shootouts and round up the cattle rustlers avoiding a lynching by the ranchers to bring them into the hoosegow, stand before a judge and then be lynched. The urban sheriffs or marshals would wear jackets and slacks with a belt holding a stick and a gun. The hat was a flat cap and a badge finished the costume. Police officers rode a horse and handed out parking tickets, directed traffic and patrolled the neighborhoods in a black and white car with a red light on top. They knew the names of all the postal carriers, newspaper delivery boys, milk delivery drivers and even your dog. As population grew and criminal became cleverer, the brown uniforms changed to black as more authoritarian. SWAT teams were formed with more military weapons and transportation. Bulletproof vest were worn carrying technical gear of radios, flash lights, wireless radios, a tazer, anti-personnel spray and a body cam. The 6-shot revolver was replaced with a more powerful Glock pistol and fast reloads cartridges and military quality AR-15 rifles. Helmets replaced caps and shields were used for crowd control. On the backs are large letters verifying their agency like POLICE, SECRET SERVICE, FBI, CIA, SWAT, STATE TROOPER, DEA, ATF, SHERIFF, RANGER, HIGHWAY PATROL… The difference between law enforcement and the military is the camouflage uniforms.

The long blue line have been trained to stand shoulder to shoulder with restraint while their neighbors get in their face spiting vile accusations until the temperatures turn down or all hell breaks out.

I’ve had a few run-ins with the law. Although I look shaggy, I was taught to be polite and give respect to the man with the badge and carrying a gun. I paid my fines, then stood before a judge who came up with a solution to my life of crime avoiding the numbers on the side of the road.

With that said…

The new administration has come out swinging. Under a presidential decree under a vague Emergency Homeland Security act, the current president has vowed to round up all the invaders who are gang members, drug dealers, mentally deficient, released prisoners, sex offenders, and the worst-of-the-worst and kick them out of the country. The courts are trying to keep up with the legality of this process without due process.

Most towns and communities know there are certain areas to avoid. Depending on the reason for redlining these reservations were formed to keep the undesirable apart from the general public and are highly patrolled by law enforcement.

Everyone has their own opinions on who is not suitable for neighborhoods. Someone may dress threatening or act unusual or become loud and annoying or other behavior that draws attention that does not fit in with the standards of the population.

I try to keep up with the news, but avoid many of the camera phone videos not knowing the start or the finish. Yet the news media are covered with this immigration deportation agenda featuring videos of unmarked black SUV convoys releasing face covered black uniform federal agents backed up by the national guard pulling people into the cars and driving off. There does not seem to be a crime scene or any warrants for arrest?

Detention is to be temporarily held or stopped by law enforcement to investigate a possible crime or wrongdoing. Unlike an arrest, a detention is brief and based on reasonable suspicion—a legal standard requiring specific facts to suggest someone is involved in illegal activity. The goal is to either confirm or dispel these suspicions.

In school, detention was to punish a student who had acted up and held after the end of school missing the football game or hanging out with friends or missing the school bus. It was basically a study hall without scolding or additional teaching. If unacceptable behavior continued, the student is expelled.

The videos of the immigrant detentions seemed to be based on ‘racial profiling’. Anyone who looks like Cisco or hanging out in groups looking for day labor or not speaking an acceptable language can be detained without arrest or charges. The rational is the detainees are held under the suspicion of committing a crime of migrating into this country without going through proper procedures.

Detention centers, that are neither dormitories nor holiday camps, are constructed to hold for questioning before deportation.

After all the immigrants are exterminated, who will be next? The homeless who the National Guard is dismantling there open air encampments and told to move on. Perhaps when the detention centers are empty, the homeless can be moved there? What about other ethnic groups that does not assimilate into the Anglo-American preference? Sexual deviations from the birthright gender assignment could be next? Faith beliefs that do not conform to the Christian persuasion may be on the radar for removal? The threat of people of color has never been resolved by the White Supremacy.

Those who do not agree with the direction of these executive orders could be targeted by the patriotic political loyalist and eliminated from the voting pool.

Have you been to the zoo?

Here are animals that have been detained from their migration on the savanna and shipped (deported) to detention centers all over the world for public display. Their only crime may have been crossing borders without a visa. The alternative would be execution with your head mounted on a wall as a trophy. 

I don’t need to know that

Just like you, everyday I’m flooded with information as I scroll through the screen looking for something to attract my attention. There is current weather, breaking news, crime updates, silly politics, healthcare trial and error, delicious meals delivered to your doorstep, terrible videos of man’s inhumanity to man, must have purchases promoted by critics and links to what the computer mind thinks you would prefer.

How much of what I see, do I need to know?

There are reports and stories about string theory, dark matter, quantum physics, etc. but do I need to know about this? There are folks out there examining things I couldn’t comprehend but that is how new innovation is created.

I went through all the proper steps of childhood to sit quietly in classrooms and some of it stuck. Math was logical for it had formulars, but science with the periodic table never caught on. History was boring and English never understood. What is the difference between adverbs, adjustives and what the heck is a dangling participle. Iambic pentameter was fine but no one talks like that.

Reading took a long time to become familiar, so books were not my source of information. In college I worked in the city’s main branch library with three floors of every conceivable book available for research and borrow (for free) and the librarian as our search engine. Hidden in the stacks were writings of dubious subjects that had to have an approved request. If a book, once ordered by reviewing best sellers was not suitable for our reading public, it was burnt. I built a library saving unacceptable books from such a faith.

I know there are things like fossil fuel combustible engines from my drivers ed classes, but I wouldn’t even know how to start an automobile now. Solar panels, cocker spaniels, climate change, mental derange, astral projection, science fiction, guns that kill to people who thrill to watch then pray that it will all go away until the next day are out of my control.

When I turn the facet, the water flows. If it is not brown, I drink it. When I turn on a light switch, if the 70+ year old wiring and the ungrounded plugs don’t spark a fire, I’m good for another day. If I can pedal to the Tummy Temple, purchase my nourishment and return without an encounter with a massive metal mobile machine, then I can relax and cherish my purchases.

Home assessment rising, natural gas prices rising, electrical fees rising I have no control over. Like town hall meetings or community gatherings, I’m not inclined to protest or participate. If acceptance is my faith, as long as I have enough money to maintain my current existence, I’m fine.

At this age, I probably ought to pay more attention to health, but there are so many ailments and potions and pills one can’t keep track of all the possibilities. If you read enough of the symptoms, you’ll start feeling the pain. If I go get an appointment, the doctor (to fulfill their oath and maintain their income) will diagnose some deadly unpronounceable name and prescribe a series of medicines that may/or may not work to reduce the pain (real or imagined).

Scanning several news sites can confirm what I’ve already heard on the radio while skipping over the fluff. I will avoid who is getting married or divorced, what is the latest fad, what movie to see or what book to read, political memes and videos of kittens.

If I’m missing out on something, AI will fill in the gaps.

Something’s Wrong

 

It has been a HOT summer. Maybe it is climate change, maybe it is no air conditioning, maybe it is age, maybe….

Whatever is the reason, this year has sapped my energy. My get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone.

There is still a long list of ‘to-dos’ but they just are not getting ‘done’. It’s too blaming HOT!

The fans are running but they are just circulating hot air, so it is time to take naps and wander the yard in my skivvies. Hydration has changed from silver bullets to water from the tap.

This weirdness started at the beginning of spring. Started getting a pain in my left side. I wasn’t eating more, but I felt stuffed. Pressing the skin there was a resistant. Perhaps I was constipated? Take the little chocolate drops to clean out the system.

There was also a gas problem. Any carbonated drink would create a massive long belch. Even eating a cracker brings up an ‘Urp’. Check the tummy aisle at the Tummy Temple.

When the temperature soared to triple digits, even the simple ride to bring home my daily bread became a struggle. A few days had multiple stops to catch-my-breath and on some require dismounting and walking the way home with several stops in the shade for water breaks.

Arriving home, exhausted and soaked, there was nothing left to move. Go to the doctor?

Sleeping became a series of naps broken by bathroom breaks and hydration. Wild reem dreams would come between 3 and 5AM. Waking up was not refreshing. Several mornings were foggy and some days never got into focus.

Adjustments were made eating (and drinking) habits and the stomach extension seemed to lessen. Getting enough nourishment to function, with excretion of liquids and solids working, life goes on. To make it easier, the taste of food is not as enticing as it once were. A bowl of shredded wheat and milk is more appealing than a porterhouse steak.

Sure, a doctor visit could possibly supply a diagnosis for my stuffiness with draining blood and camera scooping where it shouldn’t go of any number of cancers or ulcers or other frailties that could (or not) be treated and eliminated with concoctions and potions and constant check-ups to maintain a healthy existence until the final hour.

And so the story goes in this is Just Another Life.

Manufacturing

Look around. Everything you see was manufactured. Unless you are one of the guys on ‘This Ole House’ with MIT skills and years of experience with all the tools and unlimited funds, someone else manufactured everything you see. You may have some antiques that were crafted by an artisan to finely tool woodworking or metal work or glass blowing beyond the detail a factory could produce, but most of what fills our closets and tops our tables and cover our bookshelves and overrun every drawer and cabinet are mass manufactured.

Seems when we traveled over the pond, we were riding tiny wooden ships manufactured by craftsman with years of experience in bending wood and sealing with tar in hopes it makes it through the waves to the other side. Once in the land of plenty, there were no contractors or architects. There was a plot of land and trees and dirt. Shelter had to be constructed by hand and dirt tilled and seeded for there was no bodega at the end of the dusty road. Until others arrived, frontiers were self-sufficient.

Others did arrive and communities started to form. Everyone chipped in to barn raisings bartering time for food or fellowship. Religious groups constructed churches which doubled for schools and meeting houses.

Still the household was worked by family unless there was enough money to go to the river and buy some people from another land to chattel the family sublimit.

With the constant invasion of indigenous land, the military from the east were sent out to build forts and shelter for the settlers under attack from the native savage, the French, the Spanish and the English all contesting the rights to the property.

Some of these communities grew into townships. Located next to a water source, there was transportation for trading and renewing supplies. As the railroad expanded, other towns popped up along the way as hubs connected together by wires messaging morse code.

Farmers, plantation owners, land owners who manufactured more than their family could consume would take their crops, drive their cattle, herd their sheep to the towns for sale, slaughter and trade.

One of the first manufacturers were the spirits. Whether it was a homemade moonshine still or a distillery, saloons or taverns arrived to distribute a mug of the finest for a few. The hospitality industry was manufactured.

Demand for mass production of clothing, wagons, housing, food, education created manufacturing beyond the single. They are artisans who possess a high level of skill and expertise in a particular craft, often involving the creation of tangible, aesthetically pleasing objects to supply could not keep up with the demand.

Factories were assembled with craftsmen (and women) to sew the buttons, dig in the mines, cut the timber, slaughter the animals, provide the furniture for the expansion of townships.

Being fond of guitars, I think of the Martin factory that brought Ole World skills of making small guitars to the New World and adjusting to the new music since 1833. Each guitar was handmade construction from a luthier with knowledge of wood and sound reproduction who carved and bent the wood, bracing the pieces for resonator and final assembly was a prized procession to any musician who held one. I’ve been to the factory and watched years old techniques that still hold true. There is some automation and shortcuts but the final product is worth the price.

Not every pot and pan and chair and table can have this constant attention to detail, so the factories had to speed up the process while losing the quality. Henry Ford comes to mind of creating the assembly line where workers were separated to doing a particular task as the product moved on a conveyer belt. There wasn’t a lot of skill or craftsmanship in turning a screw every minute.

What brought this to mind was World War II. The machinery of war that was manufactured here and shipped overseas to fight the battle was amazing. The country got out of a depression to hire anyone who could be trained to weld a sheet of metal or pack ammunition or take oil and make tires for thousands of vehicles that would carry our troops to victory. The logistics of keeping track of all these items from uniforms to bullets alone was staggering. Those who didn’t pick up arms worked in factories manufacturing the weapons of destruction. There were limited educational requirements and the working conditions were minimal but the cause was right. After the fighting stopped there was plenty of surplus for the movies.

Labor unions worked for the masses who had no say in salaries or hours worked until factories moved to another country with cheaper labor. The factory of educational manufacturing grew to train generations in adapting to peacetime consumption. Tanks and jeep turned to automobiles and refrigerators, aerial runways tuned to strips of highways, cities spread out into suburbs with matchbook houses. Oil was king. Distilling crude to plastics changed everything.

Rooms full of accountants cooking the books in ledgers turned to cool rooms full of whirring computers. Coal mines were replaced by giant machines that stripped the mountains down from the top. Ships lost their guns to carrying stacks of cargo containers or floating hotels. Department stores morphed into shopping malls as office complexes reached to the heavens. Everyone had a car.

Every place you go has a factory. Whether if it is the local restaurant or filling station or grocery store, they are all mini-manufacturing factories. They all have logistics of receiving, inventory, staff, accounting, distribution, sales, profits, security, insurance….

I never thought of myself as a factory worker, but on reflection I worked in manufacturing as everyone else. I worked from a newspaper. A communication factory manufacturing the news on a daily basis. A 24/7 operation delivering  a new multi-page book filled with sports, politics, local and national news, fashion, stocks, weddings, obituaries, classified pages and even comics 365 days a year. I was a white-collar clog in the machine. I was in the ‘creative’ department that was supposed to assist sales staff persuade clients to pay for their message to be printed in a defined space to be viewed by an audience in hopes that some will see their advertisement and react with calls and request and profits.

The bell rings and we clock out.

Where do you get the news?

 

Reports, studies, test, articles, journals, evaluations, investigations, conclusions, teachings, polls, questionnaires, editorials, opinions, research, observations, results, sermons, declarations, announcement, statement, communique, pronouncement, proclamation, statistics, social media, influencer, gossip, rumors…?

What keywords do you look for?

“Weather”, “Sports”, “Traffic”, “Crime”, “Health Tips”, “Recipes”, “War”, “Guns”, “Education”, “Kids”, “Animals”, “Politics”, “Obits”, “Weddings”, “Births”, “Fashion”, “Protest”, “Homes”, “Money”, “Social Security”, “Jobs”, “Celebrity”, “Relationships”, “Space”, “Economy”, “Best bargains”, “Books”, “Movies”, “Stage shows”, “Concerts”, “Restaurants”, “Energy”, “Philosophy”, “Photography”, “Science Fiction”, “History”, “Ancestry”, “Legacy”, “NSFW”, “Mystery”, “Adventure”, “Economy”, “Emergency”, “Global affairs”, “Secrets” …

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Remember middle school? Our social communication skills were refining in who we wanted to associate with. Puberty also assisted our curiosity in one another. What drew us together was sharing our secrets.

The word "secret" refers to something kept hidden. Personal diaries had locks on them to keep what was written a secret except to the author. Bedroom and bathrooms have doors with locks so whatever activity that occurs is kept a secret from others.

Secrets, when hinted at, cause mysteries that need for others to solve. Once a secret is shared, it is no longer a secret.

“Mary has a crush on Tommy.” “Jenny is wearing Todd’s sweater.” “Sally is pregnant.” Secrets revealed or gossip? If heard second hand, who does the fact check? The secret can now be expanded upon and become someone’s perceived personality and reputation, true or false.

Everyone has a story. The clothing you wear, your hairstyle, where you live, what you drive, where you went to school, your children are all on your resume for anyone to see. Like getting a business card or an online profile, either to be adjusted for the best appearance, we present to the public who we think we are.

When meeting a stranger and getting beyond the physical appearance and you find the conversation interesting and wanted to know more, whatever they say may be the truth or a lie. If you know a friend who could verify the stories, you build the relationship on trust. You can only bond when you share secrets.

Some secrets shouldn’t be shared. Some secrets will be regretted to the grave. Some secrets may be discovered long after life and never confirmed.

I’ve tried to be forthright with my history and philosophy, but realize there are still a lot of secrets I never knew. I lived with a woman for eight years and never asked about her father. I lived with a woman for twenty-five years and we agreed not to dwell into the past relationships. She told me stories I didn’t want to hear that were later detailed by strangers who knew more than I did.  Some have been hinted at from one point of view in this blog. Intimate specifics will not be discussed. I kept my promise.

At a certain age, say being a senior citizen, we can bypass the blah-blah of the last vacation or a new purchase or even what the family who you don’t know are doing. We shouldn’t wait until the death bed to share our secrets. This is what you will pass on to your heirs.

“When was your first kiss?” “Who deflowered you?” “Did you ever get arrested?” “Did you want to get married?” “Did you plan on a family?” “How far did you do drugs?” “Did you ever stray?” “Why did you break up?” “Did you ever kill anyone?” “Did you ever steal?” “Do you have a legacy?”

These are the questions that should be asked at reunions. This is what people really want to know.

Ask me no secrets. I’ll tell you no lies.

Name what?

 

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.  Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.  God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.”  So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so.  God called the vault “sky.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

 And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.” And it was so. God called the dry ground “land,” and the gathered waters he called “seas.” And God saw that it was good.

 Then God said, “Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.” And it was so.  The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.  And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.

 And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so.  God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars.  God set them in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good.  And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the vault of the sky.”  So, God created the great creatures of the sea and every living thing with which the water teems and that moves about in it, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.  God blessed them and said, “Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the earth.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.

 And God said, “Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: the livestock, the creatures that move along the ground, and the wild animals, each according to its kind.” And it was so.  God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.

 Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”

So, God created mankind in his our (plural?) image, in the image of God. He made man and then woman.  

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

 Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.

 God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

So, the Almighty, got bored folding laundry or tinkering on his 57 Chevy and decided to make a new hobby of inventing the Universe. After six days (for you take the seventh day of rest as the Sabbath - creating a universe wears you out), for he also controls the calendar, he was satisfied with suns and planets and stars and spinning moons and air and trees and reptiles and mammals and stood back and said, “It was good”.

Why the Lord God, in his infinite wisdom, decided to pay such close attention to this third planet from the sun in one little solar system is as much of a mystery as why whoever drew the picture of the creation of man gave him a belly button?

Not only did God have to create all these things, he had to name them. That is a mountain, that is a tree, that is an ocean, that is a bird, that is an apple (don’t touch that). A simple descriptive name had to adjust to variations. That is a tree, but that is an Oak tree and that one is a Maple tree. That is a blue bird and that is a robin and that one is a crow. Every fish and bug and blade of grass had to have a name or we wouldn’t have dictionary.

Since he’d created space and time (even though clocks were invented yet), there was still only twenty-four hours of light and dark for a day. Those are a bunch of names to make up in a day.

When he created MAN what would he name him? He appeared in God’s likeness (though younger and probably more like Brad Pitt) with fingers and toes and limbs and bones and outside plumbing. How do you choose a name for the first human?

He may have had one of those alphabetical baby name books, but he didn’t choose the first name. He scrolled down and settled on ADAM. Nice name. Has a ring to it. Simple and somewhat manly.

AAYAN

AAYDEN

ABDEL

ABDIEL

ABDUL

ABDULLAH

ABDULRAHMAN

ABEL

ABELARDO

ABHIRAM

ABNER

ABRAHAM

ABRAM

ACE

ACHILLES

ADAM

ADAN

ADDISON

ADEN

 

So now he has the keeper of this Garden of Eden, but something is missing. He could clone Adam so he could have a friend. He could make many Adams in different colors and sizes. To differentiate each, he could call them Adam 1, Adam 2, Adam 3 or get into the naming clarification. He could clone enough for a poker game with cigars and cognac or make enough for a basketball team?  There could be an Oscar and Dirk and Wilber and Leroy and Jack…

While God was creating teams to box and wrestle and pass out together, he noticed they were making erotic drawings on the cave walls that looked like a naked Mrs. God (you didn’t think there wasn’t a woman behind all this?).

Having created time, God was aware that all his creations will eventually rot and die (including his boys), so God created WOMAN. He called her EVE.

Now Adam had someone he could fool around with and procreate the next generation instead of jerking off and wasting his seed.

With each delivery of a newborn, the parents were given the privilege to name what they had produced. The name will follow throughout time until the carving on a tombstone. The name can be passed down through generations as a Junior or a Third, but it will be your unique identity as you respond to the call.

Growing up, others may give you a ‘nickname’ to describe your personality. The nickname can become an identity marker more than your given name.

 Some names were immediately recognizable like George Washington or Elizabeth Taylor or Puff Daddy while many of the names in the obits or on the tombstones only have a reference to family. Names were duplicated to the point of celebrity had to recreate a name that was memorable for the newspapers. Artwork, books, movies, political positions may forget their titles but be remembered by the name of the person that created them.

Names can be changed. With a few strokes of a pen and a certified by a notary public, a licensed public officer who serves as an impartial witness to the signing of documents and establishes the authenticity of the signatures you can change from Jim to Bob or Jane to Mary or something else. Your identity is how you autograph your checks. The notification to others sources like banks and schools and social security needs to be made to confirm the change.

As mankind spread over the planet, they settled in different locations they named and climates and costumes and customs and formed new accents to speak to one another. Some created new languages and redefined the spiritual origin with new titles for the divine. Interpreters were needed to translate the words and names.

Names not only identified the person, but the region they were raised and possibly their political and religious conscience. Pronouns were added to names like Lord or Sir or Lady to give their name prestige. There was also a Mr. and Mrs. to use when the last name was shared.

Some names were stretched out with middle names and multiple last names to indicate multiple marriages or just to sound cool. Some names are reduced to one word, like Madonna or Prince or Fido or God, that will identify without association to another. Some names will run out of alphabetical options and become a new word like Tech N9ne or B Jack$ (these are real).

I could never have been a politician or a salesman or a preacher (though they might all be the same) because I can’t place a name with a face. Looking at old photos of work mates or school mates or family gatherings, there are many faces remembered by can’t place a name with them. Even a cordial handshake and an introduction with a name might attempt to revive a connection with a stranger.

What’s in a name? You name it.

Sincerely, Clyph