Most of you who know me this has been an interesting year. Unemployment, dramatic underemployment, surgeries on my some of my precious grandkids, and of course the usual spiritual quest has made this a year of reflection, of frustration, and realization that there are people in my life who love me in spite of all my annoying ways.
It is one of the truly remarkable facets of the human creature that in the midst of adversity, as more things turn against us, that we look for the first hint of spring. We are blessed/cursed with the anticipation of the first warming breeze that tells us that the grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, and the first warming rays of God's love will fall on our upturned face.
This past week has been particularly stressful. This past week was filled with tough negotiations that will have dramatic impact on what happens to us over the next few months. The continued drought and heat were a perfect reflection of trying to make things work in the face of incredible pressure. Prayers have been tough and spiritual disciplines have been tested like few times in the past. It was as if life was saying, "I've knocked you down, just stay there. Stay down." But there is simply something in my nature that will not allow my "staying down." I'm sure there are those who would characterize my approach to life as dumb and durable, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt and the desire to quit is not there. It just has to be ignored.
You spend some time each day looking for clues of improvement. Serendipitous occurrences that begin to point the needle north. People return calls. A bill comes in lower than expected rather than higher. Someone says something encouraging rather than critical. All of these could be the clue.
But this morning early I woke up to the strangest sound...rain. Rain on the roof and falling from the eaves and into the flowerbed outside the bedroom window. I have no idea how long it has been since rain came and actually formed puddles on the sidewalk. Cooling the ground and the air. Bed could not hold me even at 5AM on a Saturday morning. I had to see this. So I stood on the back porch and let the rain soak into my hair, breathing deep that special smell of fresh rain on a parched yard.
A clue for better things to come? I hope so. It lifted my spirits and my hopes.
Godspeed, the air is fresh and new. Hope springs eternal when you have eternal hope.
Don
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Things Forgotten
Yesterday was one of those days where you plan for it, then regret the obligation, then are glad you carried through. All of that said, I traveled to Abilene to see my dad and pick up a dresser that my youngest had claimed after it cleared waivers through the rest of the family.
When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!
After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.
We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.
One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.
As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.
Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"
Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don
When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!
After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.
We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.
One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.
As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.
Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"
Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don
Saturday, July 30, 2011
A Mixed Bag
Yesterday we received the news that a friend from a couple of years ago had passed away. Via Facebook, his wife had kept everyone in the loop about his illness, about the hospice decision, about the constant wear and tear of caring for a failing companion . The news, as is usually the case in terminal illnesses was one of sorrow and of relief. I remember these feelings well from the time of my mother's illness and death.
So we got up this morning and are preparing to go to a wedding. That's right a wedding of a young couple that we had met when they attended a class I was teaching. They are bright and funny, loving and a little older than when we got married. It is an outdoor, thankfully early wedding in Texas. I am looking forward to it.
Yesterday I sent a Facebook note of condolences to our friend and her family and then early this morning sent a text of encouragement and congratulations to the groom. Both notes came out of a deep pool of spiritual concern and discernment. It reminded me again that this life is one of deep, dark sorrow and exhilarating joy, sometimes in the same moment. In my own way I was trying to let one family know that God loves them and we love them and on the other hand I was trying to let a young man know that...God loves him and we love him. Both of these gestures were made out of the same motivation, but to opposite ends of the human emotional spectrum.
This journey has a lot of exits and on-ramps, sometimes within just a few feet of each other.
Godspeed, we travel with folks going in a lot of different directions.
Don
So we got up this morning and are preparing to go to a wedding. That's right a wedding of a young couple that we had met when they attended a class I was teaching. They are bright and funny, loving and a little older than when we got married. It is an outdoor, thankfully early wedding in Texas. I am looking forward to it.
Yesterday I sent a Facebook note of condolences to our friend and her family and then early this morning sent a text of encouragement and congratulations to the groom. Both notes came out of a deep pool of spiritual concern and discernment. It reminded me again that this life is one of deep, dark sorrow and exhilarating joy, sometimes in the same moment. In my own way I was trying to let one family know that God loves them and we love them and on the other hand I was trying to let a young man know that...God loves him and we love him. Both of these gestures were made out of the same motivation, but to opposite ends of the human emotional spectrum.
This journey has a lot of exits and on-ramps, sometimes within just a few feet of each other.
Godspeed, we travel with folks going in a lot of different directions.
Don
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Story
Last weekend my bride and I traveled north to McKinney to keep the youngest grandbaby while his parents had a real "date." They headed out for sushi and then spent the evening at Starbucks just visiting. The boy went to bed and stayed down until well past the time his parents came home. We spent the night and went to church with them the next morning. Well, actually, they went to teach the 4 and 5 yr olds, we stayed home with Isaac until he was ready to head for church. So we got there in time for the assembly.
I love visiting other communities of faith. Seeing what they find important. This one seems pretty healthy, a nice blend of ages, lots of kids, and friendly but not in a forced way. My guess is that their leadership does more right than wrong, which may be unique in its own way.
Anyway, the entire assembly time was spent launching an initiative around a packaged group product called "The Story." At first I was a little off put by the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me. It is my opinion that most churches have opted out of the scripture. They use what little they have to justify what they think needs to be done, but most simply don't just herd the crowd into scripture and see where the Spirit will lead them. The community last Sunday at least has said "for the next 31 weeks, we are going to spend all our time in the Story"
Also, I like the approach. It is a chronological approach to scripture from beginning to end, selected scripture, but panoramic in the scope. The primary quest is this, "What is God wanting to do?" I am assuming that the application will come over time. For now, though, the journey is one of discovery, to stand quietly and simply listen to the story. To ponder the scope of it, to let it lead us where we need to go. This has the potential to change the trajectory of this community of faith for decades to come.
Could this be done without a pre-packaged initiative? Yes, and it might be better, however, the staff is tasked in such diverse ways that they don't have the time to develop the entire project. The spiritual leaders probably aren't trained or guided to do it, so the easier path is probably the better path. I hope this changes their lives, I hope it opens their hearts and minds to the mission that God has followed since the very beginning.
As this all percolated in my head, I wondered why I couldn't do something here in my neighborhood. What if I could gather a few neighbors and convince them somehow that I want them to bring their lives into this initiative, just as I will mine. Wouldn't a shared, diverse experience really be stimulating? My temptation is to believe that my experience is the only one that has value. But if I can set that aside for a moment and listen to those who were not raised in this part of the country, who were not raised in my tribe, who have not been blessed like I have, but in other ways, wouldn't that have value as we look at the story?
It is my opinion that the spiritual renewal that we all feel must take place will be far from the masonry of the white steeples. It will be in the living rooms of the ones who are wandering...and wondering.
Godspeed, the journey may have some unexpected turns.
Don
I love visiting other communities of faith. Seeing what they find important. This one seems pretty healthy, a nice blend of ages, lots of kids, and friendly but not in a forced way. My guess is that their leadership does more right than wrong, which may be unique in its own way.
Anyway, the entire assembly time was spent launching an initiative around a packaged group product called "The Story." At first I was a little off put by the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me. It is my opinion that most churches have opted out of the scripture. They use what little they have to justify what they think needs to be done, but most simply don't just herd the crowd into scripture and see where the Spirit will lead them. The community last Sunday at least has said "for the next 31 weeks, we are going to spend all our time in the Story"
Also, I like the approach. It is a chronological approach to scripture from beginning to end, selected scripture, but panoramic in the scope. The primary quest is this, "What is God wanting to do?" I am assuming that the application will come over time. For now, though, the journey is one of discovery, to stand quietly and simply listen to the story. To ponder the scope of it, to let it lead us where we need to go. This has the potential to change the trajectory of this community of faith for decades to come.
Could this be done without a pre-packaged initiative? Yes, and it might be better, however, the staff is tasked in such diverse ways that they don't have the time to develop the entire project. The spiritual leaders probably aren't trained or guided to do it, so the easier path is probably the better path. I hope this changes their lives, I hope it opens their hearts and minds to the mission that God has followed since the very beginning.
As this all percolated in my head, I wondered why I couldn't do something here in my neighborhood. What if I could gather a few neighbors and convince them somehow that I want them to bring their lives into this initiative, just as I will mine. Wouldn't a shared, diverse experience really be stimulating? My temptation is to believe that my experience is the only one that has value. But if I can set that aside for a moment and listen to those who were not raised in this part of the country, who were not raised in my tribe, who have not been blessed like I have, but in other ways, wouldn't that have value as we look at the story?
It is my opinion that the spiritual renewal that we all feel must take place will be far from the masonry of the white steeples. It will be in the living rooms of the ones who are wandering...and wondering.
Godspeed, the journey may have some unexpected turns.
Don
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Shore
Most of my crowd spent last week in Ocean City, NJ. We had anticipated for several months this trip. We were anxious to see the beach and the ocean, to hit the boardwalk and tour Philadelphia just a little. Since Ocean City is alcohol-free we did not think we would see Snookie or the Situation. And sure 'nuff, we didn't.
The days fell into a predictable routine. I would get up around 6AM and make coffee. I would have 30 minutes to an hour for my disciplines. Then a few of the adults (starting with my youngest daughter) would wander through looking for breakfast and coffee. At 10AM or so we would storm the beaches, arms loaded with folding chairs, beach toys, skimmer board and snacks. 11:30 or so, back to house for a rinse off, lunch, and nap. 2PM or so, back to the beach for another couple of hours of sand and surf. Back to the house where my eldest daughter and I would whip up dinner. The line-up was Shrimp-n-pasta in foil; crab cakes (the package said "crab flavored seafood" hmm) tempura whiting (a fish..never heard of it) shrimp quesadillas. Do you see a trend? Our Kansas-bred s-i-l said he was going to fix a big steak when he got home.
This is how most days ended.
We spent the night of the 4th watching fireworks on the boardwalk where our 4-yr-old granddaughter was not a big fan. Her mother suddenly remembered that she did this at DisneyWorld as well. Thanks, good timing. Lots of families on the boardwalk, no roving college kids, you know the whole alcohol deal. We ate ice cream, bought tee-shirts, Eli bought a skimmer board. So we helped the OC economy.
A couple of things left a lasting impression. One: I swept the floor twice everyday and collected a pile of sand and the floor still felt gritty. Two: This crowd eats an amazing amount of bread and chips. We plowed through at least 5 loaves of bread and a bag of chips at every meal. Three: Outdoor shower was a life saver. More sand ended up there than anywhere else. Four: Getting to and from Philadelphia is hard, particularly when the day we were leaving they had all kinds of thunderstorms. We got home about 1:30AM. Five: Atlantic ocean water is MUCH colder than Gulf of Mexico water..and the waves are bigger. We almost lost Nena to a couple of big waves. I looked out and could only find her big, floppy hat floating in the surf. Fortunately, she was attached to it underneath. She came up sputtering, but still had her sunglasses on and a wide, sheepish grin on her face. Later we found out she had a pretty good bruise on her leg as well. Six: when kids are tired the time is takes for them to melt down is milliseconds. Seven: We had at least one moment where all the kids and most of the adults needed to be in "time out" Eight: slow internet is worse than no internet.
This may be only action shot of all three grandkids in the same frame:
And like most families you need a planner and builder. Don't these two look like they are scoping out a place for the beach house? Never mind that it is a public beach, they will find a way.
So a great time by all. We are blessed to be able to enjoy each other, to eat and laugh and play practical jokes. Nena and I got to soak in all the time and joy and moments.
Godspeed to all out there who get to share their love and lives with those dear to them.
Don
The days fell into a predictable routine. I would get up around 6AM and make coffee. I would have 30 minutes to an hour for my disciplines. Then a few of the adults (starting with my youngest daughter) would wander through looking for breakfast and coffee. At 10AM or so we would storm the beaches, arms loaded with folding chairs, beach toys, skimmer board and snacks. 11:30 or so, back to house for a rinse off, lunch, and nap. 2PM or so, back to the beach for another couple of hours of sand and surf. Back to the house where my eldest daughter and I would whip up dinner. The line-up was Shrimp-n-pasta in foil; crab cakes (the package said "crab flavored seafood" hmm) tempura whiting (a fish..never heard of it) shrimp quesadillas. Do you see a trend? Our Kansas-bred s-i-l said he was going to fix a big steak when he got home.
This is how most days ended.
We spent the night of the 4th watching fireworks on the boardwalk where our 4-yr-old granddaughter was not a big fan. Her mother suddenly remembered that she did this at DisneyWorld as well. Thanks, good timing. Lots of families on the boardwalk, no roving college kids, you know the whole alcohol deal. We ate ice cream, bought tee-shirts, Eli bought a skimmer board. So we helped the OC economy.
A couple of things left a lasting impression. One: I swept the floor twice everyday and collected a pile of sand and the floor still felt gritty. Two: This crowd eats an amazing amount of bread and chips. We plowed through at least 5 loaves of bread and a bag of chips at every meal. Three: Outdoor shower was a life saver. More sand ended up there than anywhere else. Four: Getting to and from Philadelphia is hard, particularly when the day we were leaving they had all kinds of thunderstorms. We got home about 1:30AM. Five: Atlantic ocean water is MUCH colder than Gulf of Mexico water..and the waves are bigger. We almost lost Nena to a couple of big waves. I looked out and could only find her big, floppy hat floating in the surf. Fortunately, she was attached to it underneath. She came up sputtering, but still had her sunglasses on and a wide, sheepish grin on her face. Later we found out she had a pretty good bruise on her leg as well. Six: when kids are tired the time is takes for them to melt down is milliseconds. Seven: We had at least one moment where all the kids and most of the adults needed to be in "time out" Eight: slow internet is worse than no internet.
This may be only action shot of all three grandkids in the same frame:
And like most families you need a planner and builder. Don't these two look like they are scoping out a place for the beach house? Never mind that it is a public beach, they will find a way.
So a great time by all. We are blessed to be able to enjoy each other, to eat and laugh and play practical jokes. Nena and I got to soak in all the time and joy and moments.
Godspeed to all out there who get to share their love and lives with those dear to them.
Don
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Sandbar
Several years ago I read or heard about an analogy of life that has stuck with me. It is certainly not original with me, but I don't know who gets the credit. Basically the analogy is that life is a like a river with a long series of sandbars. We each occupy our specific spot on our sandbar in our section of the river. Those who have lived before us are upstream and those who have come along after us are downstream. If we look downstream we see that the river is calmer and wider and filled with people. Some are our kids and grandkids. Some belong to others, but the stream is crowded and the water is slow and the footing seems sure. Upstream we can see that the water is moving swiftly, that the footing is treacherous, and the crowd has thinned and thinning considerably. We look around us on our sandbar, at our contemporaries and realize that while our footing is not quite as sure as it once was, we are still firmly set and can handle the ebb and flow of the river.
Occasionally we see someone whisk by that we knew. If they are parents or grandparents we mourn the fact that at last they lost their footing and slipped from a sandbar far ahead. But we hear the roar of the rapids ahead and realize our fate will mirror theirs.
Rarely we glance back and see the ones downstream lose their footing, by accident, or not having a firm spot to begin with, sometimes knocked off balance by another. We are stunned that they are gone so soon.It always comes as an overwhelming loss because it is so unexpected.
This past week a man that I had been friends with had passed away. He occupied my sandbar at least for a time. My bride and I had vacationed with he and his bride. Our sons were best of friends from 1st grade through about 9th grade. We shared our families, we laughed, there were spats, and we all seemed pretty secure in our footing. He was born with a congenital heart defect, but defied the odds and lived to adulthood, then on into middle age. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He struggled with with a lot of issues, but always seemed confident in his spiritual walk. We lost track after he and his wife divorced. His wife wanted out. When I tried to mediate, the effort was rejected along with the relationship of the two couples. This is often the fate of the mediator. We are viewed as part of the entire traumatic event and are part of the "closed door." You have to understand this as a mediator.
So the river shifted and he lost his footing. It caused me pause to glance around and realize that the sandbar is a little less crowded. There was not overwhelming remorse, but a sort of unfocused regret. We had lost touch, more of his doing than mine, but I could have pushed a little more. This event will become moire common as time goes on. It is a wonder to me that we humans are the only creature that has knowledge of their own demise, yet we are the only creature that functions from an attitude of hope. We know we will ultimately lose our footing in the river, but we live looking ahead, with joy and hope and anticipation. It is this dichotomy that sends me each day into a time of reflection and wonder.
Godspeed, Tommy and good traveling into the great uncounting.
Don
Occasionally we see someone whisk by that we knew. If they are parents or grandparents we mourn the fact that at last they lost their footing and slipped from a sandbar far ahead. But we hear the roar of the rapids ahead and realize our fate will mirror theirs.
Rarely we glance back and see the ones downstream lose their footing, by accident, or not having a firm spot to begin with, sometimes knocked off balance by another. We are stunned that they are gone so soon.It always comes as an overwhelming loss because it is so unexpected.
This past week a man that I had been friends with had passed away. He occupied my sandbar at least for a time. My bride and I had vacationed with he and his bride. Our sons were best of friends from 1st grade through about 9th grade. We shared our families, we laughed, there were spats, and we all seemed pretty secure in our footing. He was born with a congenital heart defect, but defied the odds and lived to adulthood, then on into middle age. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He struggled with with a lot of issues, but always seemed confident in his spiritual walk. We lost track after he and his wife divorced. His wife wanted out. When I tried to mediate, the effort was rejected along with the relationship of the two couples. This is often the fate of the mediator. We are viewed as part of the entire traumatic event and are part of the "closed door." You have to understand this as a mediator.
So the river shifted and he lost his footing. It caused me pause to glance around and realize that the sandbar is a little less crowded. There was not overwhelming remorse, but a sort of unfocused regret. We had lost touch, more of his doing than mine, but I could have pushed a little more. This event will become moire common as time goes on. It is a wonder to me that we humans are the only creature that has knowledge of their own demise, yet we are the only creature that functions from an attitude of hope. We know we will ultimately lose our footing in the river, but we live looking ahead, with joy and hope and anticipation. It is this dichotomy that sends me each day into a time of reflection and wonder.
Godspeed, Tommy and good traveling into the great uncounting.
Don
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Family Reunion
Okay it is really my bride's family since my side of the family has decided to call an end to the hostilities and not meet at all. But my bride's extended family on her mother's side gets together every year in Dublin, Texas. Yes, that Dublin Texas, home of the original Dr. Pepper. They still make and bottle the original recipe in the small 8 oz bottles with the cardboard six-pack carrier. I have sworn off most soft drinks, so when I taste one of these "originals" it can generate a diabetic shock on its own. There are always some stacked around, but I was not tempted.
At one end of the age spectrum is my bride's great uncle, Uncle Joe. 91, walks with a cane, never married. The family always attributed this to the "shell-shock" of WWII. I think he probably got back from WWII and decided one war in a lifetime was enough. When my bride was a little girl she was one of a dozen of the generation that traipsed around the countryside of Erath County with Uncle Joe. Swimming in the "jenny hole" crossing the train trestle nearby, and usually collecting a pretty good assortment of chigger and bug bites along the way. For her generation he is an icon of country wisdom. Aunt Jean (his slightly younger sister) is the only other sibling left of the original 12 kids. She is country and sometimes coarse and often crude, but honest and straight forward and makes me laugh. I hope if I am still around at that age I can keep the younger group laughing and honest. She raised three kids who are like her, rough, honest, and funny. I like them.
At the other end of the spectrum is my own 21 month old grandson, Lincoln. He was the charmer of the party, chasing around with my other grand kids Eli and Phoebe. So we had at least 5 generations there (only 32 people) All connected by family either of birth or marriage, notated by the long family tree chart that we were supposed to update with new births, deaths, and marriages. 5 generations.
As I watched these generations interact it occurred to me that as far as lifestyle was concerned, they had little in common. Uncle Joe and Jean were essentially farm people. Canning their own vegetables, catching/killing/butchering their own meat, making their clothes was familiar to them and foreign to rest of us. WWII was a tsunami of cultural change. Men returned from the war and most (unlike Uncle Joe) never returned to the farm. The entered "business" My dad came home and went to optometry college, my bride's father, though not in the military went into business. Each successive generation has moved further and further from the farm. We went from producing our own substances of life to paying others to produce it. Technology has moved us further from the interaction of substance of life to the multitasking of management over others producing for us.
All of this made me wonder if culturally we adapt as people to the societal change or do we change as people and thus change the culture. Would I have made a very good farmer? I love interaction with people, with new ideas, with new challenges. Would I have just been that farmer that was just annoying to all the quiet farmers? Or because I was already one generation removed from the farm that I adapted to a lifestyle that fit the moment? How will Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln and Isaac have to adapt? As a 21 month old, Lincoln knows the rudimentary advantages of his mother having an I-phone on which he can watch movies. Can Uncle Joe adapt to this new innovation, or should he? Probably not.
But fundamentally how does this change us? I read an article about a book from a guy named Nick Carr called The Shallows: How the Internet is Affecting our Minds The basic premise being that we as a culture have lost the ability to concentrate, to think, to muse. That the preeminent talent today is multitasking. This struck a chord with me because it seems to me that we have lost the importance of being discerning. We communicate in soundbites, we think in bumper stickers, our relationships are paper thin and a mile wide.
I am going with my kids on a trip next week. Can I go the entire week without my Blackberry?(yes, it is old technology) my laptop? Facebook? LinkedIn? Can I unplug for 5 days? It makes me queasy thinking about it. But more importantly, can I spend a portion of each day in silence? in meditation? musing? wondering? reflecting? Which life would Uncle Joe understand best? Is there a value in teaching each of my grand kids to think, to wonder, to sit and ponder?
Family reunions may be the last place where all these generations come together for one last look at what has been, and to wonder what will be.
Godspeed again, the journey continues.
Don
At one end of the age spectrum is my bride's great uncle, Uncle Joe. 91, walks with a cane, never married. The family always attributed this to the "shell-shock" of WWII. I think he probably got back from WWII and decided one war in a lifetime was enough. When my bride was a little girl she was one of a dozen of the generation that traipsed around the countryside of Erath County with Uncle Joe. Swimming in the "jenny hole" crossing the train trestle nearby, and usually collecting a pretty good assortment of chigger and bug bites along the way. For her generation he is an icon of country wisdom. Aunt Jean (his slightly younger sister) is the only other sibling left of the original 12 kids. She is country and sometimes coarse and often crude, but honest and straight forward and makes me laugh. I hope if I am still around at that age I can keep the younger group laughing and honest. She raised three kids who are like her, rough, honest, and funny. I like them.
At the other end of the spectrum is my own 21 month old grandson, Lincoln. He was the charmer of the party, chasing around with my other grand kids Eli and Phoebe. So we had at least 5 generations there (only 32 people) All connected by family either of birth or marriage, notated by the long family tree chart that we were supposed to update with new births, deaths, and marriages. 5 generations.
As I watched these generations interact it occurred to me that as far as lifestyle was concerned, they had little in common. Uncle Joe and Jean were essentially farm people. Canning their own vegetables, catching/killing/butchering their own meat, making their clothes was familiar to them and foreign to rest of us. WWII was a tsunami of cultural change. Men returned from the war and most (unlike Uncle Joe) never returned to the farm. The entered "business" My dad came home and went to optometry college, my bride's father, though not in the military went into business. Each successive generation has moved further and further from the farm. We went from producing our own substances of life to paying others to produce it. Technology has moved us further from the interaction of substance of life to the multitasking of management over others producing for us.
All of this made me wonder if culturally we adapt as people to the societal change or do we change as people and thus change the culture. Would I have made a very good farmer? I love interaction with people, with new ideas, with new challenges. Would I have just been that farmer that was just annoying to all the quiet farmers? Or because I was already one generation removed from the farm that I adapted to a lifestyle that fit the moment? How will Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln and Isaac have to adapt? As a 21 month old, Lincoln knows the rudimentary advantages of his mother having an I-phone on which he can watch movies. Can Uncle Joe adapt to this new innovation, or should he? Probably not.
But fundamentally how does this change us? I read an article about a book from a guy named Nick Carr called The Shallows: How the Internet is Affecting our Minds The basic premise being that we as a culture have lost the ability to concentrate, to think, to muse. That the preeminent talent today is multitasking. This struck a chord with me because it seems to me that we have lost the importance of being discerning. We communicate in soundbites, we think in bumper stickers, our relationships are paper thin and a mile wide.
I am going with my kids on a trip next week. Can I go the entire week without my Blackberry?(yes, it is old technology) my laptop? Facebook? LinkedIn? Can I unplug for 5 days? It makes me queasy thinking about it. But more importantly, can I spend a portion of each day in silence? in meditation? musing? wondering? reflecting? Which life would Uncle Joe understand best? Is there a value in teaching each of my grand kids to think, to wonder, to sit and ponder?
Family reunions may be the last place where all these generations come together for one last look at what has been, and to wonder what will be.
Godspeed again, the journey continues.
Don
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