Starring at Mayberry, by George

Staring at the Sun

High Teck, Redneck, Mayberry meets Startreck, coming in 13 channels coming in from a satellite send.

Was listening to this song and looking at this picture on the Duke City Blog. Figured the message was as good as my Campbell Soup message yesterday. Then again what does it all mean? Might have to finish this blog later today.

Art, or a stack of cans, or the answer to what was a scary book I read.

Yesterday I tried to answer the question presented by a friend as to what the worst book or books were that I had read. Today the question was what was the scariest? The problem with both questions is that the answer changes and in both cases there are a number of contestants for the position. Now with that said I have fewer book titles in my mind that could be designated “most scary”. The reason is pretty simple. I don’t like “scary”. I don’t read it, search it out, or have it on my shelves on purpose if it is scary. The best Stephan King book I every read was “Heart of Atlantis” and I read it to find out how Stephan King wrote and the good news it wasn’t scary.
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Scary can be something that upsets or worries or creates apprehension I suppose. It can be scary what you find your self reading without realizing it.
Once I had a book that had in the title the words “Me Pretty”, blank blank whatever, I just don’t remember. What I do remember is that it was vulgar and just sick to get attention. I was upset for having read as far as I did. I also was at one time interested to learn more about Andy Warhol. I read a few things and then in a “life story” I again found myself just in the middle of sick vulgar junk and I wish I had not read that far. So I may have started that journey from one of his odd art approaches. The cans of soup sort of had a lot of attention. Way overdone I thought.
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Andy Warhol first exhibited in an art gallery in 1962, and showed his 32 Campbell's Soup Cans, He was a sort a poster child for a sort of collective American state of mind in which celebrity became a brand name and somehow that transformation replaced sacredness. The cans of soup, I suppose, are about sameness. What they suggested was not a humanizing touch of the hand but the pervasiveness of routine error. Well then with that deep insight why I would bother to read more about this individual is sort of pervasive itself. There are several books about his life. Then of course about his art and so on. The ones about his life are indeed a little scary. It is a slow decent in to vulgarity and that qualifies as scary.

The least liked books, and back again

Ranking it all from the least to the best and back again.

Asked about the worst book you ever read lately? Well I was. Seems odd. Does it matter any more that the best book I ever read. What is it that makes a book bad? Boring is a good place to start. I think some books just use a lot of bad words to get attention and that is a good tip off as to it qualifying for this list. I looked through list of summaries I had made on books that I had read and found some I will list below. I figure that the "worst" or the one that is worse than all the others is probably dependent on a lot of things that are variable. I would hope that thinks that really would make that top spot are things I would not have even read.

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I will list a few here

Anne Fadiman Ex Libris Confessions of a Common Reader ........Boring. Full of itself

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Jack Trout Big Brands Big Trouble.......................who cares

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David Sheilds Enough about you............He claims to be exploring the connection of Fiction and Non Fiction............didn't work for me.

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James Stephens Traditional Irish Fairy Tales .....................Probably would improve if I tried to reread it.

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Mark Kurlansky Salt........for all the hype it might as well been a chemistry book and fact is I didn't do well with Chemistry.

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The first time I read the Illiad I was so worn out and had a hard time following it that I might have said it was a bad book but then after a a few more attempts it might now make a list of the best

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The first few times I read Ulysses it was so so boring and difficult. On the other hand then it fell into place. A trip around the block. One Day. Very interesting.

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Lot's of things could make the list...............

ON THE OTHER HAND

Why not look over some reviews of good books.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A3RX9706A2ZP8F?tag2=bjsran-20

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Yep, go to my two pages of reviews and look them over and vote yes a few times.

Or on the right side you can go down and.......... "click on all my Amazon reveiws".

Then again they are the books I liked. Not the ones I liked the most, but then that list changes often too. Wonder if books are like people. Wonder if they get better if you go back and read them again. Wonder if they get worse. Is the first impression like the first read.

Some doors are open others are not. Just send an email

Yes indeed I wonder what will be the outcome of this year and then too I have to wonder if I am spending too much time typing emails and reading emails and wonder what will be the outcome of it all.

Yesterday's blog may have been a bit too harsh. Not sure what the goal of it all was. Then again will be the best blog goal if you set out to have a blog goal. Are blogs suppose to have goals?. When you start typing a note that perhaps justs sums up the day or the moment do you need to know what "will be" the result of the blog when you start to type the blog? Perhaps seems like a good answer to this question. Maybe sometimes the goal is to look inside and look back and see if something might we worth putting down. Maybe as a record or a sort of printed human interaction. Not many really read others blogs, regularly. I read my BFF's blog every day. Family members sort of watch each other. If you know someone then maybe what the printed interaction is only compliments your own perceptions of the persons. Clarifies. It perhaps is a pulse. A heartbeat. O yes you say, a day for "being", a day for being warm or cold or bold or appreciative. O yes I understand I say. O yes what does it all matter I say. O yes I am so glad to see with others eyes things that I like to see anyway. As for interaction a phone call is always good. A time to just see the eyes and the face and the gestures of someone as you talk is best. Today I walked for a mile and half or two with my best friend. It sealed the week. Marked the day. Enough. It was all that I needed. Then after I visited on the phone with someone I like who I had not talked with for a while. I enjoyed her voice. I enjoyed knowing she was ok. We spoke of a reunion of family that I will miss and of the events she had faced and then she visited with my best friend. It was indeed interaction on a higher level. Then I ran for 3 miles with a person I enjoy and we visited about things of common interest at work. Then I clicked off my cell and finished the last mile with my ipod music and it was "just us" and more that I enjoy on my run in my ears. Still plugged in. Plugged in most of the day in some way. Yet interaction never ends. Thinking continues. When you just keep going thought whatever next door is in front of you if your determine that it is a door worth going through then you indeed "will be". I am indeed in favor of "being".

Aspiring to do more than can be done is no problem

Michelangelo Pieta

Lord, grant that I might always aspire to more than I can accomplish

– Michelangelo

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

With all the quotes above and a nice picture to post, it sort of leaves little to say. Then again today is the big 61. You know that is the one that comes right after the big 60. I liked the "big 60 day", looking back a year, because my BFF (means best friend forever) made a list of 60 things she liked about me or something like that and I was really pretty happy to see that. So here we are. A day to make note of. Well I can tell you that one of the things that I really don't get is why people like to relish in being old. Someone today asked me if anything seemed different but they couldn't wait to tell me about some friend who at 60 just noticed that the aches and pains sort of lingered and didn't go away. I might say, "get over it". Why would you label who you are and what point in your life that you have reached in terms of some stinking pain you had. Why would you just wait for the next email list of things to see if you can remember and say o gee I am indeed old. Yes I remember operators who said number please. Don't really care if I hear it again. Glad I was there and heard it and can remember it. Beats having lost my memory not remembering or perhaps having not been born so of course I wouldn't have been there, or, o my gosh golly, having some pain that never goes away. As far as I am concerned I don't know what the big deal is. My body is not in as good shape but guess what it is because I am not running 20 miles a week like I did for 25 years. It isnt' because I am old. It is because I just am not doing it. Not excersizing. I am on this blog every day. No wonder I have put some pounds on. Even so, I can go out and run 10 miles tomorrow, by the way I will indeed go out and to 6, and have little problem doing it by the way. So how am I. I just answered a email and told a long time friend that really I can't see that anything has changed much. Fact is the only thing that has changed at all is that I am a little humbler today than in years past. Ya Really. And by the way, if this blog has a spelling error well it's my birthday so get over it. Really nice day, did I mention. Really.

Things to find if not looking

"Success comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it."

–Henry David Thoreau


Imagine it is a day to just do something you like. Lots come to mind. A running trail on the side of a great canyon where the trail goes under trees and gives you a great view at every turn. A bobcat may be seen at times along the way. The rustle of the brush as you approach makes you aware of snakes and then the sun just warms your face and back.

Compare it to a trip to the Bosque along the Rio Grande. All that is found is in the very heart of the city. A trail along the rivers edge might be as interesting as the canyon trail.

Or on the other hand what about a visit to special malt shop. Cherry Ironport, or cherry cream vanilla ironport or cherry cream coke or cherry phosphate. Sitting at the counter with a great hamburger and some good fries and a drink.

Imagine a day near in Paris. Walking the Champs Elysees, going to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
All good things for a day off.

Forked lightning, sun in flight

It is Fathers Day today. I have written about Fathers the last two days for sure. Actually it is a theme that comes up often.

"What of my own thoughts? What words might offer some lightning insight. What thoughts burn on each day. Which are right. Tears more fierce now. To late to grieve. Was my sight blinding, have my thoughts been in flight. And then what of the night. Deeds frail, but good men, who were bright. Raging against the light. Reaching into the light. Never gently into the good night".

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A Fathers Day Book called "Men of Valor", the powerful impact of a Righteous Man" caught my attention this morning. It speaks on the cover of a time for men of purpose and of purity. It suggests that good men make a difference. It offers the words of a song on the first page.............

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Rise up, O men of God!

Have done with lessor things.

give heart and soul and mind and strength

To serve the King of Kings.

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Rise up O men of God!

In one united throng

Bring in the day of brotherhood

And end the night of wrong

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Rise up, O men of God!

Tread where his feet have trod

As brother of the Son of Man,

Rise up, O men of God!

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I like these thoughts. It seems to answer in some ways the questions of another favorite poem.

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Do not go gentle into that good night
By Dylan Thomas

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Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

time on a shelf, memories, things and us

Fathers Day Stuff
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A buckle my Dad wore and a watch of his and his Fathers. 1871 is when my fathers dad was born. he was born in 1914. One of these timepieces was my Grandfathers. Probably the larger one. It still ticks. Both Kathy and Zach think they can here it from the hall and they are sitting on my bookcase. In handling them the were began ticking. I remember my Dad feeling special about the watch. For him it was important because it was his Dad's. Over the last few yeas of his life he passed on all of his special things and seemed glad to do it. I don't know if the buckle was special. It really was probably not all that old.
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The small picture of he and mom on the buckle goes back to the 60's or so but I suspect the buckle came much later. It was his. He wore it. It is now on the bookcase. By the hat. Near the cane. Close to the old rifle and the typewriter. *******In my room. A picture album offers a lot more than "things" in terms of memories. If I was to look forward and try to think of what of mine could be on a son or daughters special place close to 100 years from my birth and hopefully just a few months after I was gone I wouldn't know what to expect. I don't think that the "things" I have of my Fathers are what he would have wanted to have his life defined by. For my Dad however that fact that you would keep something and remember him with it would indeed be important to him. For him the connection would have been important.
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Having said that it would be easy to now pass over the question: what of mine would be worth it as a "thing" to put on a shelf? In my office I have a lot of "things". I have connected to those things a lot of memories.
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If someone wants one thing on the shelf someday in the future then one good idea would be a copy of a small picture of me looking at Kathy and she at me when we were very young.
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************Two things on my selves seem to get a lot of attention. A typewriter that is really old and a rifle that actually says 1898 on it. The typewriter was my Mothers Dad's and the Rifle was my Dad's. Both have similar stories. A cousin on my Dad's side had the rifle. He thought it had been my fathers exclusively and he just brought it to me. The typewriter was one that a cousin on my Mom's side had. He had lived with these grandparents and in many ways was a lot closer to them. He also just brought this to me one day saying he thought it belonged with me. Both incidents surprised me. Both are important memories.

What hat really fits us and why................

My grandfather had a hat that was much more twisted than the one that I now have. The straw hat reaches back to my Grandfather and Uncles Farm. It was something I wore for a summer in my late teens as I worked on a farm myself. When you put a hat like that on you feel a little different. It seems like the straw hats bends into a statement rather than just being a statement. You feel more like an individual, at least that is how I felt under the straw hat, sometimes. It makes you when your a young man feel a little older actually. When your older it sort of makes you feel a little like it is ok. It offers interesting rust to the basic metal, perhaps.

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Then the "black hat, with the feather on the side" was one I saw my Dad ware a lot during his life. Fathers Day perhaps is about both hats. My Dad liked hats. I have no clue what it felt like to put on that type of hat but I think perhaps it felt like you were "dressing up" some. Being a little sporty. Colorful with the little feather on the side. The feather was made more interesting up against the black. Spiffy seems to be a word that may fit. I have my Dad's last hat in my office up ontop of the bookshelf. I look at it often. It makes me think of him.

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On Fathers Day weekend I remember Grandfather's, my Dad and myself. My mothers Dad had a hat and I don't really see it in my mind. It seemed like it may have been a straw hat but shaped more formal and perhaps a darker color. Blue Straw seems to come to mind. I am not big on caps. I always had hair that I didn't want to hide under a hat. I now don't seem to have any hair. Maybe a hat would be ok, more often.

Rabbit Ears, RC and Civilization

I got a few emails a few weeks ago that had big lists of stuff that you needed to look over and see how many your remembered and if you remembered a lot you were "old". Examples, operators on the phone who talked to you every time you wanted to call someone. No TV, and a bunch of stuff. I remembered them all. Even so I am more concerned about what others don't seem to remember at times that what I remember that makes me look old. I was sort of surprised by the person who didn't know about the book "1984" or what referring to it as part of an event really meant. Some folks really don' t know this one. Course few people would see that the book is about Totalitarianism and the a recent author I read wrote a book showing how all the "isms" are really just Totalitarianism. Whatever I suppose most might say

I went into a local book store, and independent book store mind you, and asked for a good complete book on Aristotle. They knew who he was but had no book. Honestly I was actually upset to even think about it and left as soon as I could. Another bookstore when asked about Plato could not think of what section he might be in and took me to adult fiction. I wanted to hit them acutally. Found it later in the store on my own.

I know that Will and Ariel Durant wroth 10 volumes under the overall heading of "The Story of Civilization" This is one of the best histories of its kind. The book is very very well known to most who know books. The clerks at the one book store in town who actually had some used ones in stock ( it is not currently printed) didn't know the book and couldn't remember the title long enough to find it in there computer.

Makes remember phone operators seem pretty unimportant to me. Maybe you do and maybe you were too young. O well.

I do remember RC Cola. Not the fact that there was and is a RC Cola but the fact that once there was not one and then it came on the scene and it was sort of exciting at the time. I used to drink it laying on the grass reading superman funny books. Did not see that on the email lists of stuff. Can't believe they (the makers of these informative emails) would have left that one off. RC Cola came out with the 16 oz bottle when Coke and Pepsi only had 12 oz. It worked for a while. My Dad bought it for a summer or two. So did I.

If you have read this far and truth is odds are against any more that a couple then just figure this is chapter 622 in the Brent History of Real Civilization.........sort of the real real thing.

There is a spirtual meaning of all human acts and earthly events

What we see in life depends on what we seek in life.

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An effective but sad illustration of this is the Roman Soldiers who were casting lots for the clothing of Jesus while he was on the cross above them. I think of them near the cross. The had their eye on the clothing. Perhaps the dice. They saw what they sought after in their lives. If they would have looked up they would have seen what life was about.

In Corinthians 4:18 Paul tells us that:

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"we look not at the things which are seen,

but at the things which are not seen:

for the things which are seen are temporal;

but the things which are not seen are eternal.

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How we interpret our experiences is a function of our degree of spirituality.

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First lines of Act 2, Cats opens with "We had the experience but missed the meaning"

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The Moments of Happiness

The moments of happiness
We had the experience but missed the meaning
And approach to the meaning restores the experience
In a different form, beyond any meaning

We can assign to happiness.

Much later than 1984 in Central Korea.

This picture was taken by someone else when they visited Korea. It was shared with me by a co worker. What struck the person who took this was that this was what you might consider a small town even village in central Korea. Like some of the pictures Zach and I took on our recent trip when we rode the train from Seoul to Busan of small towns with sometimes several clusters of apartment Hi Rise buildings. In talking about this with my co worker I mentioned that of course this came to be this way because of the industrialization of rural Korea and the fact that all the small farms folks had to go to work for bigger plants and companies and had to move from small single farms to some city center even rural small town city centers. It to me in a odd way reminded me of the futuristic perception offered in the book "1984" by George Orwell. Then of course my younger co worker may have been 10 or 15 years old in 1984 and likewise just didn't know about this book. Seems odd to be in a time when people I talk to every day would not know about this book. It was sort of a label for a lot over the years.

Bring the Hot food Hot, and consider yourself appreciated.

So being appreciated is indeed a good thing. Garfield on the other hand? I do remember that Mike really liked Garfield. Seems like he was funnier before the movie. Not that I saw the movie. I might mention if you have read this far I would have to say that I do appreciate you. Truth is I am not sure why you would read this far. Some of the blogs I have done may have had a little more interesting start. A picture of Korea and you knowing I am there sending a blog note probably would get you to read a little far. You of course would still be appreciated. If you have ever gone down to the Amazon link on the right and clicked and then gone to my book reviews and clicked the "yes this was a helpful review" then your appreciated. Course is that fair for me to suggest that? Might be. Speaking or writing about being appreciated is happening here in part because of an article I read a couple of days ago. It said that customers leave you by far the most because they don't feel appreciated. Now I know I need to stop here and mention that whether we like it or not we are all salespeople and we all have customers and even if it is just a relationship it is still in some ways like a customer. Customer's like to be appreciated. It is more important than price, quality, and a lot of things. We went to a restaurant last Saturday we had not been to in a while. The food was excellent. It was hot. That helps. Another story. Hot food that is hot is perceived to be better food. Anyway the service was great. The waitress came by quick. Mentioned that they tagged teamed and anyone coming by would be helping. It worked. We had wonderful service. Great food. Of course the companionship was superb. My favorite companion. Then when the meal was over our original waitress who had the bill had had so much help from all the others wait staff that she forgot to bring the bill. We waited a little longer than we should. We did appreciate the overall great food and service and forgave this last part. Except of me. 5 days later I am blogging it for the whole world or maybe 5 to 10 people to read about so forgive me I am not really over it.

Rust City

So why post a rusty old truck on the blog. Something about rust is just interesting. I have an artist friend. Course that would be my wife. I do have a artist friend back in Salt Lake who is very interesting. His front yard is a collection of "things". A lot of metal. All rusted. He has given me a tour of the "items" many times and you quickly see how interesting and how beautiful "rust" is. I was just looking out in our backyard the other day in the Northeast corner and thought to my self, "that would be a great place for an old rusty truck body". Want to bet on the odds of that. Even so on my running trail North there is a house with two large metal horses standing facing each other on their hind feet. They have some rust on them. I noticed a smaller horse in the same yard and a metal palm tree and a giraffe both made of metal in the back yard. I am jealous. The on another street not too far is a metal buffalo, also with rust. Rust seems to take the earth and the items involved and bring them closer together. Course over a long enough time that is really true.

Yes it is

Yesterday I walked almost two miles and ran almost 4 miles. On the walk we saw a lot of great flowers. Pictures were taken. One of these days I am going to get a small Sony camera like the one that Kathy seems to have such results with. The thing about that camera is that it can transfer pictures to the computer very quickly. My blogs might take on a little different look when that happens. Nevertheless there are lots of pictures around and the picture can drive the thought or the thought can drive the picture. More often than not both happen I find. Life is indeed interesting! One picture can easily be a walk down the dirt road to the house by the river of memories. This picture has some of the great differences of the Southwest in it. The purple flowers remind me of the purple flowers growing out of Lava rock on Cheju Island. The lava rock both places remind me of Ross Park which reminds me that yesterday I saw a picture in one of my albums of my mom as a young girl on a lava rock reaching out her hand to her dad to help him climb up as he smiled back at her and the camera. Then too the park was always a neat place to go when we were young. Somewhere just outside the of this picture there is surely a rabbit or two. The Still Life is Exciting is a great picture. I think that the layers of objects and the choice of objects may have been just luck or maybe a very insightful photographer just saw it all and captured it. To have taken this picture myself would have been a wonderful accomplishment because to have taken it you have to have seen it. On the other hand it was hard to miss when I did see it on the Albuquerque Duke City Blog. Folks upload some of their favorite pictures to this blog and this was a good choice. I love that it was shot through a window. The window reflects the objects in a different way. A dirt trail reflects memories in a different way. The books are great. What is interesting is that the reflections are of objects. No people. Perhaps the reality is that it is objects that reflect the people. The wooden wheel above the pumpkin takes me to a farm in Malad and a farmyard. It takes me on my run to the North. Then again it is “Still Life”

A trail by a river, runs through this

Last week our son Mike went back to Salt Lake to visit his sister. They went to where we lived when they both grew up. The walked the small trail behind the house on the side of the mountain. They took pictures of them looking over the valley. It brought back memories for them. It brings back memories for me just typing it. It is hard to go back. I have over the years many times gone and looked at the house that sits on the river in Pocatello Idaho where I grew up. I remember perhaps the best time I tried to go back was when I ran from our parents later home on the East side to the West side and followed the river for several blocks and ran through the old neighborhood one summer Saturday quite a few years ago. Right now I cannot remember the last time I was in Pocatello. Even so Mike goes back to a road on the hill in Salt Lake and I sometimes go back to a house by a river. Blogs are journals and diaries and even the news of the day for a few family and friends that will follow each other on a blog. It can be tempting to try to be a writer or philosopher. Easy lead in to “you can’t go back”. Course, that is not true. I have been back since I started typing. A little while ago I looked through a photo album of my Parents life and of my own earlier life that my daughter made for me. She made one for my brother and for my sister. Looking through it takes you back. My Aunt sent me an email and told me a story about my Dad. She has told me this a few times but each time she does she either brings more to the story or just makes me think more about the story. My Dad told her that he had never kissed another woman in his life except my Mother. In his later years, living alone, and with a concerned Sister in Law who cared about him he did get her Kiss as he did on the last day of his life. What is it about this picture and the rainbow over Pocatello that caught my attention? What is it that one remembers from a dirt road overlooking Salt Lake?
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I also this week have continued to think about a letter from a friend’s wife. She was remembering him. Her memories were captured in a series of events and routines that she had shared with him. Her time with him was brief but her walk on the dirt road and trip back to the river was captured in 6 pages. It was the goodness in my friend that had impacted her. The goodness in my Dad and my Mother do indeed impact me. It took my Dad many many years before he hugged me and kiss my face. I think for my Dad his dirt road and his house by the river was in part a trip to Malad and all that went with it but it was also in keeping up with his family.
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I suppose writing ought to draw a conclusion. I remember in one of the first blogs I wrote I “pondered in print” about some big issue. I don’t recall the issue but someone happened by the blog and decided to leave a comment. The person said using a profanity that was upsetting that the blank answer was obviously blank. I was surprised and shocked to see it in print on my rambling thoughts for the day. In what is getting close to a year I have seldom had anyone I don’t know leave another message. I can see who has been to the blog and strangers don’t stay on long. I do now have the ability to stop a comment made before it is posted. On the other hand you have to wonder whether you should say anything in a forum that others you don’t even know could see. With double digit, at least, millions of blogs out there the likelihood of many seeing what is posted is slim. A few of us watch for each other. The forum works. No real reason to be less that real in what is said. (Course I am not closing with a phone number)

Words don't seem to be enough sometimes

Words are labels for what we see and what we think. They can label things we find outside of ourselves or inside. In James 3:2 it says that if we offend not in word we are a perfect man. Since we don’t really know any perfect men then most folks must sooner or later and perhaps often offend in what they say. Nietzsche seemed to have an opposite belief about words. He felt that by the time thoughts came together in words that the original intent or meaning was already dead in the heart of the one speaking the words.

I like trees, not that I am trying to be offensive. These 4 trees are very different. They make me feel anxious, relaxed, cold, warm and even alone. One is where we had breakfast together, one is where I often ran with friends, another is nowhere really but the color makes me feel anger, passion and love. Then the one that remains seems to be the end or the beginning of the others.

The words to convey this are certainly from within and reflect what is seen, at least what I think I have seen, what is remembered, and what is felt about what is remembered.

Words it would seem need a source. Maybe the place to find the source for words that don’t offend must, out of necessity, come from without. Prayer would work.

Trees are good things.