We Must Take Stock in Our Socks

Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. Anne Lamotte

I removed my socks last night, and just before I pulled them off I couldn’t help but notice I had a sizeable hole worn into the sock where the ball of my feet sits, or stands, or whatever it is the balls of one’s feet do when they are enveloped by a stocking.

Normally I would not have noticed such a thing, but darned if it wasn’t the fourth day in a row I had discovered holes worn into the day’s socks. As I sat down to type this I looked at the bottom of my shoeless feet (for I seldom wear shoes or slippers in the house) and I’ll be gob smacked into next week if another one of my footies doesn’t have a hole in it too!

Good heavens. I knew I was “called” to be holy – but to be actually “found” holey as well?

I suppose since I opened the package of stockings from which these came all at once, it makes sense that they would all wear out at about the same time as well. Fortunately, being a soul who knows the frailties of a sole, I have another package of footwear sitting in my dresser drawer. I can only pray that moths and other sock-eating vermin haven’t discovered these fresh goods yet.

It seems life is full of streaks. Back when we had sports (pre-Covid), people would note a player was on a hot streak or a cold streak, depending on his or her success while at bat or shooting baskets. I’d never considered myself much of a streaker, but apparently I have now joined that illustrious band of streaking athletes. I place myself in that category simply because I wear athletic socks, or I wear nothing at all – (on my feet, that is).

Nothing lasts forever, of course. Streaks end; socks get holes; shirt cuffs become frayed; buttons pop off; zippers even lose their little zippities. I lost a zip pull on one of my favorite coats a while back. I loved that coat and had worn it for several decades. It was still in pretty good shape and kept me warm and dry, so I replaced the pull with an extra-large paper clip. After a while, I had to admit it was a functional (though inelegant) solution, but the time had come to buy a new winter coat.

I’ve never been much of a clothes horse. I don’t mind wearing things until they’re past the “worn out” stage of life. I have no eye for fashion. I bought my first leisure suit a year after the civilized world decided leisure suits were ugly and stupid; I simply didn’t know any better. I think it was reruns of The Brady Bunch that inspired that particular choice at the time.

I suspect that could be one reason Jesus suggested we take our cue from the lilies of the field. “They neither sow nor reap, yet even Solomon in all his glory didn’t look nearly as sharp …” 

I wonder what it is about the human psyche that moves us to acquire so much stuff in life, or pursue the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos. Perhaps Augustine, that wonderfully flawed saint from Hippo (North Arica – yes, that great theologian was an African) had it right when he said, “You have made us for yourself (O Lord), and the heart is restless until it finds its rest in You.”

Maybe we are little more than earth-socks. We’re worn, dingy, and have got holes that need darning. The itch that won’t go away is probably little more than God’s toes poking through those holes and waiting for us to stop long enough so God can stitch us up with love. It’s threads of love that knit us together (according to Colossians 2).

It’s both touching and ironic to think: God does not desire any of us to be damned, but works to darn us here in this life. One could even say, God is Knit-pickie and undy-feeted. 

One “could” say that, but I wouldn’t (at least not while wearing a leisure suit). Let’s just toe the line and love everyone alike here in this, our valley.

Masked Perfection

Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. Anne Lamotte 

Oh what fresh perdition are we in for today? 

I don’t know about you, but I am a bit tired of always being a bit tired. People are starting to talk about quarantine fatigue, and I understand the sentiment. I haven’t eaten a meal in or from a restaurant since at least March (and it could be February – I never thought to keep track). I go grocery shopping weekly and occasionally to the hardware store for some essential fix-it doo-dad. But beyond that (and my near-daily walks), I just haven’t gotten out of the house. 

I discovered some time ago that my view of the outside world during these days of the pandemic has been fairly well limited to what I can see from my front and back windows, and from what I’m exposed to on the television. I don’t really care for what I’m served from the telly, so I minimize my consumption in that regard. It’s not that I want to be ignorant, but I find it all so repetitious, and if the only thing one is exposed to is trash, well then it makes sense that it could be the source of that garbage feeling I’ve been getting. So I watch enough to confirm the world is still turning (as is my stomach) and then let it go for the sake of my peace of mind and sanity. 

Although life today is a bit of a mixed bag (or a bag of haggis, at any rate) there are things that help break us out of our stupor. Or at least I’ve got some things that keep me on my toes and remind me not to take life too seriously. 

We began a bathroom remodel at the first of the year and had the old tub and surround replaced with a beautiful walk-in shower and a shower pan that, remarkably, grips better when wet than when dry. I don’t know how they do that, but I love a grippy floor. I hate windmilling my way around a room or down a ramp, especially as the warranty on that thing laughingly called my body has been expired for quite a few decades. So to step into a shower and feel more secure than when wearing spike-shoes on ice is a wonderful feeling. 

When the surround was done, we purchased everything we needed to finish the bathroom remodel and it was delivered the day the state shut down for the current pandemic, so the garage looks like one of those long-forgotten and abandoned warehouses you see posted on those websites that major in minor weirdness. 

I tend to be pretty patient, so have quietly awaited the re-opening of the state. It has finally happened, so I have been able to round up contractors to drop by to give me estimates for finishing the bathroom (as the original team is no longer available). The struggle, though, has been remembering to unlearn all the things that come so automatically to us in a civilized society. 

As people trundle up the driveway, my first instinct is to open the door and do a “hail thee fellow well met,” but instead the new code of the west is to don our masks, stand six feet apart, and quick-draw a hand-waving finger-wiggle. The visitor makes every effort not to touch anything in the house as he takes measurements, listens to the muffled wishes of the homeowner, and asks questions through the hygienic face covering his wife has made him. 

We did (and do) the best we can under the circumstances. After a while, I suspect many of the things we find awkward today will become second nature. Just as hand-shaking originally signaled the lack of a claymore sword hidden up one’s sleeve, so the donning of a mask will come to represent one’s desire for the “other’s” good health. 

Some future generation watching television reruns may find themselves asking why the lone stranger took to wearing his mask up around his eyes, and when they do, I expect we’ll all have a big laugh in this, our valley. Until then, keep your distance, wash your hands, and keep your mouth and nose under wraps. We at the Madisonian want y’all healthy for Christmas, folks! 

Lamenting is an Act of Worship

(B)eware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Hunter S. Thompson

I had a lot of plans for retirement, not the least of which was to travel and explore the back-roads of America. This was the year. This was the summer. This was the time.

My plans were purely selfish, of course. They would benefit no-one but me (and the travel industry). There is and was no higher purpose to be served traveling the highways and byways of our great land except, perhaps, the pursuit of happiness. But it is hard to pursue happiness in the midst of a pandemic. It is hard to find peace in a time of civil unrest – during a time when evidence of grievous injustice has been placed so clearly before us that one cannot easily “re-hide what has been un-hid.” [sic] 

My desire to hit the road for some personal (and “well-deserved”) R&R has been derailed for now, but that’s OK. I am safe. How many people world-wide can make that claim? I have food a’plenty in my fridge, freezer, and cupboards. How many families around the globe can say that? I have all the fresh water I could ever want within a half dozen steps of my couch while my waste is flushed away and treated ever-so-efficiently. How many billions covet what I and we have?

However, I find the constant drone of everything wrong with the world around me drains my soul and every fiber of my being. 

Covid-19 is tenacious and awaiting to grab us like some famous bath-salts and take us away!

People who have been oppressed and who have not been truly heard over the past dozen decades are crying out for justice – just like the Children of Israel did those many centuries ago when they were slaves in Egypt – praying and lamenting, “When, O Lord, will you deliver us from this evil?”

The people elected to serve us have been as self-serving as any generation and seem incapable of even “thinking” of the public good (let alone acting on it).

The “News” is mislabeled. There is nothing new under the sun. The Preacher told us that nearly three thousand years ago in the Book of Ecclesiastes. “All is vanity,” he wailed, cried, and lamented, and I suppose the story could have ended there.

It could have, but it didn’t.

While the preacher was weeping into his hanky, a prophet stood up and bellowed: Let justice pour down like a monsoon; let righteousness (good and holy deeds) stream forth like a mighty river! (Amos). 

He understood what we all understand: Each of us hungers for righteousness, justice, equality, and equity. We know wrong when we see it, whether it is laid on the back of others, or ourselves. We see it and, like the prophet, there comes a time we can do nothing else but stand up and cry out: NO MORE!

A man was asked one day what those who follow him must do, and I suspect he recalled the sage advice of his mother. It is the wisdom we have all received at the knees of those who love us – no matter where we grew up, no matter where we came from – and what she told her children he passed along to his friends: Do unto others as you would have it done unto you (Matthew 7).

The Golden Rule. It is known across the globe. No matter your religion or culture, we know: Do unto others …

When I was baptized, I promised to “respect the dignity of every person.” I did that as a cop. I did that as a priest. I do that as a human being. One does not need to belong to any religious group to recognize and respect the dignity of a fellow human being. The best people I have ever known (including cops) have been those who treated everyone (cops, victims, ne'er-do-wells alike) with respect.

The fact is, we are all capable of showing respect for one another, showing kindness to one another, and doing unto others what we would want to be done unto us. That, ultimately, is good news for all of us here – even as we may pray and lament – in this, our valley.

WHO THE BLAZES IS JESUS?

Good News for a Vulgar World.

I have just published my first book on Amazon. It was easier than I thought it would be, and yet more difficult in that while I could review it in process, I couldn't review it completely to discern whether or not it was imported from my files the way I had intended.

The footnotes were converted to end-notes, which was fine, but I neglected to see how the chapters were set up. 

If you're interested in reviewing or purchasing the book (under $4, + tax where applicable), you may find it at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BSWZW5K/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=keith+axberg&qid=1593033262&sr=8-1

I hope to hear comments. Peace!

Double Vision

There are no short cuts to any place worth going. [sic] Beverly Sills

I am not a birder. I like birds. I love birds. I enjoy watching birds flying overhead or stalking the land for a fat and tasty (but ever-elusive) earthworm. But I find them frustrating, because I enjoy photography. One way to combine those two passions is to get out, find birds doing interesting things, and photographing them in the process, but birds seldom cooperate. Hence, I am no birder (but am occasionally a bird-brain).

I have an old pair of binoculars I use for watching birds here and there, but they are woefully inadequate. They have decent magnification (10x) and the optical quality is fair to middling, but once the object of my study is out beyond fifty feet or so, there’s not much to see or identify, so I decided to purchase a new set of binoculars for bird-watching.

Our county continues to be locked-down –  the sporting goods stores and shops are still closed – so I wasn’t able to shop around the way I normally would for a specialty item like binoculars or spotting scopes. Consequently, I went online and did some research and found a pair of binoculars that looked fantastic and which included mounting hardware for putting it on a base for truly rock-solid viewing. The price seemed reasonable and shipping was free, so I ordered the binoculars and a matching tripod.

Well, they arrived the other day and I must admit the purchase far surpassed my expectations. The magnification is double the old set (20x) and the optical clarity is superb. The only downside to the equipment, however, is that they are also far larger than what I had anticipated. They practically dwarf the Hubble telescope! No wonder a tripod was a recommended option.

With a little further reading, I hadn’t really ordered a pair of binoculars for bird-watching, but for astronomy. While the specs and dimensions were available online, I hadn’t really thought much about them. They looked “normal” in the picture. If the display had included a person for scale, I would have seen their relative size (and probably continued doing more research). 

As it is, I can’t even pull focus on anything less than sixty feet away. However, I looked out the front window and did manage to spot a robin wrestling with a wriggling, white, nutritious grub – in the next county over from us!

Since I also enjoy astronomy, I will probably hang onto these binoculars, even though they aren’t quite what I had intended. They will allow me to explore the world around us when we travel, and I have a device that allows me to attach my cell phone to the eyepiece and capture faraway vistas in ways I couldn’t before.

I think that’s sort of what the philosopher who said, “make lemonade from life’s lemons” means. One must be adaptable, and while I don’t have money to spend frivolously, I know how to make do and make use of what I have in hand, so where there’s no harm, there’s no foul.

When life doesn’t give me what I want, I find that I am often the source of that revolting development. I could blame others for misleading advertising, but the information I needed was there. I just didn’t pay adequate attention. The fault is mine, not theirs, and so the cost of the mistake is mine to bear, not theirs to carry. I know the company has a very liberal return policy, and I know they would not argue over a return of something that isn’t what I expected, but why should they?

I am actually satisfied with my purchase. It meets a need for which I hadn’t anticipated using it. It may well function better than I had thought possible when I go looking for eagles at work and play, for it has been my experience that raptors really don’t like people watching them, and I’ve never been able to get close enough to watch or to take decent wildlife photographs.

I will also be able to explore the heavens, seeking out new life and new civilizations, and boldly going where I’ve never gone before – only at warp 20. I’ll be more than doubling my vision here in this, our valley.

Chess Lessons in Life

Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. Arthur Ashe

I have been teaching my grandson how to play Chess. He’s eleven years old and sharp as the proverbial tack. We sat down, set up the board, and identified the various pieces and the rules of the game. I told him that I wasn’t playing to win, but was going to play well enough to help him learn how the pieces move and some things to watch for.

Chess is a fun game. We played. I let him take backsies whenever he blundered into something catastrophic, and with each succeeding game he has gotten better, smarter, and has become more strategic in his choices. He still hasn’t won, as of this writing, but his play has improved enough that I approach each game more carefully so that now I AM playing to win.

One of the things I don’t like about playing games is that they tend to bring out a killer instinct in me. I want to play for fun, but when danger lurks, the adrenaline squirts into my veins, my heart races, my face flushes, and suddenly I go into kill-mode. It is instinctive. I have virtually no control over it. I don’t just want to win; I want to annihilate my opponent.

That’s an attitude I don’t like, and a reason I tend to decline invitations to play cards or board games. I don’t worry about losing. Far from it, I couldn’t care less. But I am a horrible winner. It inflates my ego far beyond all reason. Why should a man near seventy gloat in victory over his eleven year old grandson?

It’s unseemly; that’s what it is.

I also know that it is important to pass along life-lessons to the latest generation, so as we play, we talk. Developing strategies in chess helps us develop strategies in living. The next move is important, but so is looking a few more moves “down” the board. Sacrificing a pawn to gain a Rook teaches the value of making a sacrifice for the benefit of gaining something better. Overcoming the loss of a Queen with the better coordination of Knights and Bishops helps us learn to make do with what we have, which is better than moaning over what we don’t have.

We don’t always get backsies and do-overs in life, but sometimes we do. I think it is important to learn about grace, for too many of us have been squeezed dry by judgment and a lack of charity.

A young lad was chastised by his parents for being so miserly in his weekly gifts to his church’s Sunday school offering. They knew he had a very generous weekly allowance from which to give. What they didn’t know was that he was saving up much of his allowance to buy a coat for a classmate who didn’t have a decent winter-coat to wear. They didn’t know his plan because they didn’t ask. They judged him in ignorance. After the heated exchange (for that’s what it had been) and discovering his (previously hidden) generous heart, they took him to the store, chipped in to help buy the coat, and bought several others for the school’s coat and gloves program.

Getting back to Chess: at the end of each game, I always extend my hand to compliment my adversary for a game well-played. Win or lose, good sportsmanship is important.

I don’t just tell him he played a good game. I identify the moves he made that gave me pause or forced me to change what I was doing. I focus on the things done right and ignore the things done wrong. 

I think we often spend too much time rehashing what we or others have done wrong, whether at home, work, or the world of politics. I tend to improve when I am told what I’ve done well. A pat on the back is nice, but I really appreciate it when someone identifies what, specifically, I have done that was meaningful, right, well, or good.

I don’t believe life is a game wherein God moves us all about the board. In ignorance, we strive to avoid checkmate, only to discover in the end that God’s only desire is to BE our Check-Mate in this, our valley.

The Good Earth

Is the reward for good [anything] but good? Surat ar-Rahman, Verse 60

I went to the store this week and gassed up the truck. Neither took much. Our home is pretty well stocked (without doing any hoarding, thank you very much) and with the continuing Stay At Home orders in our community, I just haven’t gone anywhere or done anything.

If I go places, it is on foot and just around the neighborhood. While the early stages of our current crisis felt a bit like Solitary Confinement on a global scale, against which I kicked and bucked like a delirious demon-bull at the rodeo (more like a tired old geezer being told it is time for his Geritol, truth be told), I must admit that the slower pace has begun to feel as warm and comfortable as those old leather dress shoes that have finally softened and conformed to fit your feet just right.

There is something about perambulating at a natural pace that feels good. The backyard has come alive with the flowering azaleas, blue bells, forget-me-nots, and hyacinths. The daffodils and tulips are done for the season (they really don’t last long at all), but the roses are budding and will soon be drawing humming birds and honey bees to their life-giving sweets.

I have mentioned in the past that the land and I are not great friends. I prefer concrete and steel. You don’t need to mow cement; weeds don’t grow on steel. I never have to clean my shoes after walking on asphalt, but when I come in from working in the yard, I track in all sorts of yard debris – dead grass, dirt, slug slime – and then I have to clean up after myself so that the labor never ends. Woe is me!

However, since I don’t have the luxury of hopping into the truck and running hither, thither, and yon like the proverbial chicken sans skull, I do have the time to step outside and walk amongst the various plants like a new-born Adam. They have become my children and I find myself wondering: Who the heck are you? What’s your name?

A friend dropped by last summer and we showed her our yard, and she was delighted by the wonderful variety of flowers and bushes. She would oo and ah, and she identified each and every one by its “proper” Greek or Latin designation. “Oh, what a beautiful Azalea Rhododendron Ericaceae,” or “Hyacinthoides Campanula Rotundifolia!”

I confess I didn’t pay much attention. I find it easier to simply recall them as Azaleas or Blue Bells or Forget Me Nots (on those rare occasions I recall anything at all). Some people have a gift for gardening and are adept at attending to proper details – like how much sun or shade a plant needs, or how often to water, or how much water to apply (and at what time of day). Sadly, I am not one of them. But now that I have time, perhaps I can begin to at least learn some of the names of these, my children, eh?

Or maybe I should go about my “Adam” business and name these flowers and bushes myself. I mean, why should I have to suffer the slings and arrows of scientists who see the world through their little microscopes and give these living organisms names that come from dead languages?

What’s wrong with naming my children Red Bush By the Birch Tree, Bee Collector Watch-it, Blue Bells Out Front, or Is That a Weed or a Plant?

There is no small satisfaction that comes with identifying our outdoor sentinels in a manner that is every bit as orderly and meaningful as that done by scientists in their lairs. The names may not have the panache of scientific nomenclature, but what does one expect from a Viriditas Bipedal Vulgaris (common two-legged weed)?

If there is anything good to come from this pandemic we’re all struggling with, it may just be our reconnecting with the universe (and the One) who binds us all together.

There is joy in becoming more familiar with the world in which we live. Familiar – family-like – reminds us that we’re all related. Perhaps I shall name the “Forget Me Not” Blessing, for we don’t ever want to forget our blessings here in this, our valley.