http://www.ucsusa.org/action/alerts/tell-me-more/pass-global-warming-policy.html
http://albuquerque.bizjournals.com/albuquerque/othercities/boston/stories/2009/01/12/daily28.html
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Money
Many things make little sense to me in today's society. Money ranks high on the list and I've often wondered about it, why it came into existence, why its use is so widespread, why we struggle so hard for it.
The first thing that strikes me about money is that it makes no sense. Today, more than ever, it's strictly an illusion. The value of money lies in its exchange-ability. By this I mean that, if enough people were to refuse to accept money for their goods or services, the value of money would fall and the government would lose power over the populace. We're told that the primary reason for the money's devaluation is that the government prints too much. It's a distinct possibility, even a probability, but the primary cause for money to lose its purchasing power, called inflation, is the unwillingness of the public to accept it in exchange for services and products. The lack of confidence in money which causes people not to accept it in exchange for their wares or services is caused by various factors, one of which being the government's pumping too much of it into the money cycle.
Think about this: The government, ours specifically--but also most other governments on the planet--has set itself up as the sole provider of money for the country. In doing so, it cured a couple of problems. First, it made a uniform medium of exchange nationwide and this was important because, when the original colonies formed, each had its own currency. Sometimes, between rivaling colonies, money from one wouldn't be accepted in the other. For the country to unify and to work, the founders established the right of the federal government to issue the sole currency of the land. In unifying the country through standardization of the system of currency, a huge degree of power was placed into the hands of the federal government. Ultimately, this is what money has been about throughout history. Power.
With the control of a nation's money in its grip, any government has the means to levy taxes as well as to have another aspect of control over the populace. It can demand, and has done so, that records be kept on business incomes and profit as well as on individual incomes. Where people are honest, the control is obvious. Where they are not above board with their incomes, their is little control. At one time, income taxes were voluntary in this country, but now are so controlled that employers are required to deduct them from employees' wages and pay them to the government on a regular basis. Then the employee is allowed to reclaim any overage at the end of the year which the government was paid in excess. Most people who pay taxes will say that they pay out of patriotic duty, but I will guarantee that, were the tax collection system made voluntary tomorrow, the influx of payments would stop as soon as those which were in the mail or in the banking system at the moment were processed. If they didn't cease, then they would diminish from a huge tide to a rivulet in the desert.
Then there are the property taxes. I have an apple orchard of, let's say, five hundred trees. One day along comes Mr. Tax Assessor and lays claim to fifty of my trees and tells me that in the name of the government, all of the produce from those trees belongs to the government and shall be given delivered to it at the end of the harvest season. What do I say? That this is a blatant form of robbery in the guise of government? No, I simply send my apples as required and hope that somehow next year the tax will be lower and I'll have a better crop and, and,....
Rulers and monarchs figured out many many centuries ago that the easiest way to pay for themselves was to make the populace pay their way and living for them. Some proclaimed themselves divine. Others proclaimed their might. But once someone figured out that a bit of shining metal could be exchanged for goods and services, governmental control became tighter and tighter from then on.
Money is only an advanced system of barter. It is a system of "I'll give you this for that" until both parties reach an agreement as to what is to be exchanged for what. Instead of exchanging a hog for a good dress for his wife, for example, a man can now lay down paper and metal, or plastic, and take the dress home, having simply exchanged the idea of numbers with the seller of the dress. The same goes for anything wherein money is the unit of exchange--houses, jewels, cars, drugs, etc. This is why its use is so widespread. It's easier than hauling wares to exchange or working at some trade or chore for someone to be able to take home the item or items one wants. It's a facilitator. And it fills the role well. But it also hinders in that now one has to work exclusively for the illusion of having this bargaining power. Consequently, everyone caught in the system of the money cycle, except for a niggling few, struggle just as the poverty-ridden masses of ancient times did in order to eke out a basic level of living compared to the society surrounding them.
We struggle so hard for money because of the illusion everyone has accepted regarding its necessity. We are so deluded into thinking it necessary for our lives that we no longer fare for ourselves as did our ancestors. We want the things of the moment, the toys and products that make us feel as though we are accomplishing something. We want material things and not emotional or spiritual fulfillment and this is where money's power reigns supreme. As long as we want things we will struggle with the illusion of having to have money to fulfill our needs. And the Earth will continue to be polluted by the waste of our consumerism.
Walk in Peace and Love.
Will Quietwalker
The first thing that strikes me about money is that it makes no sense. Today, more than ever, it's strictly an illusion. The value of money lies in its exchange-ability. By this I mean that, if enough people were to refuse to accept money for their goods or services, the value of money would fall and the government would lose power over the populace. We're told that the primary reason for the money's devaluation is that the government prints too much. It's a distinct possibility, even a probability, but the primary cause for money to lose its purchasing power, called inflation, is the unwillingness of the public to accept it in exchange for services and products. The lack of confidence in money which causes people not to accept it in exchange for their wares or services is caused by various factors, one of which being the government's pumping too much of it into the money cycle.
Think about this: The government, ours specifically--but also most other governments on the planet--has set itself up as the sole provider of money for the country. In doing so, it cured a couple of problems. First, it made a uniform medium of exchange nationwide and this was important because, when the original colonies formed, each had its own currency. Sometimes, between rivaling colonies, money from one wouldn't be accepted in the other. For the country to unify and to work, the founders established the right of the federal government to issue the sole currency of the land. In unifying the country through standardization of the system of currency, a huge degree of power was placed into the hands of the federal government. Ultimately, this is what money has been about throughout history. Power.
With the control of a nation's money in its grip, any government has the means to levy taxes as well as to have another aspect of control over the populace. It can demand, and has done so, that records be kept on business incomes and profit as well as on individual incomes. Where people are honest, the control is obvious. Where they are not above board with their incomes, their is little control. At one time, income taxes were voluntary in this country, but now are so controlled that employers are required to deduct them from employees' wages and pay them to the government on a regular basis. Then the employee is allowed to reclaim any overage at the end of the year which the government was paid in excess. Most people who pay taxes will say that they pay out of patriotic duty, but I will guarantee that, were the tax collection system made voluntary tomorrow, the influx of payments would stop as soon as those which were in the mail or in the banking system at the moment were processed. If they didn't cease, then they would diminish from a huge tide to a rivulet in the desert.
Then there are the property taxes. I have an apple orchard of, let's say, five hundred trees. One day along comes Mr. Tax Assessor and lays claim to fifty of my trees and tells me that in the name of the government, all of the produce from those trees belongs to the government and shall be given delivered to it at the end of the harvest season. What do I say? That this is a blatant form of robbery in the guise of government? No, I simply send my apples as required and hope that somehow next year the tax will be lower and I'll have a better crop and, and,....
Rulers and monarchs figured out many many centuries ago that the easiest way to pay for themselves was to make the populace pay their way and living for them. Some proclaimed themselves divine. Others proclaimed their might. But once someone figured out that a bit of shining metal could be exchanged for goods and services, governmental control became tighter and tighter from then on.
Money is only an advanced system of barter. It is a system of "I'll give you this for that" until both parties reach an agreement as to what is to be exchanged for what. Instead of exchanging a hog for a good dress for his wife, for example, a man can now lay down paper and metal, or plastic, and take the dress home, having simply exchanged the idea of numbers with the seller of the dress. The same goes for anything wherein money is the unit of exchange--houses, jewels, cars, drugs, etc. This is why its use is so widespread. It's easier than hauling wares to exchange or working at some trade or chore for someone to be able to take home the item or items one wants. It's a facilitator. And it fills the role well. But it also hinders in that now one has to work exclusively for the illusion of having this bargaining power. Consequently, everyone caught in the system of the money cycle, except for a niggling few, struggle just as the poverty-ridden masses of ancient times did in order to eke out a basic level of living compared to the society surrounding them.
We struggle so hard for money because of the illusion everyone has accepted regarding its necessity. We are so deluded into thinking it necessary for our lives that we no longer fare for ourselves as did our ancestors. We want the things of the moment, the toys and products that make us feel as though we are accomplishing something. We want material things and not emotional or spiritual fulfillment and this is where money's power reigns supreme. As long as we want things we will struggle with the illusion of having to have money to fulfill our needs. And the Earth will continue to be polluted by the waste of our consumerism.
Walk in Peace and Love.
Will Quietwalker
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Native-American Discrimination
I used to be a terrible bigot. I still am too, but not racially. My bigotry is a total dislike of ignorance when a peson has the ability to be and know more, but chooses neither. And bigotry makes me smolder when I bump into it. A 67-year-old Caucasian male, I encounter various kinds of bigotry aimed my direction, some intentional, other unintentional; or, should I say, unknowing. Still it's all bigotry, still discrimination, and I rankle every time I bump into it or it bumps into me.
I used to make beaded jewelry. I supported my family for a few years with it and we traveled a lot to arts and crafts fairs where we sold my work. Sometimes, my work was juried, but most often not. I went to a couple of powwows and had no problem being accepted by the tribes who allowed me to show my work. A lot of Native Americans bought my work and told me how much they liked it even though I didn't follow known Native-American designs and/or color schemes. A few even told me that it was some of the best bead work they'd seen.
I stopped doing bead work some eight to ten years ago. I became discouraged for a number of reasons, not the least from being able only to eke out a basic living and constantly having to scratch to make ends meet. So, I haven't done bead work for at least eight years with any regularity or seriousness. I did try again this last year and found a small market where I was able to make a few dollars rather quickly. I was excited enough by the success to start putting in some serious time at my beading table again, but, over a period of a few weeks, discovered that my eyesight has gotten bad enough that I can no longer do the work. So, again, stopped.
Two years ago, someone set up a bead shop in town within a few miles of our home. I'd thought about going in and looking around, but was never attracted to the place. Why? Well, I was following my feelings which all to often prove to be very accurate. Over the last couple of years, I've gotten tired of looking at my beading supplies sitting around collecting dust I've frequently felt that I could and should sell them for whatever money I could get for them and be done with that period of my life. Yet, I've been loathe to, for some reason, go into that store and offer my merchandise for sale. I vacillated and procrastinated. Then, this summer, I set up my merchandise near another powwow in Oklahoma. Taking inventory there just of the merchandise displayed, I toted up around 6,000 dollars in retail value. I have a back stock of beads that adds to that value, so the total probably runs close to 10,000 dollars. I figured that the owner of the store would probably be interested hearing my asking price. I was wrong. He wasn't. He told me that he and his wife don't buy from non-Native Americans. Hmmmmmmm.
My ancestors were here almost five hundred years ago. Doesn't that make me a Native American? Yes, his ancestors came to this continent some seven thousand years ago. So what's the difference? Well, a matter of a few thousand years, it seems. It's this attitude that's causing most of the problems between Israel and the rest of the Middle East. Israel didn't remain an identity throughout history. It was shoved down the throats of the countries of the Middle East at the end of WWII. There might still have been strife if this hadn't happened. But it wouldn't have occurred on the scale and with the intensity it does today and since the new Israel was formed. The new Israelis are not "native" to the region. And the warring to remove them is the most extreme form of discrimination.
The problem with that word, discrimination, and its use today is that it has taken on a primarily negative connotation. As a result most people understand and use it almost exclusively in racial and ethnic issues. Yet discrimination use to be used to mean the ability to discern and choose. A person of discrimination at one time meant a person of good judgment as well as someone who could keep confidences. A discriminating person used to mean someone who made good choices or had good taste as well. To be discriminating used to be complimentary.
What most of us don't realize is that we discriminate countless times throughout the day everyday. To discriminate means to discern differences and to make choices based on one's attitude toward those differences. My wife and I like peas so . My wife likes beets and we buy them for her. This is type of discrimination--choosing between things based on values, likes, dislikes, or emotional response. We discriminate when choosing anything in actuality.
We discriminate in making friends. We may choose to associate with someone because his interests are similar to ours or his personality is one we respond to positively. We like someone's hair, smile, mannerisms, or way of dressing or speaking. We choose the streets we drive for any number of reasons just as we choose where we live, where we shop, where we eat, where we take vacations, and how we travel. We choose throughout the day everyday, and that is discrimination in action.
So, what's the point of all of this? I guess it's about venting my frustration with having been blindly and ignorantly discriminated against due to the narrowness of someone else's ethnic identification. But, it's only my due I suppose. After all, I am a member of the white race which did, and still does, discriminate against every race of any other color. And I've simply been given a taste of what they go through everyday.
Walk in Peace and Love.
I used to make beaded jewelry. I supported my family for a few years with it and we traveled a lot to arts and crafts fairs where we sold my work. Sometimes, my work was juried, but most often not. I went to a couple of powwows and had no problem being accepted by the tribes who allowed me to show my work. A lot of Native Americans bought my work and told me how much they liked it even though I didn't follow known Native-American designs and/or color schemes. A few even told me that it was some of the best bead work they'd seen.
I stopped doing bead work some eight to ten years ago. I became discouraged for a number of reasons, not the least from being able only to eke out a basic living and constantly having to scratch to make ends meet. So, I haven't done bead work for at least eight years with any regularity or seriousness. I did try again this last year and found a small market where I was able to make a few dollars rather quickly. I was excited enough by the success to start putting in some serious time at my beading table again, but, over a period of a few weeks, discovered that my eyesight has gotten bad enough that I can no longer do the work. So, again, stopped.
Two years ago, someone set up a bead shop in town within a few miles of our home. I'd thought about going in and looking around, but was never attracted to the place. Why? Well, I was following my feelings which all to often prove to be very accurate. Over the last couple of years, I've gotten tired of looking at my beading supplies sitting around collecting dust I've frequently felt that I could and should sell them for whatever money I could get for them and be done with that period of my life. Yet, I've been loathe to, for some reason, go into that store and offer my merchandise for sale. I vacillated and procrastinated. Then, this summer, I set up my merchandise near another powwow in Oklahoma. Taking inventory there just of the merchandise displayed, I toted up around 6,000 dollars in retail value. I have a back stock of beads that adds to that value, so the total probably runs close to 10,000 dollars. I figured that the owner of the store would probably be interested hearing my asking price. I was wrong. He wasn't. He told me that he and his wife don't buy from non-Native Americans. Hmmmmmmm.
My ancestors were here almost five hundred years ago. Doesn't that make me a Native American? Yes, his ancestors came to this continent some seven thousand years ago. So what's the difference? Well, a matter of a few thousand years, it seems. It's this attitude that's causing most of the problems between Israel and the rest of the Middle East. Israel didn't remain an identity throughout history. It was shoved down the throats of the countries of the Middle East at the end of WWII. There might still have been strife if this hadn't happened. But it wouldn't have occurred on the scale and with the intensity it does today and since the new Israel was formed. The new Israelis are not "native" to the region. And the warring to remove them is the most extreme form of discrimination.
The problem with that word, discrimination, and its use today is that it has taken on a primarily negative connotation. As a result most people understand and use it almost exclusively in racial and ethnic issues. Yet discrimination use to be used to mean the ability to discern and choose. A person of discrimination at one time meant a person of good judgment as well as someone who could keep confidences. A discriminating person used to mean someone who made good choices or had good taste as well. To be discriminating used to be complimentary.
What most of us don't realize is that we discriminate countless times throughout the day everyday. To discriminate means to discern differences and to make choices based on one's attitude toward those differences. My wife and I like peas so . My wife likes beets and we buy them for her. This is type of discrimination--choosing between things based on values, likes, dislikes, or emotional response. We discriminate when choosing anything in actuality.
We discriminate in making friends. We may choose to associate with someone because his interests are similar to ours or his personality is one we respond to positively. We like someone's hair, smile, mannerisms, or way of dressing or speaking. We choose the streets we drive for any number of reasons just as we choose where we live, where we shop, where we eat, where we take vacations, and how we travel. We choose throughout the day everyday, and that is discrimination in action.
So, what's the point of all of this? I guess it's about venting my frustration with having been blindly and ignorantly discriminated against due to the narrowness of someone else's ethnic identification. But, it's only my due I suppose. After all, I am a member of the white race which did, and still does, discriminate against every race of any other color. And I've simply been given a taste of what they go through everyday.
Walk in Peace and Love.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Tale of a Cottontail
All creatures are beautiful, but the cottontail is especially so. It is so small and apparently fragile, but can outrun every dog in the country. They are tricky too, except when they get very frightened. Then they seem to lose their wits. Sort of like humans it seems. I met a cottontail a few days ago. It was on my 20-Minute-Mile walk.
The day was crisp and clear and the sun shone almost directly into my eyes. I hadn't taken my sun glasses along, so I was walking along the street, head down, thinking about how my back hurts, my feet ache, the asthma that's stealing my breath, and this little brown critter with long ears bounded across the street and disappeared into a weedy abandoned yard on my right. I still have it's image caught in mid jump--hind legs stretched out behind, front legs stretched forward as far as possible, its body about eight inches above the ground, ears partly erect, black fringes on its grayish brown sides, white tips on all four feet and along the belly and insides of the back legs as well as under the flag-like tail. It was there so quickly and disappearing just as quickly into the weed in two more bounds. But I knew from the look in its eye that it was more than simply aware of me. It seemed to know me, seemed to know more about me than I can express. Its eye was very very knowing, and the look of it is still there frozen in the stop-frame of my memory, the cottontail suspended mid-air, eye looking at me aware and knowing. Then the two bounds when it comes down and disappears into the weeds. The thing about that eye is that it left me aware of the cottontail.
I went on, smiling to myself, knowing that I had a friend to look forward to on my 20-Minute Mile. I had someone to commune with, to look forward to greeting each morning. And I was warmed to the core. I told my girlfriend about the cottontail when we met for coffee. I walk to a local eatery and reward myself with a cup of coffee and a fried confection called a crispito. It's a rolled flour tortilla with a cheesy filling and meat inside. Fresh from the deep fryer, they're delicious although a pale imitation of a Mexican invention called a flauta. I just mentioned to Linda that I'd seen a rabbit who was eking out a a life inside the town's limits despite the roaming dogs and cats. I admired it's spunk and it's freedom of choice. It could have been living in the wild, but had chosen proximity to humans for some reason and seemed very fit and healthy. I thought of it as a fringe critter, something I admire. I've lived on the fringe of society for many years now, by choice too, just as with the cottontail. And I was looking forward to meeting this independent spirit frequently in my future walks.
A couple of days ago, I was doing my 20-Minute-Mile meditation--thinking while walking--which makes it hard for me to walk. I noticed that a neighbor didn't have his rotweiler chained up in his backyard and that the wooden box meant for a shelter was gone. I hoped the dog hadn't been abandoned along a road somewhere in order to get rid of it. Or, worse, that it hadn't been shot. Both are common ways people choose to rid themselves of the responsibility when they reach the end of their patience with their canines and felines. I was walking along pondering why people do such things to animals and how things might change were we allowed to do the same to such people when we lose patience with them when I noticed a patch of fur in the middl of the lane on the other side of the street ahead. A sense of dread took me. I knew when I saw it. It was the cottontail. It had been hit by a car in a 25-mile-an-hour zone.
I don't think one can run over a rabbit at that speed. I think it's completely impossible. I let out a cry of grief and went to remove it from the street. I hurt. A lot. I put its body on the grass on the verge and went on about my walk. I could have put the cottontail into a nearby garbage can, but I couldn't bring myself to betray its diginity so vulgarly. Instead, I put it where it could return to Mother Nature and continued walking and crying for the soul that had touched my life so briefly, but which had affected me so profoundly. I wept, truly, and was still weeping a couple of blocks later when I looked up at the sky. It was the most beautiful cirulean blue I can remember. From the southeast white, high, thin clouds were drifting in. From the northeast, three contrails as white as the clouds trisected the sky before me in almost perfect symmetry, the leading one disappearing into the clouds as though leading the eye into them. The scene was so beautiful that my painful weeping almost instantly became weeping in wonderment and joy at the beauty I'd been blessed with, been allowed to see. And there came to me almost instantly the realization of how priviliged I was.
I'd been shown death and creation in a matter of moments. I'd seen beauty in both, felt pain and joy in a matter of minutes. I'd truly been favored. And I am thankful.
The day was crisp and clear and the sun shone almost directly into my eyes. I hadn't taken my sun glasses along, so I was walking along the street, head down, thinking about how my back hurts, my feet ache, the asthma that's stealing my breath, and this little brown critter with long ears bounded across the street and disappeared into a weedy abandoned yard on my right. I still have it's image caught in mid jump--hind legs stretched out behind, front legs stretched forward as far as possible, its body about eight inches above the ground, ears partly erect, black fringes on its grayish brown sides, white tips on all four feet and along the belly and insides of the back legs as well as under the flag-like tail. It was there so quickly and disappearing just as quickly into the weed in two more bounds. But I knew from the look in its eye that it was more than simply aware of me. It seemed to know me, seemed to know more about me than I can express. Its eye was very very knowing, and the look of it is still there frozen in the stop-frame of my memory, the cottontail suspended mid-air, eye looking at me aware and knowing. Then the two bounds when it comes down and disappears into the weeds. The thing about that eye is that it left me aware of the cottontail.
I went on, smiling to myself, knowing that I had a friend to look forward to on my 20-Minute Mile. I had someone to commune with, to look forward to greeting each morning. And I was warmed to the core. I told my girlfriend about the cottontail when we met for coffee. I walk to a local eatery and reward myself with a cup of coffee and a fried confection called a crispito. It's a rolled flour tortilla with a cheesy filling and meat inside. Fresh from the deep fryer, they're delicious although a pale imitation of a Mexican invention called a flauta. I just mentioned to Linda that I'd seen a rabbit who was eking out a a life inside the town's limits despite the roaming dogs and cats. I admired it's spunk and it's freedom of choice. It could have been living in the wild, but had chosen proximity to humans for some reason and seemed very fit and healthy. I thought of it as a fringe critter, something I admire. I've lived on the fringe of society for many years now, by choice too, just as with the cottontail. And I was looking forward to meeting this independent spirit frequently in my future walks.
A couple of days ago, I was doing my 20-Minute-Mile meditation--thinking while walking--which makes it hard for me to walk. I noticed that a neighbor didn't have his rotweiler chained up in his backyard and that the wooden box meant for a shelter was gone. I hoped the dog hadn't been abandoned along a road somewhere in order to get rid of it. Or, worse, that it hadn't been shot. Both are common ways people choose to rid themselves of the responsibility when they reach the end of their patience with their canines and felines. I was walking along pondering why people do such things to animals and how things might change were we allowed to do the same to such people when we lose patience with them when I noticed a patch of fur in the middl of the lane on the other side of the street ahead. A sense of dread took me. I knew when I saw it. It was the cottontail. It had been hit by a car in a 25-mile-an-hour zone.
I don't think one can run over a rabbit at that speed. I think it's completely impossible. I let out a cry of grief and went to remove it from the street. I hurt. A lot. I put its body on the grass on the verge and went on about my walk. I could have put the cottontail into a nearby garbage can, but I couldn't bring myself to betray its diginity so vulgarly. Instead, I put it where it could return to Mother Nature and continued walking and crying for the soul that had touched my life so briefly, but which had affected me so profoundly. I wept, truly, and was still weeping a couple of blocks later when I looked up at the sky. It was the most beautiful cirulean blue I can remember. From the southeast white, high, thin clouds were drifting in. From the northeast, three contrails as white as the clouds trisected the sky before me in almost perfect symmetry, the leading one disappearing into the clouds as though leading the eye into them. The scene was so beautiful that my painful weeping almost instantly became weeping in wonderment and joy at the beauty I'd been blessed with, been allowed to see. And there came to me almost instantly the realization of how priviliged I was.
I'd been shown death and creation in a matter of moments. I'd seen beauty in both, felt pain and joy in a matter of minutes. I'd truly been favored. And I am thankful.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Another Day
Walking and blogging are pretty much the same in the respect that you know you have to do each of them, but you don't really have the energy or desire to go out in all kinds of less-than-perfect weather to walk, and you all to often find that you have nothing of serious import to blog about. I don't like putting words down that don't have some intent to moving a reader in a direction that may be beneficial for growth. Because of that I haven't blogged for a few days. The think tank has all of these ideas floating around bumping up against one another in there and the weather hasn't been all that conducive to my 20-minute-mile walk either. So I missed a day here and there of walking just as I missed a few days of blogging. The body told me about my avoidance this morning when I finally did set out afoot and now the mind is complaining about having to come up with something original and, hopefully, interesting. Probably the only thing I might be consistent at is breathing, and even that gets interrupted by my apnea if I fall asleep without my CPAP mask on. So, I guess the real reason I haven't walked or blogged with regularity is that, if anything, I'm consistently inconsistent.
I like that idea. Consistently inconsistent. It's an oxymoron if I ever saw one. And, as with most oxymorons, it makes sense except when considering its individual parts. I'm only consistent in my being inconsistent. Now that makes me think.
I like to think. I think that I'm a thinker. Am I therefore a thinker? I can't say. I only know that I ideas of all kinds intrigue me. I remember as a kid imagining that I had a miniature walkie talkie, the military portable radio of the Second World War and the Korean conflict. My walkie talkie was a simple little razor-blade container that I'd poked a wire into as an antenna. I talked to other make-believe troops and I fought uncountable military actions around and through the neighborhood as well as in the back yard. I always dreamed of one day being able to carry one of them around with me, thinking how "neat" it would be to be able to talk with someone else via something so small and portable. That was in the early Fifties when transistors were just coming into use. Now, I carry a portable phone and rue the day that the invention hit the market. It gave too many people justification to be rude anywhere and everywhere they wish. It also seems to have usurped the importance of in-person conversations since anytime a cell phone sounds during a conversation, its owner will immediately cut off the in-person conversation to sit with the phone to his or her ear and carry on a long dialogue there. This is the time when I'm tempted to get up and leave.
However, it does make me think about how much our courtesy to one another suffers due to the development and acceptance of new technology. It also makes me think of how many have benefitted from it. I have heart disease brought on by my own ignorance and stupidity, not to mention sloth. I also have high blood pressure. I feel a bit more comforted carrying the cell phone with me. I think that if and when I suffer a heart attack, I just might be alone, but also might be able to call for help via the cell phone. Then I'll just have to hope that help arrives in time to keep me from having my time card punched "Out."
Well, I know that we all have to leave one day. And I guess this is as good a point to leave this blog as any. Thanks for reading it.
Walk in Love and Peace.
I like that idea. Consistently inconsistent. It's an oxymoron if I ever saw one. And, as with most oxymorons, it makes sense except when considering its individual parts. I'm only consistent in my being inconsistent. Now that makes me think.
I like to think. I think that I'm a thinker. Am I therefore a thinker? I can't say. I only know that I ideas of all kinds intrigue me. I remember as a kid imagining that I had a miniature walkie talkie, the military portable radio of the Second World War and the Korean conflict. My walkie talkie was a simple little razor-blade container that I'd poked a wire into as an antenna. I talked to other make-believe troops and I fought uncountable military actions around and through the neighborhood as well as in the back yard. I always dreamed of one day being able to carry one of them around with me, thinking how "neat" it would be to be able to talk with someone else via something so small and portable. That was in the early Fifties when transistors were just coming into use. Now, I carry a portable phone and rue the day that the invention hit the market. It gave too many people justification to be rude anywhere and everywhere they wish. It also seems to have usurped the importance of in-person conversations since anytime a cell phone sounds during a conversation, its owner will immediately cut off the in-person conversation to sit with the phone to his or her ear and carry on a long dialogue there. This is the time when I'm tempted to get up and leave.
However, it does make me think about how much our courtesy to one another suffers due to the development and acceptance of new technology. It also makes me think of how many have benefitted from it. I have heart disease brought on by my own ignorance and stupidity, not to mention sloth. I also have high blood pressure. I feel a bit more comforted carrying the cell phone with me. I think that if and when I suffer a heart attack, I just might be alone, but also might be able to call for help via the cell phone. Then I'll just have to hope that help arrives in time to keep me from having my time card punched "Out."
Well, I know that we all have to leave one day. And I guess this is as good a point to leave this blog as any. Thanks for reading it.
Walk in Love and Peace.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Why I'm Blogging Again
I've tried blogging a number of times, but haven't been able to continue it due to computers continually fouling up on me. I'm hoping that this time I'll be able to stay with it because I have a need to talk about things that I alone seem to understand. I may be that so few of understand what I'm perceiving that I just don't have contact with them, or you, as the case may be. The name for this blog came about while I was doing my daily walk which started recently. I'm walking eight tenths of a mile everyday. To be accurate, I try to everyday. Some days though.... But, while walking I realized one of the benefits of walking was being able to think quietly. And, since my time for walking a mile is approximately 25 minutes, I've set a goal of twenty minutes walking to complete it. If and when I achieve that goal, I'll shorten it a couple of minutes just to raise my metabolism to help me loose weight. I weighed 319 pounds 10 months ago and have weighed at least 300 pounds for the last two years. At 66, if I don't get my weight off, I may not be around much longer. I won't anyway, but I want to stay as long as I need to, and I feel that I have some things yet to accomplish. Today is January 1, 2009. Yesterday, the last day of 2008, I weighed 299 pounds--the first time I've weighed less than 300 in over two years. Ergo the walking and the blog. What a way to start a new year!
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