Welder-Philosopher Kings...

Dear Maria,

Oh, so very quickly the Thanksgiving blowout now come and gone. Just 30 at our tables—end to end to end—three “Greats” in their 80s and two yet to have a single candle on their birthday cakes. Good fun, good food, good people. Might not be in the right order, but you can gather it was a success.

Weather has taken a turn for the warmer, and so blooms continue and birds seem chipper. While making the morning rounds with Max the other day, I watched a bluebird, a blue jay, and a cardinal zip into a hedge of overgrown holly. Tis the season.

Apparently there was some kerfuffle over welders and philosophers among men who would be king—or at least chief executive. My thinking is that I would be all for more welders as needed by the economy.  Maybe an expansion in infrastructure spending?

But, saying yes to more welders doesn’t change labor force needs or labor force interest—we seem never to talk about that edge of the coin. The what-if-no-one-wants-to-be-whatever-it-is-we-need-more-of conundrum.

Wait, is this a supply and demand wage-issue? More welders, cheaper labor?

As for philosophy—who isn’t a philosopher, even if a lot of folks would be struck dumb by the notion. And old—well, young--Senator Rubio seems tangled up in a philosophical web of his own weaving. The Miami Herald quotes him offering up Pope Francis as “a moral authority . . . reminding us of our obligation to be good caretakers to the planet.” Rubio further observes, “I'm a political leader. And my job as a policymaker is to act in the common good. And I do believe it's in the common good to protect our environment, but I also believe it's in the common good to protect our economy."

I would say: Well, Senator, you welded moral authority, environmental ethics, and political responsibility into a very heady fusion of philosophical concerns. Two common goods? Uh-oh, that can’t end well.

At least the “P” word was out in the open for a bit of the news cycle. I always thought that we give short shrift to the larger picture for our students as we release them out the door without trying give what the heck they have been doing some kind of broader consideration. Putting a little Decartes before the diploma wouldn’t hurt.

By the way—not to sound flippant—this letter may be the last for a good while. Some other projects are on my mind, but to offer up a “never again” seems a foolish thought.

Have the very best of a holiday season. Enjoy the family, and be well.

Yours, still, of course, 

srk

Swords or Sheaves?

Dear Maria,

Enjoyed your quip about finding my coat, but not worrying about Max’s, as cooler weather—cold even—descends. So, yes, I will jacket up during the near-freezing mornings in the offing.

Here’s a moment for you: The other day, I pulled into the driveway and up to my usual spot nearly to the garage, and when I looked up after closing the truck door, there perched a hawk on the very corner of the roof and perhaps six feet away, a crow.

The hawk gave me “the eye” and then flew off over the neighbor’s roof and into a stand of pines about 100’ away. The crow gave me “the eye” and just hopped about on the roof. Predator disinterested, but scavenger still lurking? I’ll need to review the symbolism for those birds before hazarding a guess on my fate.

Of course, I am not immune to the uproar—at least in the media, and social media, as well—over the Paris attacks, the refugees, and the ongoing war in the Middle East. No Pax Humana to be had apparently.

As always, I need to process events piece by piece. I think about a neighbor brandishing a sword as he comes into my yard while I bundle sheaves. His demand is that I renounce my way of life and submit to his viewpoint. And surrender my land and my holdings over to him. Now I can hold my hands up and submit or I can suggest peaceful coexistence, and he can either change his mind or cut me down. Or I can flee nearly empty-handed and hope to outdistance him. Or—and here we go—I can take up the sword and it’s to the death.

Too simplistic, true enough, but what trips me up is when he asserts either my assent or my death. His chosen tool, violence. The message, submit or die. Well, another end is in play—his. So to be acted out again, the cycle in all its historical ignominy returns: forced submission at the end of a sword, gun, or IED, but forces amass and via a countering violence, the ash heap of failed authoritarian empires grows.

And so goes another hapless, mindless, violent horror. More to come, I’m afraid.

Thankfully, it is almost that time when the day dims and the flowers seem to float above the garden’s darkening mass of leaves. Then the roses fade into the shadows, and just the lantana’s yellow flowers are visible. Moments like this—well, nothing more to say about much of anything.

The holidays are soon on us, and I know your family will be gathering as will mine. Enjoy—no, savor each and every minute.

And, maybe in our lifetime, peace on earth. Peace on earth. Peace on earth.

With much love, srk

Over the Line?

Dear Maria,

Had every intention of writing as we were on the cusp of November, but now we are post-cusp. Two months left for this calendar year? The notion that it will be 2016, I find impossible. I suppose, should I be around to see it so, 2020 will leave me afloat in a pool of incredulity. Should, that is, the incredulous be a liquid state of mind.

Thanks for asking about the smaller birds that are typically about but have been lately absent. Early in the week, a warbler made a brief landing before a sparrow chased it away. Then three house finches mugged the sparrow, which sent him over to a limb not far from the birdhouse. Yep, the bluebirds have set up housekeeping again, and of the course the male came soaring out to send the sparrow even deeper into the local wilderness. Territorial imperative or something. I think the topic has been in the news some.

In the news—if or when the Pacific coast should just crumble into the ocean and the economies of those states be utterly devastated, I wonder about the refugees streaming eastward into Arizona and Nevada and Idaho, maybe by the millions. Then, FEMA and the Red Cross and Doctors without Borders et al and at what point can they vote in an election and—well, unprecedented. There won’t be jobs for most of them. Of that reality, I am sure. Well, maybe, with reconstruction work.

Would we extend state borders westward to the new primary dune line and go with 47?

I also imagine—sorry—someone smoking pot at the Four Corners spot, standing in Colorado and leaning out over Utah or Arizona or New Mexico’s air space. Did you know Maricopa County is the 4^th largest in the US population-wise? Legalized pot, then not, and then Arizona and then Maricopa and then Sheriff Arpaio. Dots, to be connected.

You know, there is nothing like an adult cardinal showing up at the feeder and bullying all the other birds away from the food. As soon as he flies off—they’re back. What voice did you just hear?

Oh, yes, I can still be somber and serious and solemn, too. A couple of friends have said to me privately that I am funnier face to face than on Facebook. About that, IDK. Seems the venue sparks little bantering, or I am not well-equipped for verbal ping pong. Besides, who has time for that sort of thing with texting and downloading and uploading and tweeting? 

Okay, I do.

Be that as it may, earlier sunrises, earlier sunsets, and November, indeed. Should lunch be in the offing when next you are around, I will have at least 5 minutes of new material.

Until then, be well. srk