Oft Sighted though Seldom Truly Seen

Today is a special day though not in a boisterous and exuberant kind of way. 

By that I mean when you live your life as I do like every day could be your last, they're all special but that's not what I mean either. 

I'll stop being coy. 

Today is Flag Day. though you'd probably not know it from visiting a Hallmark Store.

We think "flag" on the Fourth of July and mentally if not physically pack it away by noon on the fifth. In the aftermath of 09/11/01, people had them everywhere to the point, I fear, that the flag had no point for many. 

And for far too often in recent years, we've had scoundrels of all political and ideological stripes wrap themselves in the flag, physically as well as metaphorically, while insisting 'love me, love my dog' as if their display of patriotism could somehow overcome the venality (if not actual criminality) of their behavior. 

Some of us salute the flag; others stand when the National Anthem is played or the colors are presented while still others take a knee to remind us of how far we are still from the ideals that we want to believe our flag represents for our nation.

Our men and women in uniform do not defend the flag-they defend the nation the flag represents, warts and all (and have you looked at us in the mirror lately? We are some pretty scary people my friend). 

The flag stands for us and sometimes, I'm chagrined to say, we'll fall for anything.

"You can stand alone 

Or with somebody else 

Or stand with all of us, together.

"If you can believe
In something bigger than yourself
You can follow the flag forever."
-bill kenny

Losing Track While Swapping Out Clips

Life continues to come at me, and all of us for that matter, at the rate of about three hundred WTFs a second, and there's almost nothing we can do if we blink and miss something like I very nearly did again. 

Yesterday, five years ago the Pulse Nightclub shooting/murders happened. (I know: five years ago? Seriously?) Earlier last week, though I'm sure that was just coincidental (where's the big wink emoticon when I need it?), the Governor of Florida with whom I'll probably never be invited to go shoe-shopping, honored the memories of those murdered and those who survived in a typical Ron DeSantis manner.  

All I can offer are words that appeared here four years ago and wonder how many more times a nation that chooses to do nothing about gun violence will shake its head sadly and wonder why there's no way to stop the gun violence. Expect that whole 'thoughts and prayers' schtick would play really well in Austin, Texas, this morning. I called it then: 

Collateral Damage in the Age of Style

There's been so much killing and carnage since it happened I'd almost forgotten. It was one year ago that an impotent, life-long loser murdered forty-nine people in the Pulse Club in Orlando, Florida.

Terror in Orlando

Murder in the Name of the Lord has become practically a daily occurrence and was so even before Pulse but no matter how often it happens, and how great the death and damage, it never, ever starts to feel "normal" or a part of any kind of 'just another day at the End of the World.'

As a card-carrying First Worlder (you didn't get a card? Buddy, you got gypped! We get bargains all over the place and discount everything we see and hear), without ever knowing it or knowing of it, I helped create the world order that has tens of millions, if not more likely hundreds of millions, living in squalor and penury so profound and institutionalized they will never escape it. The world, as they know it, has conspired to leave them with nothing.

The institutions I have created and support have, in turn, constructed protections and insulation for me so that I have as much, or as little (preferably) interaction with or even knowledge of their existence. It's not that I'm not indifferent to their struggle and plight; I am oblivious to it. And they have no personal contact of any kind of me and mine. We are on parallel but separate planets.

Except, of course, we share this one. And because we are our own closed system, one with the other, we guarantee that this dance of death and doom will go on until no one is left standing. When you have nothing to live for it makes death as deliverance attractive. And with nothing to live for, it's easier to find something to die for which is only partial solace unless and until you can make someone else die for it, too.

I'm never sure if God created man in His image and likeness (some things you must take or leave on faith alone), but I'm very sure we created God in ours, leaving me to wonder who will forgive us.
-bill kenny   

Can't Hold a Candle to Gwneyth

To a certain extent, rich and famous people often remind me of panda bears. Everyone loves going to the zoo to look at them even though while you're looking at them they don't seem to be doing anything (because they aren't) aside from munching on bamboo. 

Not that long ago, Gwenyth Paltrow (she of  'consciously uncoupling with Chris Martin' fame) made a media splash for marketing, via her Goop website, a candle that she claimed smelled like her vagina.  I almost hurt myself  NOT having an opinion on any of that because it's really none of my, or (and my point, I think) anyone else's business. 

I am relentless in advocating for freedom but, where I draw the line perhaps, your need to tell me can, will, nor, not ever, exceed my need to NOT know if that's what I choose. That we have so many people famous for being famous is okay as long as we understand celebrities make headlines while heroes and heroines make a difference. 

You can probably guess how I reacted to this 'news item and, no, I haven't checked with Gwenyth about bamboo-scented candles or how to go about steaming them. Check with Will Smith.
-bill kenny

What If ...

Every organized religion, and a couple of the less organized ones, have sacred writings, scriptures if you will. No matter the region, or the religion, it's part of our human genome, the need to be a part of something bigger. 

Be it the Koran, the Old Testament, the New Testament, or the latest roman a clef by Danielle Steel, there's a narrative-a place to go look for details. When you argue a matter of theology and someone says, 'you can look it up!' the texts are what they're referring to.

There's the blood of the Lamb, the descent of the dove, the tongues of fire, the burning bush, and an almost unending number of symbols and signs that The Lord (however you perceive S/He to be) uses to get our attention and pass along the Word.

What if we're the first generation of people on this planet who had a Deity? I don't pretend to know what all of those before us had, I'm just saying we're the first and Our God uses the tools we have today in much the way as in the days of old we've read about. 

Here's how someone the other day speculated God communicate the Ten Commandments if S/He had to use text.

Perhaps:
1. no1 b4 me. srsly.
2. dnt wrshp pix/idols
3. no omg's
4. no wrk on w/end (sat 4 now; sun l8r)
5. pos ok - ur m&d r cool
6. dnt kill ppl
7. :-X only w/ m8
8. dnt steal
9. dnt lie re: bf
10. dnt ogle ur bf's m8. or ox. or dnkey. myob.

M, pls rite on tabs & giv 2 ppl. ttyl, JHWH. ps. wwjd?

What would you ask if you had just one question?

-bill kenny

The Older I Get, the Better I Was

This is from a very long time ago; I think I still had a full head of hair and far more optimism about who we are and where we're heading than I have now. Back then I called it:

Rocky and Bullwinkle Offer a Teachable Moment

This year the garden my daughter and I have planted in our yard is different from our gardens of the past decade and longer. The selection of vegetables has been restricted in terms of variety and volume (we had so many tomatoes last year it was ironic that it wasn't a local election season if you follow my drift), so this time are planted far fewer types of tomato plants and lettuce. Perhaps the biggest change in the garden she and I have planted this year is that I have planted none of it.

I came home from work one day last week and she and her mother had traveled to "CT's Home Improvement Warehouse", the one with the orange signs (as in 'orange you sorry you didn't choose a different color?') and rented the small roto-tiller, the Mantis, chewed up a patch of the backyard, worked in the compost to prepare the plot and planted the crops.

Since, among my talents, is the inability to understand when to water young plants, I don't even do that part of the garden. I open the back door, walk down the stairs, stand on the concrete landing and admire the fruits of not-my-labor. I never grow tired of this. Between us, had I realized how much fun gardening this way was, I'd have taken it up years ago. Assuming my daughter would have allowed me.

Michelle is very much her mother's daughter in terms of attention to detail (the map she drew of the garden with the layout and distribution of plants is color-coded and seems to also be to scale). In years past, I would draw schematics on white pieces of paper in ink with my recollections of what I thought we had planted and where. Usually in equal parts less than accurate. 

Two, or maybe three, years ago we waited for most of the season for the rhubarb that I thought I had planted to breakthrough. Turns out it may have been elsewhere in the patch but had been mooted when I'd clipped it with the mower.

The garden is in and doing well, or as well as anyone who has only been around for forty-eight hours can be doing, except as I learned yesterday morning, our neighborhood posse of squirrels, the same animals who show up, magically, when they sense Michelle might be home from college on weekends and holidays, and beg, literally, for peanuts, played the 'let's dig up the corn plants' card yesterday with deleterious effect.

Michelle was outraged at their betrayal. To their credit, they were thorough, though I knew better than to offer that observation aloud. The squirrels ate every shoot of every plant, digging them out of the garden so as to enjoy every mouthful. I find it interesting that since pulling this stunt, we haven't seen the little ba$tards. 

They're usually all over the back landing with the first rays of the sun, banging into the blue recycling bins (searching perhaps for something to eat) making enough noise to attract attention, to be followed, they hope, by fistfuls of peanuts being flung in their direction.

This morning and all of today, not so much or so many. My daughter is angry and I think the squirrels know it, and no matter what Animal Planet has taught me, I think they might even know why. In a way, as I've watched her rearrange our garden, and look to replace the corn plants and then safeguard the replacements, I've come to see our little backyard setback as symbolic of Norwich.

We have a plan of development here in the Rose of New England, a relatively stable infrastructure, a good handle on our municipal expenses, and realistic if not fully articulated goals for small-scale economic development. 

We know to realize our plans and benefit ourselves and our children, we must be prepared to accept a certain amount of sacrifice in the now for rewards to be reaped in the future. But delayed gratification is so hard and for so many, it's too hard. 

Yes, we know if we eat our seed corn there will nothing to plant or to harvest. But we're hungry now and someone, somewhere could show up with corn enough for all at harvest time, and then our sacrifice and self-control will have been unnecessary. 

At least that's what we tell ourselves and our squirrels. That, and that they can fly.
-bill kenny

Start Where You Are

Today is the day of days for the Class of 2021 for my across the Chelsea Parade neighbors at Norwich Free Academy with their graduation exercises later this afternoon at Dodd Stadium (fingers crossed for your weather). Congratulations!

As has become traditional on graduation day, I have again NOT been invited or encouraged to deliver any remarks as part of the day's celebrations, but despite popular demand and my spouse's impassioned pleas, I have prepared some anyway, suggesting spite can be a powerful motivator  

Much of what follows may sound familiar; that's probably as much your doing, as it is mine (the difference being that I'm not taking any responsibility (why would I start now?)). If it helps, there will NOT be a test on any of this. You've already been through enough just getting to here. 

The world we are entrusting to you has a few more miles on it than the one we inherited and some of its dents and dings are older than either of us but are now about to become your challenge. I'd say 'good luck,' but you'll need a damn sight more than that, and I hope everyone you've met and everything you've done and experienced, good and bad, up until this moment has provided you with a good start on possessing the tools you'll need to succeed because the alternative is unthinkable.

Don't be overwhelmed by what's ahead or daunted at whatever tasks you'll have before you. As new as all of it is, and will be for you so, too, was it for us, and for those before us. Admittedly, I and my fellow graduates of the Class of 1970 and all the others before and since then have made what must feel like a right hash of just about everything but look on the bright side. If you want to fix the world, you are entering a target-rich environment. 

I, along with everyone else have wished you 'good luck,' but between us, you'll need all of that luck plus agility and mobility not to mention stamina, courage, and insatiable curiosity. 

I and my cohorts when we were you spent a lot of time thinking high school graduation meant we were now entering the real world. Let me save you some steps: you've been in the real world since the day you were born. How much your family and circumstances shielded or prepared you for what's to come is another matter. And as far as preparation goes, if you haven't already figured it out, most of us are making up as we go along. 

I doubt any of you back when you were freshmen could have possibly imagined the world you would live through by the time graduation day arrived so you've learned experience can often be what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. 

Things will start to get faster now as the ride of your life picks up speed. Be what you want to be and take all the time you need to figure that out. I'd remind you of the NFA motto, "Providing Opportunities and Preparing Lives,"  because it's a terrific statement of purpose not just for those Wildcats setting forth this afternoon on their journey but for all those graduating anywhere and everywhere.  

As Neil Gaiman once said (at a graduation he wasn't speaking at either), "Now go and make interesting mistakes; make amazing mistakes; make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules, and leave the world more interesting for you being here." 
-bill kenny

Meanwhile

My recently-acquired new to me computer decided to remind me yesterday about which of us is dominant in our relationship.

And now I am somewhat nostalgic for the computer I couldn't wait to be rid of.

-bill kenny