We Come in the Age's Most Uncertain Hour

We're on the threshold of what's often called the "Most American of American Holidays," Independence Day, and in that most American of ways we have of doing things that means we are even closer to a three-day weekend because when Crispus Attucks lay dying in the aftermath of the Boston Massacre, he took solace that someday there would be a holiday to use as an excuse to get a great deal on a new car or truck. Though perhaps not.

Before it gets really crazy busy with final planning and preparations for that holiday weekend, maybe each of us could look in the mirror and look around at the country we received from our parents and their parents and which we hope to give to our children and theirs. 

There’s been as much gained, I'd argue, as there has been lost through the tears and years. Some of what has changed has been better while some of it has only been different. The dilemma, at least for me, is in deciding which is which, and why.

By many accounts the heat was oppressive and tempers were hot in Philadelphia two hundred and forty-five years ago as that aggregation of malcontents and troublemakers (in the eyes of His Majesty, George III, King of England) gathered to refine, define and catalog their grievances and complaints as they took exception with the most powerful empire the world had ever seen.

Enumerating what they called our ‘unalienable rights’ to include ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’ the founders of our republic, who did not agree on very much except that the present state of affairs could not be allowed to continue, concluded the only way forward as a people was to break with the past and declare independence from King and Crown.
   
Out of all of that has come all of this.

And along the way, the original magic and meaning have sometimes been lost in backyard pool parties, car sales, and chicken and burgers on the barbecue. Our politics remains spirited even if our interest isn't and our understanding of the issues is often muddled. 

And it’s not that we all agree with who we are and what we are doing. Far too much of our shared history is not anywhere near complete in the telling of the whole story of us. Just the opposite. It’s been posited we as a nation haven’t been this divided morally, politically, and socially since the Civil War. And that observation and analysis should mean far more than it does.

Some say never have so many had so much of life’s material rewards but, others say never have so many struggled to hold on to what they have. With apologies to Charles Dickens, these are the best of times for some and the worst of times for too many. 

The outcome of last fall's elections (as is always the case though we forget that every time), we were told, would help define the direction and future of our nation. But eight months on, we remain as divided as ever and maybe more so because our issues and interests seem to be so divisive. Common ground is in frighteningly short supply and we're so busy yelling that no one has the time or inclination to listen.

What may be missing is our national sense of self and our confidence and belief in our own abilities to forever adapt and triumph. We demonstrated those traits at the Founding and I would hope we each in our own way, might again find them, both for those whose inheritance we are and for those whose promise is yet to be. 

Enjoy the fireworks and the barbecues but remember there's more to the holiday. 

Happy 4th of July.
-bill kenny

Picture Postcards from the Mild Kingdom

An acquaintance who knows my appetite for the bizarre, and tries to avoid ever being the object of it shared an item with me that thrilled me to the marrow. It combines my love of the arcane dateline with my commitment to the concept of the global playground.

Yes, if you're in Iowa and beset with crop circles, I'm not sure this helps you at all, but the Mel Blanc fan in me LOVES the idea that on the island of Tasmania there's something a bit weirder than the Devil (I've always been a bit disappointed that oh-so-many years ago when I saw a real Tasmanian Devil, it behaved nothing like Mel's and sounded more like Marvin the Martian).

I think in light of the number of poppies the little fellows probably eat before wandering around in circles, the farmers should be grateful the wee beasties (where's Robert Burn when we need him?) don't develop raging cases of the munchies and hit the local 7-11's for Ho-Ho's and sugar-coated donuts. Just cleaning up the discarded packaging alone would take two days a week. Or so I've been told, as I have no personal experience with the snacking while stoned phenomena at all.

Speaking of which, as true where you live as it is where I live: "Lasting change is a series of compromises. And compromise is all right, as long your values don't change."

But nearly as important, and certainly more germane today is:
"Watch me wallabies feed mate.
Watch me wallabies feed.
They're a dangerous breed mate.
So watch me wallabies feed."
G'day.
-bill kenny

Eventually a Crisis Becomes Routine

We had another nearly nice day yesterday around here. I'm treating June in Connecticut as if it were a chocolate-layer cake, always moist. Seems to be more or less a regional trend but I don't know what it's like where you are. I do know when John Donne rings the bell around here, I'm the only one in my corner. And right now, even though summer has officially started, I'm not working on my tan, that's mostly rust (sorry, Neil).

So, of course, we had some precipitation (if we were to NOT have mist and moisture, I'd fret that something was wrong with the clouds. Oldest children worry about everything and when stuff is going great, we worry that we overlooked something), though certainly not torrents of rain (at least around here), but just enough wet stuff so when you awaken in the morning you knew it was possible the spirit of Gene Kelly had stopped by.

And as I walked from Point A to Point 2 (I majored in neither math nor phonics at Rutgers nor orienteering (come to think of it) which must be why so many people tell me where to go) I passed an office building where the sprinklers were on, making sure the lawn was getting watered. I almost dropped my umbrella in surprise or would have had I had one. I imagine there's a schedule for this kind of stuff and a contract to regulate the relationship between the waterer and the wateree and yet, this is another one of those bridges that becomes a wall.

Instead of an agreement that helps get things done, we have a starting gun in a footrace to see which side can come with a faster reason for why something cannot be accomplished. Or, we have a variant of the Abilene Paradox in which no one party is willing to even attempt to change a relationship even though everyone says they want to change. Instead, they maneuver to have the other come up with reasons for why change is bad so they, themselves, are absolved of any responsibility to change.

Happens every day and more often than you'd imagine. Just watch the evening news and listen to what those who are our leaders say and then watch what they do. Pick an issue and watch the posturing. With both sides claiming to want the same thing on whatever the issue is, you might ask what could be easier to accomplish? Yeah, right. Hold that thought and while you're at it, how about you also hold on to the umbrella and I'll go get a yellow Macintosh and a rainhat to go with it. 

I already have the tartar sauce, so no pressure; but some nights for dinner we like a nice piece of cod, okay?

-bill kenny

One Side's Ice

I came across this the other day and it made me smile especially since I have reached an age where getting up rapidly causes me to have a balance problem and often creates a giddy lightheadedness akin to...well, from various substance inhalation practices from long ago in another life (let's leave it at that).

Parasol, I suspect, sold separately.  
-bill kenny

Making Yourself Up as You Go Along

My wife and I have season tickets to the Connecticut Sun of the WNBA. 

Last season was one we spent watching on television thanks to COVID-19 precautions but fans are back (more or less) in the stands for this campaign and we're happy to be a part of it all.

Yeah, we come for the basketball. And to cheer on people following their dreams. Like Layshia Clarendon, who used to play for the Connecticut Sun and sustained a season-ending injury a few seasons back and is now a member of the Minnesota Lynx.   

This is an amazing story not only during or for Pride Month.

Some people live to make a statement and other people's lives ARE the statement.
-bill kenny

Dude, My Car

I think it's safe to say no one loves automotive transportation more than the star-spangled daughters and sons of the Big Parking Lot between Canada and Mexico. We love cars almost as much as we love guns unless of course you allow us to keep guns IN our cars and then, boy howdy! are we in heaven. 

But and you must have noticed, so many cars on the road look like sisters or brothers or at the most distant, cousins; and it turns out that's not an accident but, rather, by design (pun intended). 

Functional utilitarianism over aesthetics and artifice? Maybe, or maybe a little more magical.
-bill kenny

Transitive Butt Property

I'm too old to fully appreciate the brilliance of the technology that makes our lives what they are today but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy how its magic triumphs over the mundane on a nearly daily basis. 

Our children grew up with all of this connectivity and as they matured, so, too, did the means of tying and joining us all together, though in more recent years (and maybe just me) we don't seem to be that all together. 

I fell across this online article that can only exist in Our Current Era and will look and feel very differently in less than a generation from now because that's how our world moves in terms of speed. 

And while sometimes it's at the speed of light; other times, it's at the speed of smell.
-bill kenny