By: EarlB, 4:41 PM GMT on April 28, 2011
I, happily, am getting older, and by now I guess that I'm also
on schedule to get cynical too, having "seen it all" (okay, I don't
believe that last part either, but the cynical part is certainly
manifesting itself in my thinking for whatever reason).
My latter day awakening to cynicism stems from my reflecting on
dreams many of us had 50 years ago when we were in our teens
and when cynicism and skepticism were only subjects-to-be in an
introductory philosophy course during our college years. Fifty
years ago some of us dreamt of fashioning a better world in accord
with a love of our "Mother Earth".
On television a Public Service Announcement featured Iron Eyes Cody
grieving for the lack of respect for his Mother, shedding at the time
what was the most famous teardrop on television.
Organizations came into being with the sole purpose of "rescuing"
dying fragments of the environment, vowing to "with your help"
resuscitate "dead zones" worldwide.
So, here we are fifty years later, and have our dreams been
fulfilled our concerns erased? Have our donated millions and the
associated governments' vows of cooperation saved the Chesapeake
Bay for instance? Forces bigger than dreams, forces that see profit
as their dream, saw the environment as a vehicle rather than a Mother.
Fifty years and still nothing but the persistent need for more
money to achieve a goal that long ago ceased being a dream.
We still see our Mother as a receptacle for our dross, we should
all be crying with Iron Eyes.
By: EarlB, 1:05 AM GMT on April 04, 2011
I've just returned from a visit to my hometown, where your grandparents
lived, where they raised your Mom and me. It has only been a few months,
maybe five, six at most, since I was last there. But, for whatever reason,
it seemed like I was visiting a new town, or one that I hadn't seen for
20 years. I saw so many changes during this visit, changes that I know
didn't happen in six months. the avalanche of slow change must have finally
overtaken me, because yesterday it seemed like I became aware of the 20
years of change all at one time.
Your grandparent's store is now a restaurant, tobacco warehouses are now
breweries, other once utilitarian structures now cater to tourist scavengers
looking for the new art in old tools and everyday goods.
The funny thing is that I remember the old tools, and the original uses
of the buildings (which were well-established, hundred-year-old vital
organs of commerce when I was your age) but yesterday I realized that the
building with the built-in "Tandy Hardware" name an integral part of the
facade will soon only be known as a place to buy an expensive hamburger
and a beer with a quaint name. Soon, there will be no one to remember the
central woodstove with the farmers talking about crop prices while warming
their hands after the long ride to town for supplies. No one will know
about the two children that ran those aisles, comfortable in their playhouse
that smelled of creosote, tarred hemp rope and cigar smoke.
In only a few short years, no one will "know", few will have heard, fewer
will believe. And the stories, the times and all of us who have lived them
will be dead. We record only the bricks of history, the mortar, the everyday
living we all do is usually ignored. All I ask is that you remember us all,
through your memory, so much more will retain life.
Missing you dearly,
Updated: 10:30 AM GMT on April 23, 2011