It Needs a Frame

Traveling friends and children have bestowed upon me several fascinating pieces of art from various exotic places.

My son, a professional photographer, gave me a large, matted photograph he took of the Pacific Ocean at sunset from the vantage point of a large sailboat floating somewhere in between Hawaii and Seattle, a vessel on which he crewed. Right smack dab in the middle of the sea. It's the kind of photo you sort of get lost in. It's both haunting and soothing. I love it! But it needs to be framed.

A little Italian man paints Italian scenes on paper and sells them in front of the Coliseum in Rome. A friend bought one of the Coliseum lit up at night and gave it to my family as a souvenir. Bright primary colors draw me in and make me smile. I can almost feel Italy's warmth and laid-back energy. This painting needs a frame to protect it.

A long-time dear friend hunted through the stores of Florence, Italy, for a gift for me. Finally, she came upon a below-ground-level, cave-like shop full of souvenir-type items. In this dark, musty, cluttered little hide-away she found a selection of prints. My generous and kind friend purchased a lovely print for me, a sketched and subtly-colored scene of Old Florence. Gazing at this artwork stirs my imagination. It needs a frame to bring out its glory.

While shuffling through the Andy Warhol exhibit at the Portland Art Museum this spring, I accidentally took an amazingly surreal photo of my husband and son as they studied some of Warhol's artwork. I have no idea what I did, but the effect in my photo thrills me! Weird stripes of light and color envelope the two figures while a sort of mist swirls around them. An enlargement sits right here on my desk. It needs a frame.

A daughter visited Claude Monet's home in Giverny, France, last autumn. Knowing he is my favorite painter of all time, she bought a large print of Poppy Field, painted in 1873. I adore this gift especially knowing it came from inside Monet's famous home, carried with pleasure through his enchanting gardens by my beloved daughter. It needs a glittering gold frame.

Always keeping an eye on expenses, I have been negligent in protecting my artwork. No more! I bit the bullet and forked out the dough to purchase perfect frames for each piece. They are to arrive next week.

Noble is the task of keeping art alive. Glorious is the participation in recording and preserving one's times and experiences, however humble the endeavor.

Soul-stirring artwork displayed in average homes inspires the curiosity of ordinary people, sets imagination a-flight, replaces fustiness with aspiration. Creating a moment of newness, of otherness, of far-away dreams stumbled upon, an expression simply hanging on a wall can draw our hearts into unknown delight, speaking to us of things not yet encountered but somehow yearned for. This is the stuff of personal growth, of stretched horizons, of ordinary becoming extraordinary.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of displayed art in my home is the remembrance of the occasion when the art was received, and of the love for those who gave it to me.

Possessing It All

I know four families who are moving this summer. Three are downsizing. Sorting ensues upon mountains of collected this-and-that.

Surprisingly, these families report astonishment at the number of items they possess that they forgot they owned, and haven't seen in decades. This mass of belongings has to be dealt with as there is no room for it in the new lodgings.

Sales abound. Give-aways to friends and families. Stress, labor, and money go into finding ways to dispose of material possessions, most of which probably should never have been procured in the first place. The money wasted in buying and then discarding the goods, whether sold for a fraction of the cost or given away, floors me.

Let me be clear, I understand acquiring useful things. Art, tools, furniture, clothing, and other things that have a place in day-to-day living. Even souvenirs. No, I'm referring, in this post, to things which cause a near obsessive urge to obtain but which quickly lose their sparkle, only to be relegated to deep, dark spaces for storage. Not sold or given away, kept. Possessed.

As one who is not into possessing things for the sake of possessing them, and as one who prefers clutter-free living, I am a bit mystified and amused by the degree of overwhelm these families face.

"We have so much stuff we haven't used in years!"

"Why are they stupefied?" I ask myself. Don't they see this stuff kicking around their home? Where is it kept that they aren't aware of it? Do they really have a black hole somewhere where useless-to-them items are stored out of sight?

My mindset differs dramatically. Because I have a pack-rat husband and four children, I regularly clean out and tidy closets, the storage shed, my attic, drawers, and cabinets. Before I buy anything I ask myself where will I store it? If I can't find a good answer, I rethink the purchase. I don't understand the possess-and-store mindset at all. Is it compulsive shopping? Is it keeping up with the Joneses? Is it a desperate need to be trendy, fashionable, ahead-of-the-crowd? Is it an insecure show of wealth or power? Is it a deep-seated fear that someday the obscure item may be needed so you'd better keep it or you'll be in big trouble, as if you couldn't go buy one if that day ever came? Or, is it perhaps, the sheer joy in acquiring a shiny new object? The hormonal rush?

What is the psychology behind the need to posses things? There seems to be some sort of gratification in acquiring and holding onto certain items. Does it make people feel superior? "I have [fill in the blank] taking up space and gathering dust in my [fill in the blank] and you don't. Ha!"

It isn't uncommon for family members to aggressively battle over estates of the recently deceased. These disagreeable tussles make me think there must be a perceived power in grabbing things from others' hands, and then, just having them forevermore. But how is that power? Unless the item is somehow useful and needed, what is the gain in storing it? In having it? People hoodwink others out of clothing, vehicles, trinkets, heirlooms, tools, furniture, sports equipment, photo albums, and other memorabilia. They store these things. These things collect dust, take up space. One day, they will have to be jettisoned as excess baggage.

Where is the sense, the logic in possessing unneeded, unused, unimportant things?

I stroke my chin in wonder.

In case you are wondering about the fourth family, yes, they are upsizing.  A larger house awaits them, its spaces filling up with.....stuff.

Hush, You Lying Voices

I'm off track. Backtracking a bit to find the place and time I stepped away.

So many voices screaming at me to ACHIEVE, to be SUCCESSFUL, to WORK HARD, to DO DO DO. Those voices give me anxiety. Big time.

I find myself confused between what I know and what is screamed at me.

Today, I am remembering the quiet, wise voices which whisper to me of humility, kindness, calmness, self-evaluation, compassion, relationship, struggling and striving to know what is True. I am aware of the eyes of my heart which beckon me to BE BE BE.

My purpose as a follower of Jesus is not to achieve greatness in the eyes of this world, but to pursue goodness for this and the next world. Goodness comes from God. Its pursuit takes a lifetime and is only fully realized in the Age to Come. No trophies in this realm. No accolades.

Looking back, I think I see where I strayed. Yes. There is the place where I lost my focus, where I turned and followed the lie.

And now, to walk aright, as best I can.

I live for God, not for the screamers.

It is well with my soul.

Ben and Anna

Twice this week the idea of a particular habit of successful people has been put before me. My mind has been ruminating on it ever since.

The habit? Going to bed early and rising early.

In an old book I ran across Benjamin Franklin's famous adage, "Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." I've heard Ben's 18th century adage so often that it's lost some of its punch, I'm afraid.

Along comes Anna Wintour, Editor-in-Chief of Vogue magazine, speaking in a documentary, stating that she goes to bed around 10:15 each evening and arises at 5:45 in the morning. Religiously. She believes this habit contributes to her success.

There is definitely something to this early/early bedtime regimen.

I'm going to try this routine for awhile and see what happens. More structure would be good. Better sleep. I read somewhere that the hours before midnight are when a body receives the most from its sleep, more healing, more rest. That would be great!

I'd also like to peacefully accomplish more in a day. When I arise after the rest of the world, I feel like I'm behind. All day. The day begins not in calm reflection and the freedom to control my time, not in caring for myself through a good breakfast and a bit of stretching, and not in the leisure to enjoy the garden and breathe the fresh air. Rather than allowing the morning to tickle me awake, I am at the mercy of whatever and whomever needs me right then and right there. Instant fast track in pajamas! I hate it.

On the days when I do arise earlier, I am stunned at how much I get done before lunch. Refreshed, energized, and in control, I feel like I am more useful to myself and others, less grumpy, too. When I retire to bed after an early morning day, the accomplishments rock me to sleep with a smile on my face.

Right now my computer clock reads 10:20 at night. Rather than stay up until the wee hours of the morning as I've been doing, I shall have a quick shower and settle into bed. Lights out by 10:45.

Sounds heavenly!

Empty Nest Perk

There are perks to kids leaving home for nests of their own.

One I reveled in today? Deleting all the movies the kids put on various streaming queues.

Oh, the smug smirk on my face as I deleted things my husband and I will never watch.

There's something magical in having a list of your own, after having to share with various aged kids.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my child-rearing years.

But I'm tired.

I'm tired of sharing my toys.

To have a refuge of my own again, with complete control of the toys and such, after nearly 40 years, well, it's like reuniting with an old friend.

Today, with the last sweet birdie on the cusp of flying away, in a quiet moment here at home, all alone, it felt good to have a little of that control back, to do some tiny reuniting.

A whole new world.

(It's gonna be bad when all the kids are gone, isn't it. This is just me, trying to make an upcoming tidal wave of emotion into a little splish splash kiddie pool. I know it. But let me pretend just a little longer that that lump that's trying to form in my throat is just, oh, I don't know, allergies?)

Stirrings - Both Literally and Figuratively

I baked a cake today.

I cannot even remember the last time I baked a cake.

With two daughters at home, the cake baking seemed to do itself.

Mostly it was brownies, though.

I like cake better.

So, today, I baked one.

Why is this momentous? Because it marks a returning of me to me, that's why.

My husband and I have had 10 months of childless marriage in 37 years. You no doubt deduced that our firstborn came along right at the start. So, look at it this way, my husband and I have had one month of childless marriage in 37 years. The rest of the time I was either expecting a precious bundle - and all four were so very very precious to us, still are - or I was an active parent.

No complaints from me. None. At all. My kids make me so happy. Most of the time. Hey, I'm just being honest here.

As usual, I digress.

I baked a cake. But the important thing is that I felt like baking a cake. Normally such an endeavor would be required; birthday, anniversary, special occasion of some sort. But today, the kitchen called to me just as it did when I was a single girl living on my own.

I have to tell you, this feels really great, if unexpected.

My youngest child is getting married this fall. She's the last birdie in the nest. Her sister was married only one month ago. It's all rather sudden, this second wedding, even though I could see it coming. Daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law are very much in love and perfectly suited. They need to be together, walking through life as husband and wife.

Everything is as it should be. And, happily, I'm fine with it. I've been told that the empty nest is a killer. I do not think it will be for me. My little growing family gets along really well, and we keep in close touch. So, there shouldn't be any drastic missings on my part. Plus, my husband and I are 60 now. Our kids came spaced apart by 14 years between the oldest and the youngest. We are ready to lighten our load. It feels awesome!

My kitchen feels like it's mine again. Mine as in Cherie's, as opposed to Mom's or Wife's or Daughter's.

I like this!

Creativity stirs in me. I feel like I'm gingerly stepping out from the shadows, squinting at the sun, testing the stability of the earth beneath my cautious feet. I've done a good job as parent and daughter, and will continue to do a good job as a wife. I'm looking forward to being able to focus all my daily energy on my husband and myself. He's been awfully patient sharing the spotlight with the kids all these years. Oh, who am I kidding. Tom was even further back in the shadows than was I, faithfully supporting us, going without, hanging in there right along with me. Yes, we are both coming out from the shadows.

Tom and I have decided upon a new motto for our life in the sunshine: Put our health first. Yes, I know, it's not really new, but it is to us. We've been very sacrificial parents, and it's paid off. The kids are awesome. Our life is lined up for a happy future, Lord willing and the creek don't rise. But now, we know if we don't take care of our health, what good is free time?

I shall use this blog as my place to chronicle the returning of me to me. While the future is not at all certain, I am eager to take the first few steps.

Like baking a cake.

Unexpected Freedom

Freedom comes my way. A certain freedom I've never known in all my life.

This may sound really horrible, but since both my parents have passed away quietly in their old age - and I do miss them because I loved them with all my heart - a new freedom smoothes over me like cool water sliding along a sticky body diving into a delicious lake on a hot summer's day. It feels really good, this freedom.

Before you conclude that I'm an uncaring daughter, let me explain that the family home of my childhood was a very competitive place, a dangerous place for a highly sensitive person such as I, a happiness destroying, identity crushing environment due to sibling jealousy, manipulation, and dysfunction. It formed in me traits I have hated - and successfully battled - all my life.

On the day we buried my dad, my spirit knew before my mind did, that the weight of hierarchy and competition had given way to immense freedom.

My parents are safe with Jesus now, and I am free. While I miss my parents, I am free from the sibling dysfunction that robbed me of happiness and serenity for six decades. No longer is it big sister/little sister, big brother/little sister, or big sister/little brother battling for parental favoritism (for that is what it looked like to me). Nope. Now we are equals. There is no one to tattle to. There is no mountain to be king of. There are no parents to seek favor from. We are four people, with a shared childhood, some shared adult moments, and the rest of our lives to make our own choices.

I've always known how much Mom and Dad loved me. They told me so. As the last child to leave the nest I had a few extra years with Mom and Dad while they were relaxed and invigorated in their early retirement years. We had a blast! We became very close and more friends than parents and child. Each of my parents shared things with me in confidence about their lives before they'd met each other, things I have only told my husband and kids in strictest confidence. Special moments, for sure.

Mom and Dad repeatedly let me know they respected me, respected my decisions, loved my choice of a husband, were crazy about my kids. They were proud of the financial choices my husband and I made. They were pleased with our lifestyle and bragged about us to their friends and family. I always loved how candid I could be with my parents, how they would open up to me in ways they didn't with anyone else. The last time I saw my dad he told me he enjoys visits from my little family because, "you enliven me." And that we did. And that we had been doing for decades. The last time I saw each of my parents their parting words were that they loved me. "I love you, kiddo," Mom said with a lovely smile and a kiss.

And now that love is free to flow all through me, unpolluted, unquestioned. It cannot be twisted or stolen. It is safe. Just as it's always been. I don't have to defend it against intruders ever again.

The truth soothes. Memories embrace.

It would have been nice to have lived in a kinder home as a child, but I didn't. The consolation is that now I get to live in the balm of freedom that was denied to me then. God is kind that way. Even as He took my parents away, He gave relief from a burden.

Mom told me to just consider the source and be patient when I bemoaned the sibling dysfunction, even as a young adult. "In time, Cherie, in time," she'd say.

Dad told me the entire story hasn't been written yet, to wait and things would get better. "Trust the Lord and wait."

This was their advice to me, their highly sensitive child, who had a hard time in that competitive environment, because I didn't like the way I acted there. I didn't like my behavior when the others competed with me.

Thanks for consoling me all those times, Mom and Dad. You were right. It just took time. I'm glad it took as long as it did. I wouldn't have wanted to miss all the wonderful years with you. You had to go. But you left freedom behind for me. I appreciate it.

See you soon!

An Uncommon Life

Donald Conway Blankenbaker, 89, passed away peacefully in his sleep due to age-related causes on December 17, 2016, in Rogue River, Oregon. He was born July 7, 1927 in Gentry, Arkansas to Arthur and Lennie Blankenbaker.

Don was raised during the Depression in the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma, migrating as a child with most of his family to Los Gatos, California, where a new life awaited them all. Don attended Los Gatos High School, served in the U.S. Navy, and worked his way from grocery store box boy at Safeway, to a Regional Manager for Lee Brothers, a large grocery store chain in the Bay Area. He married the love of his life, Carolyn Allen, in 1948, a marriage that lasted almost 67 years. The couple raised four children together, were founding members of Calvary Baptist Church in Los Gatos, and moved to Myrtle Creek, Oregon, in 1969 where Don worked with his brother Floyd as a salesman/broker for Village Realty.

Don was known for his ever-present sense of humor, deep Christian faith, steadfast work ethic, devotion to his family, and his unquenchable curiosity. He worked hard, provided well, and enjoyed life. He studied his Bible not out of duty, but because he wanted to know God who sent His Son, Jesus, to save him. He lived his life knowing that God reveals Himself not only through the Bible, but throughout life in everyday details and experiences. Don quietly shared his love for his Savior with anyone who was interested.

Moose-hunting in Canada, traveling to Israel, Alaska, Hawaii, and St. Thomas with Carolyn, caring for his home and property, and inviting people to enjoy his large swimming pool were some of Don's favorite activities. He also enjoyed helping at church, photography, puttering in his shop, beekeeping, playing pinochle, and hosting Bible studies. His favorite way to spend time, however, was playing with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Don is preceded in death by his wife, Carolyn Blankenbaker, his parents, Arthur and Lennie Blankenbaker, his sisters Irene Frye and Marie Hill, and his brothers, Charles Blankenbaker, Roy Blankenbaker, and Floyd Blankenbaker.

He is survived by his two brothers, Gene Blankenbaker and Robert Blankenbaker, plus four children, Susan Alexander (Frank) of Othello, WA, Russell Blankenbaker (Hannah) of Gold Hill, OR, Cheryl Klusman (Thomas) of Springfield, OR, and Janet Perkins (Daniel) of Grants Pass, OR. Don is also survived by his grandchildren Joshua Blankenbaker, Betsy Whittaker, Hannah Green, Karen Drouhard, Benjamin Klusman, Sarah Cooke, Joseph Klusman, Andrew Perkins, Cassandra Klusman, and Caroline Klusman, plus 16 great-grandchildren, all of these people the love and passion of his life.

Henri Matisse Gets It Right

Rosemary Blossoms

"What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter - a soothing, calming influence on the mind, rather like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue." ~~Henri Matisse

This Easter Thing

From as far back as I can remember I've always known heavy sadness when thinking of Jesus' torture and crucifixion. How much sympathy can a six year old experience? A lot. And a fifty-three year old? Even more. Yet, I only sense a whisper of his suffering.

Those Romans knew how to exact pain and humiliation. Crosses? I still cringe when I see that instrument of torture around the necks of people as jewelry or inked into their skin. Would they sport a guillotine or hypodermic needle should Jesus have died in another century? As a child I used to imagine Jesus walking down a busy street only to see crosses displayed as beauty on the people He loves. I imagined him recoiling from the assault, the reminder. I saw him violently shudder, run away, ask why.

Today I realize many people wear crosses for remembrance. It's important not to forget that Jesus did, in fact, die in a plea for mercy from God the Father. The Father accepted the sacrifice. Three days later He breathed new life into the son of His love. In that moment of amazing grace Abraham's spiritual seed likewise triumphed over death. Good to know! Just as grave markers engraved with crosses express resurrection to come so do empty crosses here and there symbolize the same.  

In that regard, for me, the most joyful reminder of that pivotal point in history is the empty tomb. Jesus the Resurrected walked away from death to life eternal, the first human to do so. His victory leads the way for the rest of us. It is a non-disappointing hope, a promise for those who are compelled by its truth.

I don't wear crosses. I don't have them in my home. They make me weep. In their place I carry a Savior in my heart, a triumphant elder brother who could and did save my soul from darkness. In His honor and in gratitude I live my life as best I can because I believe Him.

And more importantly because I love Him

(A repost from this blog, April 2010)

Technological Coup d'état

     "From the beginning of what we used to call the industrial revolution - what we see today more clearly as a sort of technological coup d'état - men and women, particularly men and women of imaginative sensibility, have seen that something was happening to the human role in the shaping of civilization.

     'A curious automatism, human in origin but not human in action, seemed to be taking over. Cities were being built and rebuilt not with human purposes in mind but with technological means at hand. It was no longer the neighborhood which fixed the shape and limits of the town but the communications system, the power grid. Technology, our grandfathers said, 'advanced' and it was literally true: it was technology which was beating the tambours, leading the march. Buildings crowded into the air not because their occupants had any particular desire to lift them there, but because the invention of electric elevators and new methods of steel and glass construction made these ziggaruts possible and the possibility presented itself as economic compulsion.

     'Wildness and silence disappeared from the countryside, sweetness fell from the air, not because anyone wished them to vanish or fall but because throughways had to floor the meadows with cement to carry the automobiles which advancing technology produced first by the thousands and then by the thousand thousands. Tropical beaches turned into high-priced slums where thousand-room hotels elbowed each other for glimpses of once-famous surf not because those who loved the beaches wanted them there but because enormous jets could bring a million tourists every year - and therefore did.

     'The result, seen in a glimpse here, a perception there, was a gradual change in our attitude toward ourselves as men, toward the part we play as men in the direction of our lives. It was a confused change. We were proud - in England, and even more in America, raucously proud - of our technological achievements, but we were aware also, even from the beginning, that these achievements were not altogether ours or, more precisely, not altogether ours to direct, to control - that the process had somehow taken over leaving the purpose to shift for itself so that we, the ostensible managers of the process, were merely its beneficiaries."

~~ All quotes in this post are from Archibald MacLeish, Master or Man, an essay found in Riders on the Earth, published 1978.

I do wonder what Mr. MacLeish would think of today's technological advances? 

DRU - Road to the Future?

In the news today I read a story about DRU (Domino's Robotic Unit), a 'cheeky and endearing robot' that Domino's is 'confident' will one day become an integral part of the Domino's family as a pizza home delivery system. "He's a road to the future and one that we are very excited about exploring further," gushes the chain's New Zealand general manager Scott Bush. I wonder just how the presence of DRU will play out in everyday life? Robots on freeways, avenues, and sidewalks cruising beside intimately conversing couples quietly strolling arm-in-arm, more DRU's passing relaxed children in strollers or squirrelly kids on bicycles, navigating rush-hour round-abouts, tempting runners with pizza as it putts along beside them, or simply gliding next to our cars in our rainy, dark neighborhoods as we drive home from work?

Carl's Jr., the fast-food chain, is also in the news this morning because its CEO, Andy Puzder, wants to create fully automated restaurants, where 'you never see a person.' Kiosks would take and deliver orders. These kiosks would eliminate Andy's worry over increasing minimum wages, absenteeism due to illness, race/sex/age issues, and besides, "Millenials don't like seeing people." Well, there you go!

Skye Aero, advertising drone

Over in Switzerland we are told that flying drone billboards are the future we deserve! Yes, lighter-than-air 10-foot helium-filled balloons with small propellers offer increased safety for flying over crowds. Blocking out the sun, this drone junk mail would advertise who knows what, pummeling our collective consumerist mind-set with assaults on our outdoor freedom, in the very places in which we seek personal renewal - solace - from the ever-tightening throat-grip of manipulation.

"The freedom of science to follow the laws of absolute possibility to whatever conclusions had been established, or so we thought, as the unchallengeable fixed assumption of our age, and the freedom of technology to invent whatever world it happened to invent was taken as the underlying law of modern life. It was enough for a manufacturer of automobiles to announce on television that he had a better idea - any better idea: pop-open gas-tank covers or headlights that hide by day. No one thought any longer of asking whether his new idea matched a human purpose. 

'...we were ceasing to think of ourselves as men, as self-governing men, as proudly self-governing makers of a new nation, and were becoming instead a society of consumers: recipients - grateful recipients - of the blessings of a technological civilization. We no longer talked in the old way of the American Proposition, either at home or abroad - particularly abroad. We talked instead of the American Way of Life. It never crossed our minds apparently - or if it did we turned our minds away - that a population of consumers, though it may constitute an affluent society, can never compose a nation in the great, the human, sense." 

Though Mr. MacLeish addresses a condition which began forming in the 19th century, his adroit observations follow their logical conclusions into this 21st century. These conclusions now leave us with a Gordian Knot question: Where do we go from here?

"The frustration - and it is a real and debasing frustration - will not leave us until we believe in ourselves again, assume again the mastery of our lives, the management of our means."

Who Cares About Art?

 Bruges Madonna and Child, Michelangelo,

 It has taken six decades for me to understand the importance of art for a people, a culture, a civilization.

This quote from the movie, The Monuments Men, summarizes my thoughts succinctly. Frank Stokes, the leader of the group of men sent near the end of WW2 to save works of art stolen by the Nazis and stored in Hitler's hidden treasure troves, explains to the close-knit group his perspective on their mission.

"All right, listen up fellas because I think you should know the truth as I see it. This mission was never designed to succeed. If they were honest, they would tell us that. They'd tell us that with this many people dying, who cares about art. They're wrong. Because that's exactly what we're fighting for, for our culture and for our way of life. You can wipe out a generation of people, you can burn their homes to the ground, and somehow they'll still come back. But, if you destroy their achievements, and their history, then, it's like they never existed. Just...ash floating. That's what Hitler wants. And it's the one thing we simply can't allow."

Art matters. Too few of us alive today seem to understand this truth.

Ghent Altarpiece, Jan van Eyck, 1430 

An Art History course I'm currently enrolled in through the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City teaches me how to see history through works of fine art. Information is gleaned from more than what is overtly depicted in the art; it's in the style, the reasons behind the style, the perspectives and perceptions of the artists, how they came to have their views, and why the strong desire to express those attitudes and convictions. Our cultural timeline, our achievements, our failures, dreams, rebellion, foolishness, nobility, wisdom, and spirit are preserved in fine art.

Art is more than beautiful or interesting pictures, architecture, and sculptures. Art is a language of history, of culture, of mistakes made, of wisdom gleaned, and of warnings. Art is messages from the past which, when correctly understood, serve us today and will continue to in the future. Art inspires, disturbs, informs, challenges, soothes, and perplexes. It tells who and where we've been, and what we currently are. Art records everything!

How exciting to discover a new-to-me language, one which broadens understanding of the historical timeline, while encouraging the heart!

Episodic Beauty of Everyday Life

"The upper story of our society (national politics, big business, large-scale media) dominates headlines. But these upper story headlines ought not distract followers of Jesus from seeking the kingdom of God locally - in the episodic beauty of everyday life. The kingdom extends its borders through forgiving insults, loving enemies, and hosting warm meals for our neighbors. Against such things there is no law." ~~ Tim McIntosh

"It is in the Shelter of Each Other That People Live"

"The present is passed over in the race for the future; the here is neglected in favor of the there; and the individual is dwarfed by the enormity of the mass. America, which has the most glorious present still existing in the world today, hardly stops to enjoy it, in her insatiable appetite for the future. Perhaps the historian or the sociologist or the philosopher would say that we are still propelled by our frontier energy, still conditioned by our pioneer pressures or our Puritan anxiety to 'do ye next thing.' Europe, on the other hand, which we think of as being enamored of the past, has since the last war, strangely enough, been forced into a new appreciation of the present. The good past is so far away and the near past is so horrible and the future is so perilous, that the present has a chance to expand into a gold eternity of here and now. Europeans today are enjoying the moment even if it means merely a walk in the country on Sunday or sipping a cup of black coffee at a sidewalk café." ~~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh, written in 1955

One has only to visit Europe to discover that Anne Morrow Lindbergh's assessment proves true. Excitement grew as I came upon these words gleaned from her book, Gift from the Sea, which I read while in England and Ireland this summer. My husband and I discussed the differences we encountered in the attitudes of the kind, generous people we met and observed. Our conclusions match Mrs. Lindbergh's.

Irish workman answers Tom's work-related questions in Dublin

While Americans are busy forming a brand new country, those in Europe are busy resting from centuries of horrid experiences including brutal invasions and wars, famine, division, political unrest. A respite cradles them in this present time, even as problems arise which, in comparison, are small, manageable. For now. There is a sense of contentment, of calm, even in the rushings of London, the vibrant artfulness of Galway, and the joyful noise of Dublin.

Irish and English hearts remind me of contented guests who know the night is coming, and with it another morning of hard work and a long week beyond. Yet, even then, the sweet and spicy aroma of traditional foods still tantalize, and yes, there is another good story or two on the moist lips of those in the flame-lit living room, and a lilting melody begs to vibrate strings and voices. So linger the guests do, while the camaraderie does last, and the senses are enlivened. Lingering, relishing, taking in the moment, this seems to be the state of the people I met, the culture I stepped into. It felt right, real, natural.

To clearly view a further distance backward down history's time line than I ever have before, while measuring that distance with the wisdom of the ages, expands my boundaries, enriches my perspectives, and energizes my understanding while at the same time balancing my equilibrium toward future distances yet to traverse. Observing past and future from a clearer European vantage point snapped the present into sharp focus for me, the present moment with its gentility, its serenity, even its wary hope.

Ireland calls me home. London invites another visit.

Soon. Soon.

This sign hangs in the beautiful Belfast City Hall

For Mom

                   Resurrection

Moist with one drop of Thy blood, my dry soul

Shall—though she now be in extreme degree

Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly—be

Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard or foul,

And life by this death abled shall control        

Death, whom Thy death slew; nor shall to me

Fear of first or last death bring misery,

If in Thy life-book my name thou enroll.

Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,

But made that there, of which, and for which it was;        

Nor can by other means be glorified.

May then sin’s sleep and death soon from me pass,

That waked from both, I again risen may

Salute the last and everlasting day.

John Donne 

Books: Passports to Truth

There are many little ways to enlarge your child's world. Love of books is the best of all. ~~ Jacqueline Kennedy

I can attest that Jackie's perspective is quite true. Books do enlarge a child's world. Books and travel.

In my kids' case, the books have led to travel, and the travel has led to books, and art, and music, and galleries. and people, and knowledge, and foods, and God.

Perhaps this is a taste of Heaven, these delicious aspects of life? Intellectual growth, discovery, healthy new perspectives, spiritual fillings which lead to passion and poetry and prayers and other such extraordinary happenings.

It's not enough to merely read. You must savor, digest, allow yourself to be changed for the better. Then, as the better you lives and moves and carries on its very being, you change the world around you, beginning with those closest to you, whom you love and share with the most. You model your growth. It ripples outward and God is glorified.

Through good books.

Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. ~~ Philippians 4:8

Hesitantly Going Where I've Never Gone Before

Nag nag nag.

"You should write a book!"

"You're wasting your talent!"

"If you don't write it soon there are people who won't get to read it!"

But what would I write about? Who cares what I have to say? Who am I, anyway?

Excuses whisper. Sitting is the last thing I need to increase. It's right up there with being on the computer and snacking. I mean, I should be moving more not less. There is nothing I have to say that hasn't already been said, and better. I have so many other things I find more interesting such as my French and Italian language studies, herb gardening, recipes I want to try, friends I want to connect with, a huge stack of books to read, weight to lose, trips to take, and life to live! Who has time to write!

And yet there is this nagging nagging nagging voice in my head telling me I ought to at least try.

I tried to silence the voice, 'ignore it and it will go away.' Right? I played a bunch of tennis with my husband, then went to a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory with my daughters. I juiced the softening leftover apples from autumn's harvest. I even cleaned off all the shelves in the laundry room combining duplicate bottles of bleach, Woolite, and Pine Sol. I weeded my twelve herb-growing flower pots which show life after winter's chill, I washed the living room curtains, and I made my very first batch of French Onion Soup using my daughter's homemade artisan bread for the croutons that float on top. I cleaned out my clothes closet, and my book shelves, and that catch-all drawer in the kitchen.

Still, it nags.

Deep in my brain.

The moment I've dreaded is here.

I have to try to write a book.

Then, it dawned on me: I've already begun a book. My blogs are full of writings, nine years worth!

A start.

Compilation has begun.

A surprising eagerness ensues, and the voice is hushed.

For now.

Remembering with Delight

 "Happy is it, indeed, for me that my heart is capable of feeling the same simple and innocent pleasure as the peasant whose table is covered with food of his own rearing, and who not only enjoys his meal, but remembers with delight the happy days and sunny mornings when he planted it, the soft evenings when he watered it, and the pleasure he experienced in watching its daily growth." ~~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther 

A Tibetan Perspective on Western Laziness

"There are different species of laziness: Eastern and Western. The Eastern style is like the one practiced to perfection in India. It consists of hanging out all day in the sun, doing nothing, avoiding any kind of work or useful activity, drinking cups of tea, listening to Hindi film music blaring on the radio, and gossiping with friends. Western laziness is quite different. It consists of cramming our lives with compulsive activity, so that there is no time at all to confront the real issues...We tell ourselves we want to spend time on the important things of life, but there never is any time...Our lives seem to live us, to possess their own bizarre momentum, to carry us away; in the end we feel we have no choice or control over them. Of course we feel bad about this sometimes, we have nightmares and wake up in a sweat, wondering; 'What am I doing with my life?' But our fears only last until breakfast time; out comes the briefcase, and back we go to where we started."

"In the modern world, we have to work and earn our living, but we should not get entangled in a nine-to-five existence, where we live without any view of the deeper meaning of life. Our task is to strike a balance, to find a middle way, to learn not to overstretch ourselves with extraneous activities and preoccupations, but to simplify our lives more and more. The key to finding a happy balance in modern lives is simplicity. Peace of mind will come from this. You will have more time to pursue the things of the spirit and the knowledge that only spiritual truth can bring, which can help you face death. Sadly, this is something that few of us do. Maybe we should ask ourselves the question now: 'What have I really achieved in my life?' By that I mean, how much have we really understood about life and death?'"

The above quotes come from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, by Sogyal Rinpoche.

Morning Sun

"The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day."

~~ Proverbs 4:18

Unguarded

Satan's enticing traps are littered not only with wicked hearts, but with degraded, unguarded hearts of the defiled redeemed, those liberally splattered with the excrement of a thousand compromises, unaware of odors putrid, offenses cringing, and oblivion searing from the selling of refining sensitivity for thirty pieces of acceptance from a world gone dark.



"Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you: love her, and she will watch over you. The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding. Cherish her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she will honor you. She will be a garland to grace your head and present you with a glorious crown." ~~ Proverbs 4: 6 - 10

A Bandy-Legged Hero

Photo by Cassie Klusman *

 "Socrates had a favorable opinion of men and women because he saw clearly that they were capable of the highest moral heroism. Their outward appearance was of no lasting significance. Beauty faded with age, and clothes could do little for a man or woman to enhance or detract from what nature had provided. He had no shoes and precious little in the way of garments, and God had made him an ugly man."

"Socrates was imperturbable. He exuded serenity. There were many things he deplored, but nothing left him depressed. If he was angry, he never showed it - except, in contrast to most people, who raise their voices in anger, he lowered his, and spoke quietly. To those who knew Socrates, he was impossible to dislike and difficult not to love." ~~ Paul Johnson, Socrates

In the light of today's perception of beauty equating happiness, Socrates seems a paradox. Here was a bandy-legged, ugly man with enormous lips, a flat, spreading nose, giant popping eyes, who was also bearded and hairy, yet, serene, curious, well-thought of, instructive, a seeker of personal virtue, wisdom, and understanding. He inspired and actually changed the world! A philosophical genius and a hero. His physical ugliness bothered him not. He light-heartedly joked about it. He fully grasped where lies the wealth of men and women. He was happy.

While a body can be spruced up a bit, outward beauty either is or isn't. It's a chance of birth. We can't change that no matter how much dye we use, or make-up, hair products, fashion sense, jewelry, or even Botox. Let me repeat that, outward beauty either is or isn't, we have it or we don't. It'd be helpful if we could all kindly accept that and move on. Physical beauty isn't a prize, it isn't a blessing. "She is blessed with good looks!" No, beauty just is or isn't. We have physical beauty or we don't. Beauty isn't 'good' nor homeliness or ugliness 'bad'. Bodily beauty - or lack thereof - isn't a moral condition. It just is.

Personal treasure lies in the mind, the spirit, the heart, the behavior, the levels of virtue, wisdom, knowledge, and understanding. Here is true beauty, attainable for all. Integrity and depth can be altered for better or worse all our lives long. Remarkable and encouraging. To seek truth by engaging in life in its simplest and most complicated forms is a choice.

So, why is it that we 21st Century Citizens feel the need to continually - manically - renovate our bodies - starving, punishing, waxing, plucking, shaving, dying, styling, manicuring, pedicuring, attiring, piercing, inking, perfuming, bedazzling, girdling, lifting, separating, deforming, and otherwise torturing them - in order to conform to a mysteriously ordered idea of beauty? Why, indeed, especially when the true worth of a man, woman, or child is within the attitude, the level of goodness, depth, and desire to grow in grace and knowledge?

Apparently modern man fails to understand where value lies. Tragedy this. Utter failure.

Obsessive beauty seeking seems to have created more insecurity and judgment than ever before. Unnecessarily so. Within each of us - whether outwardly ugly or beautiful or somewhere in between - lies the raw material to grow a serene, curious, relevant, helpful, inspirational, wise, understanding, caring, joyful person.

Please, don't misunderstand. I'm not opposed to bathing or presenting ourselves at our natural best. Of course not. It's a wonderful thing to brighten our homes and communities with loveliness for loveliness sake. Robust health boosts the enjoyment of life and cleanliness is still next to godliness. Fashion is fun. Tweaking what God has given us can tidy up the garden of our appearance. I don't oppose these things, I applaud them. The balance is just off, that's all. Too much time and emphasis on clothes, make-up, weight, hair, teeth, skin tone, body shape, and dress size leaves little room for absorbing the hows and whys of an integrated life.

This absorption requires solitude, a quiet mind, a contented yet curious heart, focus. With all that life requires of us there really isn't time for vanity or self-condemnation based on physical appearance. One thing is required, and it's not more waxing, excessive closet-busting shopping trips, long hours flipping through Pinterest for hair style photos and make-up secrets, or a daily, time-slurping primping in front of a bedroom mirror. Grooming, yes. Preoccupation, no.

Single-mindedly stopping up our ears liberates us from our culture's siren call to celebrate the superficial while demanding we neglect life's purpose. In liberty is the opportunity for prolific personal growth accompanied by the hope of discovering what it means to truly be a beautiful person.

Like Socrates.


* Cassie took this photo of the bust of Socrates in Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland, 2013. All Rights Reserved

C'est Magnifique

Happy Valentine's Day to All Who Believe in Pure Love!

Before I unwrapped and re-wrapped the tiny Tiffany Blue box for photographing, the bow was tied much prettier. 

Attention to detail, the hallmark of excellence.

The way to a woman's heart is through Tiffany & Co.

I wore it all day long.

Felt extra special.

I have the Best Husband Ever!

(I could get used to this. Wink.)

Failing Better

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." ~~ Samuel Beckett, Irish playwright and poet.

Beckett's notion here, about failing better, warms my heart, gives me hope.

It's a new perspective in a much too competitive world.

Somehow in my modern-day, American-trained mind, when I do fail better it doesn't seem to count since I haven't actually won. But what is winning anyway? Can't failing better be considered winning? I think it can since winning is a process, not the actual momentary climax.

When I think of failing better I feel energized rather than demoralized. I see progress. I see steps being taken, lessons being learned, accomplishment in the little objectives that lead to the larger goal. Suddenly, the goal doesn't seem quite so important because I realize that it's the consistency of trying, understanding, and getting better at a thing that really matters.

The idea of accomplishment is rather elusive for in reality it is effort that propels me to what is considered success. Success itself seems to be the only concept valued. But actual accomplishment is merely a measuring stick, a plateau, a resting point. Its attainment creates, at least for me, the incentive to tackle something new, to begin the trying and failing once again in order to fail better to the point of success once again.

In the final analysis, it seems to me that trying, failing, and failing better are more the stuff of life than succeeding. Failure isn't bad, it isn't wrong, it isn't, well, failure, if you follow my drift. It's educational for those who allow themselves to be trained by it. And it is the path one must undertake in order to achieve a desired result.

Keep trying. Recognize failure and better failure as forward momentum gained. Realize that effort, consistently performed, over time, will always lead one to some sort of understanding and perhaps the achievement of a goal.

Or even a lovely dream.

Etiquette: A Defining Mark

"In the midst of the war, some French soldiers and some non-French of the Allied forces were receiving their rations in a village back of the lines. The non-French fighters belonged to an Army that supplied rations plentifully. They grabbed their allotments and stood about while hastily eating, uninterrupted by conversation or other concern. The French soldiers took their very meager portions of food, improvised a kind of table on the top of a flat rock, and having laid out the rations, including the small quantity of wine that formed part of the repast, sat down in comfort and began their meal amid a chatter of talk. One of the non-French soldiers, all of whom had finished their large supply of food before the French had begun eating, asked sardonically: 'Why do you fellows make such a lot of fuss over the little bit of grub they give you to eat?' The Frenchman replied: 'Well, we are making war for civilization, are we not? Very well, we are. Therefore, we eat in a civilized way."' ~~ excerpted from Richard Duffy's Introduction to Emily Post's Etiquette, written in 1922

"Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use." ~~ Emily Post

As society's behavior becomes increasingly crass, a sort of aching throbs in the hearts of a few. Attached to the ache is a question. "Cannot we rise above self-absorption, vulgarity, and utility?" An affirmative answer confidently sings within such pure hearts. Yes. Yes, each one can choose to recall to life within himself the ancient civilities which set humanity on its course toward refinement. 

Perhaps, more than missing courtesy, deference, and certain dignity is the idea that without a common respect, life tends to be rather dispiriting. 

For everyone.

Creative Watching

In the perfume section of Macy's on Tuesday evening, my daughter and I witnessed one of those quiet, very human moments.

Middle-aged, tall, husky and clean-shaven with bushy brown hair sticking out from underneath a billed cap, his body enveloped in a black track suit with matching shoes, a long-striding man calmly entered the department store from the lively mall. Located on the fringe, the cologne selection's enticing aromas lured nearby shoppers, including the mall guy.

Perusing scents for men, this chap chose a bottle, sniffed, uncapped, then splashed a bit of the amber contents into his beefy hands. He began to, with gentlemanly form, quickly pat the liquid onto his face and his neck, then he rubbed his hands together smoothing the remaining cologne away.

I watched with delight! He seemed so confident I am sure he was a frequent snatcher of Macy's eau de toilette. He emitted an air of sophistication, somehow, under those baggy clothes.

Off he strolled, giraffing his neck and head as if looking for a particular someone, perhaps her.

If so, lucky lady. Her casually-dressed fellow samples only the best.

How fun to imagine many endings to the story all beginning with that one curious moment!

Creative watching.

That Flipping Attitude

Stewing on frowny thoughts saps energy and repels sweet interactions. Ugly.

What is it psychologists call the White Bear effect? You know, "Don't think about the white bear," then all you do is think about the white bear. It's a form of thought suppression and it doesn't work. The more you think about not thinking about something such as chocolate the more chocolate you'll actually eat.

Hmm. That's no good.

If thoughts lead to attitudes, and attitudes lead to choices, and choices lead to actions then does it make sense that focusing on a good attitude might turn a mindset around better than trying to suppress a bad attitude? Drink in the sweet-scented flower garden and you'll probably forget about the white bear.

This is how I snap myself out of frowny moments. I notice beauty and goodness.

I've found that when I invite loveliness into my mind, when I look for beauty, listen for it, and notice it I find myself making positive choices. And smiling more. My shoulders relax, my problems shrink to their actual sizes, my confidence rises along with a certain joy.

For example, some mornings, for reasons unknown to me, my mood upon awakening is negative, really looking-for-a-fight tense. I feel crabby, irritable, even angry. It's unpleasant. Really. Getting to the guts of this bad attitude requires a scanning of my thoughts. To what can I attribute this nastiness?

Unsurprisingly, the darkness is usually due to, well, absolutely no good reason, maybe a nightmare, maybe a violent or negative film watched before bed, or a hostile chapter consumed from a book, or, perhaps as for Scrooge, it could simply be a bit of undigested beef.

Once I realize that I'm not really angry at anyone, nor do I have a reason to be ill content, my attitude begins to flip from tense to relaxed. Just like that. This has taken some practice, you understand. A lot of practice. That flipping results not from avoiding the white bear but instead from realizing the beauty of my wiggling toes at the end of rested legs, the softness of my skin, the sun streaming in through the window or the rain pelting it, the smell of clean sheets or freshly washed hair, the touch of soft carpet under my feet, or the knowledge that the day holds promise for whatever reason.

Plentiful beauty exists around each one of us at any given moment. Sometimes beauty consists in the realization that my heart is beating, my lungs are breathing, and I have good memories of inspiring places and people I have known in the course of all this beating and breathing. Sometimes beauty is a startling foggy-shadowed twilight, sometimes the sounds of family members moving about, sometimes the voices of school children at the bus stop outside my picket fence. Sometimes it's the scent of tea and crumpets - my daughter really likes to make these British treats - sometimes it's a song lilting in my mind, or the refreshment derived from a cool drink of water. Oftentimes the beauty projects from the artwork in my home enticing me to pause and feel happiness, or the sunlight glistening off my little perfume bottles, or off of my husband's reddish golden hair. Beauty in the smile of James the local deli owner, Karen the grocery store checker, and Loren from down the street.

Sometimes this beauty is simply in realizing that I'm a child of God and forever will be. How I love him! His goodness is beautiful even when he is disciplining me because I know from experience that good will come of it. It always has. He is the one who has taught me about beauty in attitude, in transforming my mind through my thinking.

Beauty offers sweet, uplifting rest any time. Beauty takes our thoughts by the hand and leads us to life-affirming choices and actions, which ripple out to others creating a little space of hopeful connection in a world that suffers too often from frowniness.

"Love of Beauty is Taste. The creation of Beauty is Art." ~~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tea Refinement

The spirit of the tea beverage is one of peace, comfort and refinement. ~~ Arthur Gray

November First

November just sounds like a friendly month. November.

Originally the ninth month in the Roman calendar, and deriving its name from the Latin word novem, November became the eleventh month in the Gregorian calendar in 1582.

Exciting history has occurred in this autumnal month including. . .

Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel paintings were first exhibited in 1512.

The Mayflower Compact was signed in 1620.

Captain James Cook discovered Maui in 1778.

Thanksgiving was first celebrated as a national holiday in 1789.

(Now we're talking turkey!)

1805 marked the first Pacific Ocean sighting by Lewis and Clark.

King Tut's tomb was discovered in 1922.

FDR became the first U.S. President to broadcast in a foreign language (French) in 1942.

Howard Hughes' flying boat the "Spruce Goose' made its one and only flight in 1947.

JFK was assassinated in 1963.

Carl B. Stokes was elected the first black mayor of a major city (Cleveland, Ohio) in 1967.

In 1976 "Gone with the Wind" was first televised.

And in 1998 Vincent van Gogh's Portrait of the Artist Without Beard sold at auction for $71.5 million USD.

Red, yellow, orange, and some remaining green leaves dot November's sky and soil. Soon they'll be piled up, burned, composted, scooped up into big trucks, or left to fertilize their mother trees. All in season, in order, life as it should be.

The Big Holidays tend to overwhelm November and December, but if we play our cards right we can find simplicity quietly pushes back any unwelcome pressure. Thoughtful choices create space for contemplation, observation, and deeply felt expressions of love which can't be bought or wrapped or plugged into a socket. Yes, the beauty of November awaits those with eyes to see and hearts that instinctively sense the slower drum beat of a more natural life, a spiritual attitude, a mindful connection to the beauty of a slower season, if we but choose to turn ourselves attentively toward its call.

November First. An offering to participate in a sweet-tempered melding of sorts. An invitation to relax, to replace energy happily spent in spring and summer, to take determinative steps toward refining and improving who we are as Children of God.

Sounds fabulous to me.

Socialism: The Inca Affect

Before you read the excerpts below please realize that, no, I'm not trashing the Incas, nor am I praising Pizarro and the Spanish conquistadors. I am not promoting whip-cracking missionaries. I'm simply sharing historical facts, the details of which are hauntingly familiar. My hope is that the lessons of history might jolt us modern-day citizens of the United States out of our current stupor in order to awaken us to the realization that socialism in not some far-off fantastical threat. It is here. It is real. We as a nation and as individuals have been influenced and dramatically changed by socialism's workings, to our peril.

A little background before we begin. Pizarro, the Spanish conquistador, had two things going for him in his goal of conquering the Incas. First, a civil war between two brothers and their followers was underway during the time he set out to fulfill Spain's royal decree to conquer Peru in 1532. Second, socialism had, for 200 years, sapped the entire Incan culture of its ability to organize an adaptable means of defending itself. Pizarro set out, with 200 men, to force 12 million people, scattered over Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, and northern parts of Chile and Argentina, to capitulate to Spain's military authority.

The Inca civilization had made outstanding achievements. Cuzco, the capital city and heart of the empire, rivaled any major city in Europe at the time, and this with only bronze age technology. It had excellent roads, suspension bridges, fortresses, temples, palaces, aqueducts, and more. This prize deemed Pizarro's ridiculously remote undertaking worth the challenge.

Now, let's get to the point of this post. The following excerpts - which recently jumped off the pages at me - are from the book, The Naked Socialist, by Paul B. Skousen, emphasis mine.

"The Inca system of socialism weakened the people terribly. It took away their drive to achieve and initiate anything from their own creativity. They became indifferent, apathetic, and stopped thinking for themselves. They lost the connective tissue and the emotional bond in their family circles. They apparently didn't care about elderly parents who were no longer able to care for themselves. They didn't care about the suffering by those closest to them. They didn't care about the Inca state. They had become accustomed to being told by someone what to do, when to do it, and when to do it over if things didn't measure up.

"It is little wonder then why a small group of 200 Spaniards could come among them and dispatch the Inca leadership and take over with relative ease. The Spaniards used faction against faction to gain complete control, and waged battles and wars. But in the end, the final tally showed that the Inca's thousands always lost against Pizarro's hundreds."

Now, fast forward more than one hundred years.

"It is interesting to note that more than a century after the Inca empire fell, Jesuit Priests in Paraguay attempted to salvage the local culture from extinction under the spread of European settlements.

"The priests tried to force large groups of people into socialistic society at remotely scattered missions. From the start, the missionaries were frustrated with the native's doleful lack of initiative - a problem they tried to resolve with the whip. Unknown to the priests, the native workers had a long-nurtured proclivity to simply take orders, to do as they were told, or to do nothing if they were not told. This was not a change in biological human nature, it was the outcome of the all-powerful Inca ruler meeting all their needs without demanding personal responsibility.

"The Jesuits attributed the Paraguayan's despondency to the lingering impact of the Inca's socialistic control. They called it the 'Inca Affect.'"

The Inca Affect is alive and well and living in the United States of America. (It lives all over the globe, but that's another post.) The parallels are astonishing.

"They lost the connective tissue and the emotional bond in their family circles." I don't think I need to list the various aspects that constitute the breakdown of the American family, for this disintegration and its causes are all too apparent.

"The Spaniards used faction against faction to gain complete control, and waged battles and wars." Current factions in our country include abortion, immigration, religion, and race. The list goes on and on.

"This was not a change in biological human nature, it was the outcome of the all-powerful Inca ruler meeting all their needs without demanding personal responsibility." Welfare. Public schools. Entitlement programs.

And now, forced universal health care for which we gripe and grouch and suffer but can't seem to find a productive way to battle takes center stage. Why can't we find a way to resist? Could it be that our government uses the same tactics as ancient conquerors? Fear? What keeps us in line? The threat of penalties, the threat of withholding tax refunds, the fear of exorbitant medical costs rendering us bankrupt and homeless, and ultimately, the actual fear of death.

In the duping of America we've become anesthetized. We are vulnerable due to our addiction to the easy life and to fear. Personal responsibility is seen as a quaint notion. We take the path of least resistance for there are no longer noble fires in our bellies; they were extinguished by fear which has since morphed into ignorance, laziness, selfishness, and even violence. We'll put up with our government shoving its hand further and further into our pockets just so long as we can keep some semblance of that status quo. Don't upset the status quo, people might be hurt.

We are being hurt!

Observe the slow dying of a once thriving liberty, handed over to socialists who do not care about you.

"It is ordained in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters." ~~ Edmond Burke, 18th century Irish statesman