Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
Virginia Woolf declared him the greatest of all novelists. Dostoevsky, Proust, Faulkner, Nabakov Joyce all shared this same enthusiasm for this writer. Thomas Mann once declared, “Seldom did art work so much like nature.” He wrote a novel with 580 different characters, including some real historical figures. Who was this anarchist, pacifist, christian who is widely regarded as one of the world’s greatest novelists?
We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.
Leo Tolstoy once said, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” Not only did this Russian writer change himself, but the world was never the same after his masterpiece “War and Peace”. Tolstoy was a realistic writer, trying to show the society of his time. He never thought of “War and Peace” as a novel, but told others his first novel was “Anna Karrenina” which he wrote eight years later.
Born in 1828, he toured Europe, witnessed a public execution and met with Victor Hugo and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, an anarchist living in Vienna.
On 23 September 1862, Tolstoy married Sophia Andreevna Bers, the daughter of a court physician, who was 16 years his junior. They had thirteen children, five of whom died during childhood. Their early married life was happy and allowed Tolstoy much freedom to compose the literary masterpieces “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina” with Sonya acting as his secretary, proof-reader and financial manager.
Tolstoy died of pneumonia at Astapovo station in 1910 after leaving home in the middle of winter at the age of 82. His death came only days after gathering the nerve to abandon his family and wealth and take up the path of a wandering ascetic,[citation needed] a path that he had agonized over pursuing for decades. He had not been at the peak of health before leaving home; his wife and daughters were all actively engaged in caring for him daily. He had been speaking and writing of his own death in the days preceding his departure from home, but fell ill at the train station not far from home. The station master took Tolstoy to his apartment, where his personal doctors were called to the scene. He was given injections of morphine and camphor, but later died. The police tried to limit access to his funeral procession, but thousands of peasants lined the streets at his funeral.
Leo Tolstoy once said, “The vocation of every man and woman is to serve other people.”
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
X-Ray Insights
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
X-Ray Insights
Personal insight can come from many ways. Those “ah-ha” moments occur without our permission, but we have to be paying attention or we may miss them. Usually a great new perspective or a head-slapping moment happens when we least expect it, but I hope you are having some in your life. They are one of my favorite experiences. Sometimes I find out things I really didn’t want to do or want to know, and sometimes it can save a life.
I’ll use x-rays as the example of those light-bulb moments in our lives, since most of us make a discovery when the x-ray is show to us. We find out something we could discover no other way, unless you have x-ray vision. Enlightenment about something we need to learn can be like this. Where we were looking through a glass darkly once, the true reflection of the experience then becomes crystal clear. I’m pretty rambunctious, and once when I was a teenager I broke my own hand by striking a two-by-four. I thought it was padded, but when you hit solid wood with the side of your hand, you may break the upper joint of your little finger. It’s not excruciating, but it really, really hurts. You could probably still drive a car, but you wouldn’t be happy about it.
I was convinced it was broken, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince the parents to get it x-rayed. When you are fourteen, your options are limited. You can’t drive yourself to the doctor, and even when you get there, no one is going to x-ray your hand because you say it hurts. But after two weeks of moaning and groaning, I finally wore them down and into the x-ray machine my hand went.
The doctor looked serious. It made me kind of happy, because I was thinking I was right. “It is broken he said,” and I thrilled at the proof. But it was short lived. He only paused momentarily and continued, “It looks like we’ll have to break it again since it had started to heal crooked.” I instinctively grabbed the injured hand and declared it had been feeling much better later. After a short consultation, we all decided it could continue to heal in an un-straightened, un re-broken way and there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s still bent, but I can tell when it’s going to rain.
It’s quite an insight to find out you were right; the hand was broken, but another interesting insight to find out you suddenly don’t want it fixed.
Another x-ray provided not such a happy insight. I’ve explained before that I often have sinus problems which vexed my doctor until he took an x-ray of my head. He was as surprised as I was to discover I have extra sinuses, which extend beyond the usual eyebrow portrayal you usually see in those sinus headache commercials. I have extra sinuses as in they extend almost to the top of my head. It was a great moment of insight for both of us, since extra sinuses could be an explanation for my almost continuous sinus congestions, headaches and infections.
But again, sometimes an insight is not such a happy discovery. He was all smiles and excited, like he had discovered another branch of the human species, “Homo Sinicus”. But the more I thought about it the less I liked it. He looked at me and exclaimed, “This explains what’s been going on with your sinuses” as if I was cured. But all I could think about was the limited space available in any head. There’s room for sinuses and there’s room for brains. Apparently, I needed more sinuses than normal, which means I have less room for brains. It’s a sad day when your doctor tells you in a round-about way that you have a smaller brain than everyone else. But it does explain much of what has happened in the rest of my life. Next time I am pulled over for a speeding ticket, I’m going to try the “less brains” defense. “Sorry officer, but I have a smaller brain than your average driver, so…” It might work.
The best x-ray in the world was the one which discovered the cancer in my wife’s ribs. She had been experiencing pain she thought was cracked ribs, and when the doctor said it was probably cancer, both our lives changed forever. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, hair-loss, hair regrowth and the passage of fifteen years has found her in official remission. She was brave; I was scared, but we both survived. Better than an x-ray, these insights discover our determination, direction, and our weaknesses. Now that we have a new truth in our grasp, what are we going to do about it?
X-Ray Insights
Personal insight can come from many ways. Those “ah-ha” moments occur without our permission, but we have to be paying attention or we may miss them. Usually a great new perspective or a head-slapping moment happens when we least expect it, but I hope you are having some in your life. They are one of my favorite experiences. Sometimes I find out things I really didn’t want to do or want to know, and sometimes it can save a life.
I’ll use x-rays as the example of those light-bulb moments in our lives, since most of us make a discovery when the x-ray is show to us. We find out something we could discover no other way, unless you have x-ray vision. Enlightenment about something we need to learn can be like this. Where we were looking through a glass darkly once, the true reflection of the experience then becomes crystal clear. I’m pretty rambunctious, and once when I was a teenager I broke my own hand by striking a two-by-four. I thought it was padded, but when you hit solid wood with the side of your hand, you may break the upper joint of your little finger. It’s not excruciating, but it really, really hurts. You could probably still drive a car, but you wouldn’t be happy about it.
I was convinced it was broken, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince the parents to get it x-rayed. When you are fourteen, your options are limited. You can’t drive yourself to the doctor, and even when you get there, no one is going to x-ray your hand because you say it hurts. But after two weeks of moaning and groaning, I finally wore them down and into the x-ray machine my hand went.
The doctor looked serious. It made me kind of happy, because I was thinking I was right. “It is broken he said,” and I thrilled at the proof. But it was short lived. He only paused momentarily and continued, “It looks like we’ll have to break it again since it had started to heal crooked.” I instinctively grabbed the injured hand and declared it had been feeling much better later. After a short consultation, we all decided it could continue to heal in an un-straightened, un re-broken way and there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s still bent, but I can tell when it’s going to rain.
It’s quite an insight to find out you were right; the hand was broken, but another interesting insight to find out you suddenly don’t want it fixed.
Another x-ray provided not such a happy insight. I’ve explained before that I often have sinus problems which vexed my doctor until he took an x-ray of my head. He was as surprised as I was to discover I have extra sinuses, which extend beyond the usual eyebrow portrayal you usually see in those sinus headache commercials. I have extra sinuses as in they extend almost to the top of my head. It was a great moment of insight for both of us, since extra sinuses could be an explanation for my almost continuous sinus congestions, headaches and infections.
But again, sometimes an insight is not such a happy discovery. He was all smiles and excited, like he had discovered another branch of the human species, “Homo Sinicus”. But the more I thought about it the less I liked it. He looked at me and exclaimed, “This explains what’s been going on with your sinuses” as if I was cured. But all I could think about was the limited space available in any head. There’s room for sinuses and there’s room for brains. Apparently, I needed more sinuses than normal, which means I have less room for brains. It’s a sad day when your doctor tells you in a round-about way that you have a smaller brain than everyone else. But it does explain much of what has happened in the rest of my life. Next time I am pulled over for a speeding ticket, I’m going to try the “less brains” defense. “Sorry officer, but I have a smaller brain than your average driver, so…” It might work.
The best x-ray in the world was the one which discovered the cancer in my wife’s ribs. She had been experiencing pain she thought was cracked ribs, and when the doctor said it was probably cancer, both our lives changed forever. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, hair-loss, hair regrowth and the passage of fifteen years has found her in official remission. She was brave; I was scared, but we both survived. Better than an x-ray, these insights discover our determination, direction, and our weaknesses. Now that we have a new truth in our grasp, what are we going to do about it?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Future Ex-Wife Happy Birthday Sung by Rudy and Me
A short piece from “Abundance” where Rudy wanted me to sing with him to his “future ex-wife” — whatever that is. We sing “Happy Birthday”. Abundance is broadcast every Sunday from 7 to 8 pm Mountain Standard time on the internet at www.k-talk.com.
Click on the player to hear the segment.
Click on the player to hear the segment.
Wages
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
Rules of Engagement
Wages
When we see someone poor, it is easy to see their need. When we think of the richest people, we don’t really wonder what they need, or if they have any needs. If you have all the money you could ever want, what would you buy with it? Perhaps having too much money can be as burdensome as having too little. I would like to volunteer to find out how much the super-rich must suffer trying to decide between one super expensive car, house, or jet and another. I wonder if boredom would eventually set it, and make you tired of buying things. Would you want to start returning things for a refund just because you were bored?
I’ve been paid a lot for not doing much, and I’ve been paid next to nothing for working harder than I had ever worked. I’ve also done volunteer work which was more satisfying than either of those jobs.
When MCI shot a commercial here in the state, they budgeted way too much money. This is why I got a phone call a couple months after being an extra in their commercial. They somehow decided MCI was connected to the driving of the Golden Spike in Northern Utah, since the point of the commercial was the telegraph operator sent the information to the rest of the world. I was just leaning on the telegraph pole, and they recruited me to be another telegraph pole guy. When they finished the commercial and had the extra money, the redistribution began. I got a call asking if I was the telegraph guy, and I clarified I was the one with the mustache. After already being paid two hundred dollars for a couple of days of work, the guy on the phone said I was being “bumped up” to being a featured extra, and would I please sign the contract being mailed to me? I said sure, and he said he would then send me a check for three thousand dollars. There was a significant pause as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was trying to tell me. Want some money? Sign the paper and send it back. I mumbled I would be glad to take the money.
That worked out to over a hundred dollars an hour or more no matter how you calculate it. Should I divide by the hours I was asleep, too? Or should I just count the actual hours. That makes it almost five hundred an hour. How come I can’t get a full-time job that pays like that? Maybe some of you are making that much or more an hour. It boggles my mind.
The worst I’ve been paid was working for the father of friend. He was a crafty old codger, not really specifying how much I would be paid to heft sheetrock and hold it against the ceiling. He was even too cheap to rent a great little tool which helps lift and hold sheetrock up against the ceiling. If you have never held those heavy sheets of paper-covered chalk, it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
When all was said and done, I worked for a couple of weeks for about a dollar an hour. Minimum wage at the time was about three dollars, but what can you do when your friend’s dad cheats you out of all that time and effort? You can count it up to experience and write about it later.
But I think I may even like volunteering more than being paid a pittance. I’ve done enough acting for the terrible wages most actors get, and I’ve also done a lot of acting which I call volunteer work since I’m not being paid and I’m just donating my time for the good of the organization. I can even write off much of this at a much higher hourly rate on my taxes. I’ve been in live stage productions where I’ve actually been ashamed of being paid since the show, the script, or something else was not up to par. In those times, I’ve even wished it was donated time, since then there might be an excuse for the problems.
During those times I’ve acted for free, I really have enjoyed more of the performances than when I’ve been paid. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning down compensation, small as it may be. I just won’t be as happy about it. It doesn’t make any sense.
But you’ve probably had the same experience with your volunteer work. Nothing is so satisfying as doing something good, and not expecting a return. It may be more valuable than anything else we do. Think of it this way. If you could have all the money in the world, or all the blessings in the world, which would you choose?
Rules of Engagement
Wages
When we see someone poor, it is easy to see their need. When we think of the richest people, we don’t really wonder what they need, or if they have any needs. If you have all the money you could ever want, what would you buy with it? Perhaps having too much money can be as burdensome as having too little. I would like to volunteer to find out how much the super-rich must suffer trying to decide between one super expensive car, house, or jet and another. I wonder if boredom would eventually set it, and make you tired of buying things. Would you want to start returning things for a refund just because you were bored?
I’ve been paid a lot for not doing much, and I’ve been paid next to nothing for working harder than I had ever worked. I’ve also done volunteer work which was more satisfying than either of those jobs.
When MCI shot a commercial here in the state, they budgeted way too much money. This is why I got a phone call a couple months after being an extra in their commercial. They somehow decided MCI was connected to the driving of the Golden Spike in Northern Utah, since the point of the commercial was the telegraph operator sent the information to the rest of the world. I was just leaning on the telegraph pole, and they recruited me to be another telegraph pole guy. When they finished the commercial and had the extra money, the redistribution began. I got a call asking if I was the telegraph guy, and I clarified I was the one with the mustache. After already being paid two hundred dollars for a couple of days of work, the guy on the phone said I was being “bumped up” to being a featured extra, and would I please sign the contract being mailed to me? I said sure, and he said he would then send me a check for three thousand dollars. There was a significant pause as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was trying to tell me. Want some money? Sign the paper and send it back. I mumbled I would be glad to take the money.
That worked out to over a hundred dollars an hour or more no matter how you calculate it. Should I divide by the hours I was asleep, too? Or should I just count the actual hours. That makes it almost five hundred an hour. How come I can’t get a full-time job that pays like that? Maybe some of you are making that much or more an hour. It boggles my mind.
The worst I’ve been paid was working for the father of friend. He was a crafty old codger, not really specifying how much I would be paid to heft sheetrock and hold it against the ceiling. He was even too cheap to rent a great little tool which helps lift and hold sheetrock up against the ceiling. If you have never held those heavy sheets of paper-covered chalk, it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
When all was said and done, I worked for a couple of weeks for about a dollar an hour. Minimum wage at the time was about three dollars, but what can you do when your friend’s dad cheats you out of all that time and effort? You can count it up to experience and write about it later.
But I think I may even like volunteering more than being paid a pittance. I’ve done enough acting for the terrible wages most actors get, and I’ve also done a lot of acting which I call volunteer work since I’m not being paid and I’m just donating my time for the good of the organization. I can even write off much of this at a much higher hourly rate on my taxes. I’ve been in live stage productions where I’ve actually been ashamed of being paid since the show, the script, or something else was not up to par. In those times, I’ve even wished it was donated time, since then there might be an excuse for the problems.
During those times I’ve acted for free, I really have enjoyed more of the performances than when I’ve been paid. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning down compensation, small as it may be. I just won’t be as happy about it. It doesn’t make any sense.
But you’ve probably had the same experience with your volunteer work. Nothing is so satisfying as doing something good, and not expecting a return. It may be more valuable than anything else we do. Think of it this way. If you could have all the money in the world, or all the blessings in the world, which would you choose?
Alyosha the Pot by Leo Tolstroy
Click on the player below to hear an audio version of this short story.
Alyosha the Pot
Leo Tolstoy
ALYOSHA was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon’s wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it. His mother had beaten him, and the children had teased him. Since then he was nicknamed the Pot. Alyosha was a tiny, thin little fellow, with ears like wings, and a huge nose. “Alyosha has a nose that looks like a dog on a hill!” the children used to call after him. Alyosha went to the village school, but was not good at lessons; besides, there was so little time to learn. His elder brother was in town, working for a merchant, so Alyosha had to help his father from a very early age. When he was no more than six he used to go out with the girls to watch the cows and sheep in the pasture, and a little later he looked after the horses by day and by night. And at twelve years of age he had already begun to plough and to drive the cart. The skill was there though the strength was not. He was always cheerful. Whenever the children made fun of him, he would either laugh or be silent. When his father scolded him he would stand mute and listen attentively, and as soon as the scolding was over would smile and go on with his work. Alyosha was nineteen when his brother was taken as a soldier. So his father placed him with the merchant as a yard-porter. He was given his brother’s old boots, his father’s old coat and cap, and was taken to town. Alyosha was delighted with his clothes, but the merchant was not impressed by his appearance.
“I thought you would bring me a man in Simeon’s place,” he said, scanning Alyosha; “and you’ve brought me THIS! What’s the good of him?”
“He can do everything; look after horses and drive. He’s a good one to work. He looks rather thin, but he’s tough enough. And he’s very willing.”
“He looks it. All right; we’ll see what we can do with him.”
So Alyosha remained at the merchant’s.
The family was not a large one. It consisted of the merchant’s wife: her old mother: a married son poorly educated who was in his father’s business: another son, a learned one who had finished school and entered the University, but having been expelled, was living at home: and a daughter who still went to school.
They did not take to Alyosha at first. He was uncouth, badly dressed, and had no manner, but they soon got used to him. Alyosha worked even better than his brother had done; he was really very willing. They sent him on all sorts of errands, but he did everything quickly and readily, going from one task to another without stopping. And so here, just as at home, all the work was put upon his shoulders. The more he did, the more he was given to do. His mistress, her old mother, the son, the daughter, the clerk, and the cook– all ordered him about, and sent him from one place to another.
“Alyosha, do this! Alyosha, do that! What! have you forgotten, Alyosha? Mind you don’t forget, Alyosha!” was heard from morning till night. And Alyosha ran here, looked after this and that, forgot nothing, found time for everything, and was always cheerful.
His brother’s old boots were soon worn out, and his master scolded him for going about in tatters with his toes sticking out. He ordered another pair to be bought for him in the market. Alyosha was delighted with his new boots, but was angry with his feet when they ached at the end of the day after so much running about. And then he was afraid that his father would be annoyed when he came to town for his wages, to find that his master had deducted the cost of the boots.
In the winter Alyosha used to get up before daybreak. He would chop the wood, sweep the yard, feed the cows and horses, light the stoves, clean the boots, prepare the samovars and polish them afterwards; or the clerk would get him to bring up the goods; or the cook would set him to knead the bread and clean the saucepans. Then he was sent to town on various errands, to bring the daughter home from school, or to get some olive oil for the old mother. “Why the devil have you been so long?” first one, then another, would say to him. Why should they go? Alyosha can go. “Alyosha! Alyosha!” And Alyosha ran here and there. He breakfasted in snatches while he was working, and rarely managed to get his dinner at the proper hour. The cook used to scold him for being late, but she was sorry for him all the same, and would keep something hot for his dinner and supper.
At holiday times there was more work than ever, but Alyosha liked holidays because everybody gave him a tip. Not much certainly, but it would amount up to about sixty kopeks [1s 2d]– his very own money. For Alyosha never set eyes on his wages. His father used to come and take them from the merchant, and only scold Alyosha for wearing out his boots.
When he had saved up two roubles [4s], by the advice of the cook he bought himself a red knitted jacket, and was so happy when he put it on, that he couldn’t close his mouth for joy. Alyosha was not talkative; when he spoke at all, he spoke abruptly, with his head turned away. When told to do anything, or asked if he could do it, he would say yes without the smallest hesitation, and set to work at once.
Alyosha did not know any prayer; and had forgotten what his mother had taught him. But he prayed just the same, every morning and every evening, prayed with his hands, crossing himself.
He lived like this for about a year and a half, and towards the end of the second year a most startling thing happened to him. He discovered one day, to his great surprise, that, in addition to the relation of usefulness existing between people, there was also another, a peculiar relation of quite a different character. Instead of a man being wanted to clean boots, and go on errands and harness horses, he is not wanted to be of any service at all, but another human being wants to serve him and pet him. Suddenly Alyosha felt he was such a man.
He made this discovery through the cook Ustinia. She was young, had no parents, and worked as hard as Alyosha. He felt for the first time in his life that he–not his services, but he himself–was necessary to another human being. When his mother used to be sorry for him, he had taken no notice of her. It had seemed to him quite natural, as though he were feeling sorry for himself. But here was Ustinia, a perfect stranger, and sorry for him. She would save him some hot porridge, and sit watching him, her chin propped on her bare arm, with the sleeve rolled up, while he was eating it. When he looked at her she would begin to laugh, and he would laugh too.
This was such a new, strange thing to him that it frightened Alyosha. He feared that it might interfere with his work. But he was pleased, nevertheless, and when he glanced at the trousers that Ustinia had mended for him, he would shake his head and smile. He would often think of her while at work, or when running on errands. “A fine girl, Ustinia!” he sometimes exclaimed.
Ustinia used to help him whenever she could, and he helped her. She told him all about her life; how she had lost her parents; how her aunt had taken her in and found a place for her in the town; how the merchant’s son had tried to take liberties with her, and how she had rebuffed him. She liked to talk, and Alyosha liked to listen to her. He had heard that peasants who came up to work in the towns frequently got married to servant girls. On one occasion she asked him if his parents intended marrying him soon. He said that he did not know; that he did not want to marry any of the village girls.
“Have you taken a fancy to some one, then?”
“I would marry you, if you’d be willing.”
“Get along with you, Alyosha the Pot; but you’ve found your tongue, haven’t you?” she exclaimed, slapping him on the back with a towel she held in her hand. “Why shouldn’t I?”
At Shrovetide Alyosha’s father came to town for his wages. It had come to the ears of the merchant’s wife that Alyosha wanted to marry Ustinia, and she disapproved of it. “What will be the use of her with a baby?” she thought, and informed her husband.
The merchant gave the old man Alyosha’s wages.
“How is my lad getting on?” he asked. “I told you he was willing.”
“That’s all right, as far as it goes, but he’s taken some sort of nonsense into his head. He wants to marry our cook. Now I don’t approve of married servants. We won’t have them in the house.”
“Well, now, who would have thought the fool would think of such a thing?” the old man exclaimed. “But don’t you worry. I’ll soon settle that.”
He went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table waiting for his son. Alyosha was out on an errand, and came back breathless.
“I thought you had some sense in you; but what’s this you’ve taken into your head?” his father began.
“I? Nothing.”
“How, nothing? They tell me you want to get married. You shall get married when the time comes. I’ll find you a decent wife, not some town hussy.”
His father talked and talked, while Alyosha stood still and sighed. When his father had quite finished, Alyosha smiled.
“All right. I’ll drop it.”
“Now that’s what I call sense.”
When he was left alone with Ustinia he told her what his father had said. (She had listened at the door.)
“It’s no good; it can’t come off. Did you hear? He was angry– won’t have it at any price.”
Ustinia cried into her apron.
Alyosha shook his head.
“What’s to be done? We must do as we’re told.”
“Well, are you going to give up that nonsense, as your father told you?” his mistress asked, as he was putting up the shutters in the evening.
“To be sure we are,” Alyosha replied with a smile, and then burst into tears.
From that day Alyosha went about his work as usual, and no longer talked to Ustinia about their getting married. One day in Lent the clerk told him to clear the snow from the roof. Alyosha climbed on to the roof and swept away all the snow; and, while he was still raking out some frozen lumps from the gutter, his foot slipped and he fell over. Unfortunately he did not fall on the snow, but on a piece of iron over the door. Ustinia came running up, together with the merchant’s daughter.
“Have you hurt yourself, Alyosha?”
“Ah! no, it’s nothing.”
But he could not raise himself when he tried to, and began to smile.
He was taken into the lodge. The doctor arrived, examined him, and asked where he felt the pain.
“I feel it all over,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m only afraid master will be annoyed. Father ought to be told.”
Alyosha lay in bed for two days, and on the third day they sent for the priest.
“Are you really going to die?” Ustinia asked.
“Of course I am. You can’t go on living for ever. You must go when the time comes.” Alyosha spoke rapidly as usual. “Thank you, Ustinia. You’ve been very good to me. What a lucky thing they didn’t let us marry! Where should we have been now? It’s much better as it is.”
When the priest came, he prayed with his bands and with his heart. “As it is good here when you obey and do no harm to others, so it will be there,” was the thought within it.
He spoke very little; he only said he was thirsty, and he seemed full of wonder at something.
He lay in wonderment, then stretched himself, and died.
Alyosha the Pot
Leo Tolstoy
ALYOSHA was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon’s wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it. His mother had beaten him, and the children had teased him. Since then he was nicknamed the Pot. Alyosha was a tiny, thin little fellow, with ears like wings, and a huge nose. “Alyosha has a nose that looks like a dog on a hill!” the children used to call after him. Alyosha went to the village school, but was not good at lessons; besides, there was so little time to learn. His elder brother was in town, working for a merchant, so Alyosha had to help his father from a very early age. When he was no more than six he used to go out with the girls to watch the cows and sheep in the pasture, and a little later he looked after the horses by day and by night. And at twelve years of age he had already begun to plough and to drive the cart. The skill was there though the strength was not. He was always cheerful. Whenever the children made fun of him, he would either laugh or be silent. When his father scolded him he would stand mute and listen attentively, and as soon as the scolding was over would smile and go on with his work. Alyosha was nineteen when his brother was taken as a soldier. So his father placed him with the merchant as a yard-porter. He was given his brother’s old boots, his father’s old coat and cap, and was taken to town. Alyosha was delighted with his clothes, but the merchant was not impressed by his appearance.
“I thought you would bring me a man in Simeon’s place,” he said, scanning Alyosha; “and you’ve brought me THIS! What’s the good of him?”
“He can do everything; look after horses and drive. He’s a good one to work. He looks rather thin, but he’s tough enough. And he’s very willing.”
“He looks it. All right; we’ll see what we can do with him.”
So Alyosha remained at the merchant’s.
The family was not a large one. It consisted of the merchant’s wife: her old mother: a married son poorly educated who was in his father’s business: another son, a learned one who had finished school and entered the University, but having been expelled, was living at home: and a daughter who still went to school.
They did not take to Alyosha at first. He was uncouth, badly dressed, and had no manner, but they soon got used to him. Alyosha worked even better than his brother had done; he was really very willing. They sent him on all sorts of errands, but he did everything quickly and readily, going from one task to another without stopping. And so here, just as at home, all the work was put upon his shoulders. The more he did, the more he was given to do. His mistress, her old mother, the son, the daughter, the clerk, and the cook– all ordered him about, and sent him from one place to another.
“Alyosha, do this! Alyosha, do that! What! have you forgotten, Alyosha? Mind you don’t forget, Alyosha!” was heard from morning till night. And Alyosha ran here, looked after this and that, forgot nothing, found time for everything, and was always cheerful.
His brother’s old boots were soon worn out, and his master scolded him for going about in tatters with his toes sticking out. He ordered another pair to be bought for him in the market. Alyosha was delighted with his new boots, but was angry with his feet when they ached at the end of the day after so much running about. And then he was afraid that his father would be annoyed when he came to town for his wages, to find that his master had deducted the cost of the boots.
In the winter Alyosha used to get up before daybreak. He would chop the wood, sweep the yard, feed the cows and horses, light the stoves, clean the boots, prepare the samovars and polish them afterwards; or the clerk would get him to bring up the goods; or the cook would set him to knead the bread and clean the saucepans. Then he was sent to town on various errands, to bring the daughter home from school, or to get some olive oil for the old mother. “Why the devil have you been so long?” first one, then another, would say to him. Why should they go? Alyosha can go. “Alyosha! Alyosha!” And Alyosha ran here and there. He breakfasted in snatches while he was working, and rarely managed to get his dinner at the proper hour. The cook used to scold him for being late, but she was sorry for him all the same, and would keep something hot for his dinner and supper.
At holiday times there was more work than ever, but Alyosha liked holidays because everybody gave him a tip. Not much certainly, but it would amount up to about sixty kopeks [1s 2d]– his very own money. For Alyosha never set eyes on his wages. His father used to come and take them from the merchant, and only scold Alyosha for wearing out his boots.
When he had saved up two roubles [4s], by the advice of the cook he bought himself a red knitted jacket, and was so happy when he put it on, that he couldn’t close his mouth for joy. Alyosha was not talkative; when he spoke at all, he spoke abruptly, with his head turned away. When told to do anything, or asked if he could do it, he would say yes without the smallest hesitation, and set to work at once.
Alyosha did not know any prayer; and had forgotten what his mother had taught him. But he prayed just the same, every morning and every evening, prayed with his hands, crossing himself.
He lived like this for about a year and a half, and towards the end of the second year a most startling thing happened to him. He discovered one day, to his great surprise, that, in addition to the relation of usefulness existing between people, there was also another, a peculiar relation of quite a different character. Instead of a man being wanted to clean boots, and go on errands and harness horses, he is not wanted to be of any service at all, but another human being wants to serve him and pet him. Suddenly Alyosha felt he was such a man.
He made this discovery through the cook Ustinia. She was young, had no parents, and worked as hard as Alyosha. He felt for the first time in his life that he–not his services, but he himself–was necessary to another human being. When his mother used to be sorry for him, he had taken no notice of her. It had seemed to him quite natural, as though he were feeling sorry for himself. But here was Ustinia, a perfect stranger, and sorry for him. She would save him some hot porridge, and sit watching him, her chin propped on her bare arm, with the sleeve rolled up, while he was eating it. When he looked at her she would begin to laugh, and he would laugh too.
This was such a new, strange thing to him that it frightened Alyosha. He feared that it might interfere with his work. But he was pleased, nevertheless, and when he glanced at the trousers that Ustinia had mended for him, he would shake his head and smile. He would often think of her while at work, or when running on errands. “A fine girl, Ustinia!” he sometimes exclaimed.
Ustinia used to help him whenever she could, and he helped her. She told him all about her life; how she had lost her parents; how her aunt had taken her in and found a place for her in the town; how the merchant’s son had tried to take liberties with her, and how she had rebuffed him. She liked to talk, and Alyosha liked to listen to her. He had heard that peasants who came up to work in the towns frequently got married to servant girls. On one occasion she asked him if his parents intended marrying him soon. He said that he did not know; that he did not want to marry any of the village girls.
“Have you taken a fancy to some one, then?”
“I would marry you, if you’d be willing.”
“Get along with you, Alyosha the Pot; but you’ve found your tongue, haven’t you?” she exclaimed, slapping him on the back with a towel she held in her hand. “Why shouldn’t I?”
At Shrovetide Alyosha’s father came to town for his wages. It had come to the ears of the merchant’s wife that Alyosha wanted to marry Ustinia, and she disapproved of it. “What will be the use of her with a baby?” she thought, and informed her husband.
The merchant gave the old man Alyosha’s wages.
“How is my lad getting on?” he asked. “I told you he was willing.”
“That’s all right, as far as it goes, but he’s taken some sort of nonsense into his head. He wants to marry our cook. Now I don’t approve of married servants. We won’t have them in the house.”
“Well, now, who would have thought the fool would think of such a thing?” the old man exclaimed. “But don’t you worry. I’ll soon settle that.”
He went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table waiting for his son. Alyosha was out on an errand, and came back breathless.
“I thought you had some sense in you; but what’s this you’ve taken into your head?” his father began.
“I? Nothing.”
“How, nothing? They tell me you want to get married. You shall get married when the time comes. I’ll find you a decent wife, not some town hussy.”
His father talked and talked, while Alyosha stood still and sighed. When his father had quite finished, Alyosha smiled.
“All right. I’ll drop it.”
“Now that’s what I call sense.”
When he was left alone with Ustinia he told her what his father had said. (She had listened at the door.)
“It’s no good; it can’t come off. Did you hear? He was angry– won’t have it at any price.”
Ustinia cried into her apron.
Alyosha shook his head.
“What’s to be done? We must do as we’re told.”
“Well, are you going to give up that nonsense, as your father told you?” his mistress asked, as he was putting up the shutters in the evening.
“To be sure we are,” Alyosha replied with a smile, and then burst into tears.
From that day Alyosha went about his work as usual, and no longer talked to Ustinia about their getting married. One day in Lent the clerk told him to clear the snow from the roof. Alyosha climbed on to the roof and swept away all the snow; and, while he was still raking out some frozen lumps from the gutter, his foot slipped and he fell over. Unfortunately he did not fall on the snow, but on a piece of iron over the door. Ustinia came running up, together with the merchant’s daughter.
“Have you hurt yourself, Alyosha?”
“Ah! no, it’s nothing.”
But he could not raise himself when he tried to, and began to smile.
He was taken into the lodge. The doctor arrived, examined him, and asked where he felt the pain.
“I feel it all over,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m only afraid master will be annoyed. Father ought to be told.”
Alyosha lay in bed for two days, and on the third day they sent for the priest.
“Are you really going to die?” Ustinia asked.
“Of course I am. You can’t go on living for ever. You must go when the time comes.” Alyosha spoke rapidly as usual. “Thank you, Ustinia. You’ve been very good to me. What a lucky thing they didn’t let us marry! Where should we have been now? It’s much better as it is.”
When the priest came, he prayed with his bands and with his heart. “As it is good here when you obey and do no harm to others, so it will be there,” was the thought within it.
He spoke very little; he only said he was thirsty, and he seemed full of wonder at something.
He lay in wonderment, then stretched himself, and died.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty six point two
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX point two
When Smitty saw Johnson crumpled on the floor, with Tommy sitting by his side, he realized the secret weapon had worked beyond all expectations. It was too bad Tommy couldn’t pass the police examination, because he had been the most valuable player in the bunch. Ray was still moaning when Smitty picked him up by his good shoulder and made him walk down the stairs. Why bother the paramedics with hauling this guy down the stairs on a gurney? Smitty even smiled when Ray winced on each step. At the bottom of the stairs, Skinner was waiting to escort the prisoner to a car, and make sure he was locked in. Even Skinner managed a smirk as he saw the bad condition Raymond Johnson was in. It was probably wrong to smile at another’s pain, but since his brother and three other people had paid the ultimate price for this man’s greed, it was the right kind of smile. The smile of justice.
Tommy followed the other downstairs, looking over at the bundle in the front room. He recognized his football, and went over to pick it up. As he walked out of the house, Greg Jones looked up and saw the giant man holding the package of money under his arm like a football, and saying, “I’m the quarterback!! I’m ready to throw the ball!!”
Tommy was waving the collection of bills, attempting to get someone to catch. Greg stepped up and signaled for the toss, which Tommy was more than happy to oblige. The “ball” sailed through the air and plopped down solidly in Greg Jones arms.
“Think we can get a shot of my favorite cop and his bundle of money for the station?” Paula asked.
Greg wrapped his arm around her and said quietly, “Only if this is going to be a Paula Rogers exclusive.” She smiled and kissed him lightly. She planned on a very “exclusive” interview.
As Smitty passed by Officer Greg Jones, Greg stopped him to clarify one question. “Harold, now how did you know Ray wouldn’t take a head shot at his friend Tommy?”
Smitty leaned in close and whispered the answer. “I really didn’t know if he would follow the pattern, but the other two officers were shot in the chest. Habit is a hard thing to break, and we figured with the surprise of the big guy showing up, there wouldn’t really be any time for Johnson to think about a bullet-proof vest. A really big bullet-proof vest. Sometimes, you just get lucky. Especially when you have a big friend who is willing to work for candy. Think the district attorney will want to use him as a star witness?”
The three laughed together, trying to picture a judge telling Tommy to sit back down and stop playing with the gavel. Or to give the nice deputy back his bible. But whatever was going to happen to Tommy, they knew the fact he had helped to capture Raymond Johnson would look very good in his file. It would be a first step, if a halting one, to some kind of rehabilitation and a better place for Tommy.
By this time Tommy was running a victory lap, jogging around the house and signaling that his pass had been good for a touchdown. To those who were watching, it seemed like slow jogging, but more like plodding as the runner circled the Parker house once again. One thing was clear to those around Tommy. He knew the joy of the moment, and on his face he also wore a smile.
The doctor told him to stay off the leg for two months, and it had only been one.
Four weeks of waiting to run again was too long, and John Graham decided to try out his recently aerated leg. It was only to be a short run, up and down one of his favorite country roads. He parked the car and stretched out just a bit, fearing if he stretched too much he would damage the muscle again. He could feel the ripped muscles straining already.
Slowly plodding on in his own way, John reviewed the last month. It had been stupid to try to knock Raymond Johnson down with the bundle, and he had been told that by many, many people. He got two holes in his legs for his trouble, but what John didn’t tell the casual observers was that he believed Johnson would have killed him anyway. It may have been the smartest thing he had ever done.
Ranking up with stupidest thoughts ever, many more people had teased him about trying to keep the money, and although Greg Jones had tried to give John credit for helping get the bad guy, most people didn’t really believe John was going to return the money. But the bank didn’t care, because in their eyes, if the money had been in the sheriff’s office, Raymond Johnson might be sunning himself in Mexico at that very moment. Instead, he was recovering from his injuries under guard, and waiting to stand trial for his crimes. He would never see sunlight on a beach again. But the bank insisted on a $10,000 reward for Graham’s quick thinking and careful reasoning, even if everything didn’t look quite right if you examined it closely. The bank got their money, the criminals were behind bars, and all was well with the world.
The occasional sharp pain in his leg was a fit reminder that most decisions have consequences. “We can’t imagine what they are even as we make those decisions,” John thought to himself. “We have the ability to know when a bad decision has been made, but that never seems to stop people from making bad decisions every day.” Plodding through his life, John Graham knew he would make other bad decisions.
Greg Jones had received his moment in the spotlight for his bravery and quick-thinking, with his own Paula Rogers exclusive, which included the announcement of an upcoming marriage. Even Tommy had turned into a celebrity, and several local charities were seeing that this local hero who had helped save the day would now get the kind of guidance and services he truly needed. Tommy loved the attention, and was more than willing to attend ribbon cuttings, make speeches and serve on several special committees. He had found his way.
John Graham noticed a pulling and painful sensation near where the wound had been, and knew that it would be months before that particular sensation would go away. He tried to focus on the good that had happened. The bills were easy to pay this month with the extra money, and some even ended up being saved for the future “rainy” days that seemed to happen several times a year. The money wouldn’t last long, but it was a nice thing to have. It was also nice to be alive. It was great to be plodding along, wondering why life could be so good, and realizing that it only seemed good when compared to the bad we all have to experience. John Graham looked over at the overgrown ditches near the road.
It always amazed him to see the diversity of life, even at the side of a farm road, and he could hear the mice scurrying around in the dried wheat heads and straw. They struggled for their existence just as every other creature does. Life really was good, and John Graham was glad he was around to enjoy it.
A small mouse crept to the side of the road and prepared to cross. It was just ahead of John, and his massive body of John Graham crashing toward it helped the mouse decide to cross before John arrived where the mouse was waiting. John watched the mouse dash across the road to other adventures across the wide black strip of asphalt. John wondered what other adventures awaited him in his future, and decided to just take it one step at a time. As he plodded onward, it was easy to see the expression on his face. It was the plodders’ smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX point two
When Smitty saw Johnson crumpled on the floor, with Tommy sitting by his side, he realized the secret weapon had worked beyond all expectations. It was too bad Tommy couldn’t pass the police examination, because he had been the most valuable player in the bunch. Ray was still moaning when Smitty picked him up by his good shoulder and made him walk down the stairs. Why bother the paramedics with hauling this guy down the stairs on a gurney? Smitty even smiled when Ray winced on each step. At the bottom of the stairs, Skinner was waiting to escort the prisoner to a car, and make sure he was locked in. Even Skinner managed a smirk as he saw the bad condition Raymond Johnson was in. It was probably wrong to smile at another’s pain, but since his brother and three other people had paid the ultimate price for this man’s greed, it was the right kind of smile. The smile of justice.
Tommy followed the other downstairs, looking over at the bundle in the front room. He recognized his football, and went over to pick it up. As he walked out of the house, Greg Jones looked up and saw the giant man holding the package of money under his arm like a football, and saying, “I’m the quarterback!! I’m ready to throw the ball!!”
Tommy was waving the collection of bills, attempting to get someone to catch. Greg stepped up and signaled for the toss, which Tommy was more than happy to oblige. The “ball” sailed through the air and plopped down solidly in Greg Jones arms.
“Think we can get a shot of my favorite cop and his bundle of money for the station?” Paula asked.
Greg wrapped his arm around her and said quietly, “Only if this is going to be a Paula Rogers exclusive.” She smiled and kissed him lightly. She planned on a very “exclusive” interview.
As Smitty passed by Officer Greg Jones, Greg stopped him to clarify one question. “Harold, now how did you know Ray wouldn’t take a head shot at his friend Tommy?”
Smitty leaned in close and whispered the answer. “I really didn’t know if he would follow the pattern, but the other two officers were shot in the chest. Habit is a hard thing to break, and we figured with the surprise of the big guy showing up, there wouldn’t really be any time for Johnson to think about a bullet-proof vest. A really big bullet-proof vest. Sometimes, you just get lucky. Especially when you have a big friend who is willing to work for candy. Think the district attorney will want to use him as a star witness?”
The three laughed together, trying to picture a judge telling Tommy to sit back down and stop playing with the gavel. Or to give the nice deputy back his bible. But whatever was going to happen to Tommy, they knew the fact he had helped to capture Raymond Johnson would look very good in his file. It would be a first step, if a halting one, to some kind of rehabilitation and a better place for Tommy.
By this time Tommy was running a victory lap, jogging around the house and signaling that his pass had been good for a touchdown. To those who were watching, it seemed like slow jogging, but more like plodding as the runner circled the Parker house once again. One thing was clear to those around Tommy. He knew the joy of the moment, and on his face he also wore a smile.
The doctor told him to stay off the leg for two months, and it had only been one.
Four weeks of waiting to run again was too long, and John Graham decided to try out his recently aerated leg. It was only to be a short run, up and down one of his favorite country roads. He parked the car and stretched out just a bit, fearing if he stretched too much he would damage the muscle again. He could feel the ripped muscles straining already.
Slowly plodding on in his own way, John reviewed the last month. It had been stupid to try to knock Raymond Johnson down with the bundle, and he had been told that by many, many people. He got two holes in his legs for his trouble, but what John didn’t tell the casual observers was that he believed Johnson would have killed him anyway. It may have been the smartest thing he had ever done.
Ranking up with stupidest thoughts ever, many more people had teased him about trying to keep the money, and although Greg Jones had tried to give John credit for helping get the bad guy, most people didn’t really believe John was going to return the money. But the bank didn’t care, because in their eyes, if the money had been in the sheriff’s office, Raymond Johnson might be sunning himself in Mexico at that very moment. Instead, he was recovering from his injuries under guard, and waiting to stand trial for his crimes. He would never see sunlight on a beach again. But the bank insisted on a $10,000 reward for Graham’s quick thinking and careful reasoning, even if everything didn’t look quite right if you examined it closely. The bank got their money, the criminals were behind bars, and all was well with the world.
The occasional sharp pain in his leg was a fit reminder that most decisions have consequences. “We can’t imagine what they are even as we make those decisions,” John thought to himself. “We have the ability to know when a bad decision has been made, but that never seems to stop people from making bad decisions every day.” Plodding through his life, John Graham knew he would make other bad decisions.
Greg Jones had received his moment in the spotlight for his bravery and quick-thinking, with his own Paula Rogers exclusive, which included the announcement of an upcoming marriage. Even Tommy had turned into a celebrity, and several local charities were seeing that this local hero who had helped save the day would now get the kind of guidance and services he truly needed. Tommy loved the attention, and was more than willing to attend ribbon cuttings, make speeches and serve on several special committees. He had found his way.
John Graham noticed a pulling and painful sensation near where the wound had been, and knew that it would be months before that particular sensation would go away. He tried to focus on the good that had happened. The bills were easy to pay this month with the extra money, and some even ended up being saved for the future “rainy” days that seemed to happen several times a year. The money wouldn’t last long, but it was a nice thing to have. It was also nice to be alive. It was great to be plodding along, wondering why life could be so good, and realizing that it only seemed good when compared to the bad we all have to experience. John Graham looked over at the overgrown ditches near the road.
It always amazed him to see the diversity of life, even at the side of a farm road, and he could hear the mice scurrying around in the dried wheat heads and straw. They struggled for their existence just as every other creature does. Life really was good, and John Graham was glad he was around to enjoy it.
A small mouse crept to the side of the road and prepared to cross. It was just ahead of John, and his massive body of John Graham crashing toward it helped the mouse decide to cross before John arrived where the mouse was waiting. John watched the mouse dash across the road to other adventures across the wide black strip of asphalt. John wondered what other adventures awaited him in his future, and decided to just take it one step at a time. As he plodded onward, it was easy to see the expression on his face. It was the plodders’ smile.
Adventurous Voyage
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Rules of Engagement
Adventurous Voyage
Sometimes when we are on this marvelous voyage we call life, we endure some unpleasant parts of the adventure. These challenges are presented to us in many different ways, and the way we meet difficulty not only reveals our character, but continues to develop it. Problems we encounter call for solutions, but without the problem, would we have sought the solution?
I hope you are involved in some creative act. Every year, I create a garden in my back forty. It’s really only 40 yards, but that’s plenty of garden for anyone. I prepare for the spring in the dark of winter, when I could be easily persuaded no renewal will ever come from the seemingly eternal coldness. In hopes of spring, I plant new things in my little greenhouse every winter. I don’t know why I wanted to have dozens of different plants all growing in that little protected environment, and some of them don’t even make it out into the summer weather. But it is an action indicating a hope for the change spring will bring.
I can point to each year’s project from the greenhouse growing now in the yard. The purple cone flowers look especially great right now, and planting them and nourishing them from seed makes them so much more special in my mind. It’s a physical reminder that no matter how dark the winter, spring and summer will follow.
I sat on the porch last night after the dogs demanded to visit the front yard, not only to do their business, but to investigate who had recently been by. The cat uses this time to make me pet him, and I do even though I am allergic to cat hair, and only have a cat because our daughter volunteered us as foster parents. The cat stays outside, the mice run away, and when Parker comes up and purrs and rubs my leg, it’s easier to pet him than run away. I look at the oak half-barrel I put by the front door. Some people use these as planters with glorious flowers, but for some reason, I like to create my own little world.
These casks used to hold whiskey, and the insides have been charred. Since they held whiskey, I reasoned they should hold water, and when properly soaked, they provide a home to my creation. I really like small water features, so a small pump which was a candle in the bathroom becomes the oxygenator. Water drips from the plastic candles, which recirculates and introduces oxygen onto the water for plants. There are some water iris, miniature cattails and some water lilies. But sitting water breeds mosquitoes, so there are some mosquito fish in there too.
Here is a little world I have created, where the plants, the fish, and even the wasps who like the water depend on me to provide a hospitable environment. I don’t have to feed the fish, but I do need to remember to add water every once in a while, and maybe scoop out some of the excess moss. Even in my deliberately created world, the world outside that little world has its own influence on what I do. Mosquitoes want to interfere; the fish help control them. Moss wants to grow; I have to intervene. The sun beats down and evaporates water; I have to add some.
This same principle applies to our own little world. We all live here, and some of our most important responsibilities may be to help others, to make this world work both for us and others, to sometimes intervene and do what is needed. W.H. Auden once said, “We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don’t know.”
Maybe our only role is to be available to help others when they need the help. I always feel so much better when I look outside myself and say as Bill Murray eventually did in “Groundhog Day”; “What can I do for you today?”
Especially when our voyage becomes rougher, it is a blessing to have others who can help in some way, even if only to express sympathy. Just think back to when someone took the time to listen, to come to your aid, or to save the day. I hope you have the opportunity to help someone else like this, creating a better world as we all work together to make this a better place for everyone.
In fact, it seems getting outside ourselves to help others is one of the best ways to help us deal with our problems. A wise person once said, “Trade your troubles with whoever you please, and you will want your own back.”
How’s your world? Need some help? Can someone else use yours?
Rules of Engagement
Adventurous Voyage
Sometimes when we are on this marvelous voyage we call life, we endure some unpleasant parts of the adventure. These challenges are presented to us in many different ways, and the way we meet difficulty not only reveals our character, but continues to develop it. Problems we encounter call for solutions, but without the problem, would we have sought the solution?
I hope you are involved in some creative act. Every year, I create a garden in my back forty. It’s really only 40 yards, but that’s plenty of garden for anyone. I prepare for the spring in the dark of winter, when I could be easily persuaded no renewal will ever come from the seemingly eternal coldness. In hopes of spring, I plant new things in my little greenhouse every winter. I don’t know why I wanted to have dozens of different plants all growing in that little protected environment, and some of them don’t even make it out into the summer weather. But it is an action indicating a hope for the change spring will bring.
I can point to each year’s project from the greenhouse growing now in the yard. The purple cone flowers look especially great right now, and planting them and nourishing them from seed makes them so much more special in my mind. It’s a physical reminder that no matter how dark the winter, spring and summer will follow.
I sat on the porch last night after the dogs demanded to visit the front yard, not only to do their business, but to investigate who had recently been by. The cat uses this time to make me pet him, and I do even though I am allergic to cat hair, and only have a cat because our daughter volunteered us as foster parents. The cat stays outside, the mice run away, and when Parker comes up and purrs and rubs my leg, it’s easier to pet him than run away. I look at the oak half-barrel I put by the front door. Some people use these as planters with glorious flowers, but for some reason, I like to create my own little world.
These casks used to hold whiskey, and the insides have been charred. Since they held whiskey, I reasoned they should hold water, and when properly soaked, they provide a home to my creation. I really like small water features, so a small pump which was a candle in the bathroom becomes the oxygenator. Water drips from the plastic candles, which recirculates and introduces oxygen onto the water for plants. There are some water iris, miniature cattails and some water lilies. But sitting water breeds mosquitoes, so there are some mosquito fish in there too.
Here is a little world I have created, where the plants, the fish, and even the wasps who like the water depend on me to provide a hospitable environment. I don’t have to feed the fish, but I do need to remember to add water every once in a while, and maybe scoop out some of the excess moss. Even in my deliberately created world, the world outside that little world has its own influence on what I do. Mosquitoes want to interfere; the fish help control them. Moss wants to grow; I have to intervene. The sun beats down and evaporates water; I have to add some.
This same principle applies to our own little world. We all live here, and some of our most important responsibilities may be to help others, to make this world work both for us and others, to sometimes intervene and do what is needed. W.H. Auden once said, “We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don’t know.”
Maybe our only role is to be available to help others when they need the help. I always feel so much better when I look outside myself and say as Bill Murray eventually did in “Groundhog Day”; “What can I do for you today?”
Especially when our voyage becomes rougher, it is a blessing to have others who can help in some way, even if only to express sympathy. Just think back to when someone took the time to listen, to come to your aid, or to save the day. I hope you have the opportunity to help someone else like this, creating a better world as we all work together to make this a better place for everyone.
In fact, it seems getting outside ourselves to help others is one of the best ways to help us deal with our problems. A wise person once said, “Trade your troubles with whoever you please, and you will want your own back.”
How’s your world? Need some help? Can someone else use yours?
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