Month: May 2013

1868 claims the year the United States officially proclaimed Memorial Day. Today reflects a moment in American history when citizens recognize the fallen soldiers, POW’s, MIA’s, and all others who served our country in the line of duty. Memorial Day is an opportunity to examine what duty means and how we as individuals may uphold its qualities and fashion.

Duty, or duete or deu originates from late Middle English as a moral or legal obligation; a responsibility. The list of responsibilities may be expanded on in further definition such as levies, services, etcetera, and etcetera; however what is pertinent and beneficial to hone in on at this time is the concept of obligation… responsibility. Deu.

What are you responsible for? To whom are you obligated? Which persons, places, things come to mind? How are you performing in your duties? Are you standing strong and resilient? Or are you wandering from the line of measure in your heart, and the heart of the world?

As I lunched on my lovely-afternoon-front-yard picnic, I noticed a super-sized soda bottle napping in the gutter bordering the lovely city park across the way. So after wrapping up my meal, I jaunted over to its foreign home and picked it up. I proceeded to pick up every single piece of trash I could locate on the premise: Pieces of candy wrappers in a rainbow of varieties, smashed to-go boxes, Styrofoam this, paper that, and the severed Red Solo Cup hanging out as the total un-life of the party. My arms brimming with my duty, I headed back to our home where the outlaws journeyed to recycling.

This is a regular occurrence for me; a practice I have upheld since I was a wee one on family walks. My siblings and I ALWAYS picked up trash. We ALWAYS left the campsite/ beach/ rental car/ public dinner table/ park/ whatever better than how found it. This friends, is our deu. To leave the world better than how we found it. Whether your means of action is serving in the armed forces, or as a volunteer. Whether your portion entails being an active parent, neighbor, in-law, sibling, lover, or aiding a helpless stranger on the street corner. Whether your role includes standing as a leader in your intimate field and profession, or on the world-scale of politics and business, it is your duty, your moral, official responsibility to construct a positive landscape in our shared world.

I was a senior in high school when I took two gals named Stephanie out for a lunch grab in my fire-red Pontiac Grand Am (Style’s my middle name). I grew up with Stephanie 1 who sat in the passenger seat. Stephanie 2, who was friends with Stephanie 1 and my acquaintance, took residence of the driver’s side back seat. Upon concluding our entertaining lunch hour in the school’s parking lot, Stephanie 2 decided to unroll her window, tossing out her Wendy’s bag of trash. Shocked dismay painted my being. What was this girl doing throwing trash out my car window? Not to mention with the trashcan dwelled just feet away. My Destinyisms swung into full throttle, telling her off in the most matter-of-fact, eloquent way I knew how:

What are you doing? Please (in that I am saying please to be polite yet you will find no other option type of way) remove yourself from my car and pick up your trash right now, PLEASE!! What would your mother say?? my voice diligently inquired. 

Take a stab at her reply…

…

…Stephanie 2 claimed her mother would not care. Would not.

#2 picked up her shit and never made her way into my vehicle for a lunch ride again. I cannot respect people who possess such little duete in life. Perhaps the fault lies in her mother for not carrying her load of duties to teach her child. Perhaps not. Perhaps the two equally shared the deu. Hopefully I made her think double on the trash topic that afternoon, and what her relative duty, her moral obligation, to the school, the local community, and the world should truly look like. Hopefully.

What is your duty? How may you improve upon its performance, today and into the next? What impact will your actions leave on humanity’s scroll of history? …Thoughts certainly worth weighing in memory of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice on this monumental Day. The fire works ring. I must celebrate.

I am of Millennial Generation

This is that and that is fine

Until us millennial cross the line

 

Digital downloads

Insta this, a quicker that

Necessitating means for a more rapid chitchat

 

A here and now

Now, now, now, NOW

One-on-one discussion disavowed

 

By the Millennial

Who hardly wink

Without technology they sync

 

Some don’t even remember a time

When the Net stood next to null

Or the days of a librarian encyclopedia stroll

 

But I do

I remember when

There subsisted no cyberspace middlemen

 

And the research done laid upon your back

Where the books’ tangible touch

By a hair’s breadth acted as a crutch

 

Now equal diversity is found inside

The Twentieth Century’s last product born

Generation Y delivered to the world a tad torn

 

When American Progress anticipates

The first generation to not outdo

Their parents’ generation revenue

 

We’re just waiting on the world to change

Mayer, John reminds Y well

Ever-changing times are sure to tell

 

Which way is this, which way is that

In between now and then, a fanciful app

Will show the way to travel the map

 

In case our sense of self we lose

From sophisticated-civilized

To barbarian beings modernized

 

Enraptured by display after display

Of glittering gems with digital schemes

But wait, Will the Cloud catch our daydreams?

 

Gen Y’s Savvy sway

Unlike their kin of the post-WWII baby boomer

Faces a gnarly entangle with the Consumer

 

So Millennia commit to public health,

Climate change amidst poverty alleviation

Valuing flexible works hours and bona fide education

 

The Millennial Generation is cognizant that

A National Debt does no good

Knowing their government for its falsehood

 

What to do? What to do?

How to move from this way to that?

With their wits attached, Y must acrobat

 

From digital, fanciful, civilized barbarians

To a culture returning missives

Rather than performing dismissive

 

Regain the personal connection

If I say hello to you here

And you not here, yet I see you there

 

There will be no magical map

To return the coming generations to the mood

Of basic human correspondence- no it will be tattooed

 

In code

That neither you nor I

Will capably decipher if we try

 

As Gen Y withers away on

A foundation crumbling from Digital Barbarian Genocide

I insist. I MUST take my prehistoric books on the ride

Ron Paul. Revolution. 

The bumper sticker read as the piranha swallowed me whole. I am sure what type of vehicle drove it through the center of my soul. Revolution. Evolution. The Beatles trilled We all want to change the world… 

And I do. 

A self evolution I seem to be as I reflect on life, its layers, and the experiences in it. What is life? And how to live it? Only with time will it be seen. For as one is lost, another is gained. In physics I learned the game. The Dogma always change. Nothing stays the same. Revolution. Evolution. This is the stirring in my soul. What is life worth living when it is not lived at all?

Life is cruel and unappealing when you do not stand tall. Speak up. Let your voice echo through its halls. Tell life what you desire if you desire anything at all. Ask for what you’d like beyond these walls.

The Piranha engulfed me whole.

I do not know any escaping.

Only to begin.

And keep a go. 

Ducks waddle their favorite sun-warmed path, as the breeze keeps them company. Canopies of Cottonwood trees scores old illuminate the backcloth. The afternoon idyll. It’s a wonderful life for me as I tinker not too far behind my mother hen; we are on our daily walk in the place we know as home. A quaint corner of the valley nestled into the base of luscious Rocky peaks. This is where my childhood lives. Endless existences of fish-living in a pool, finding our fins in life’s little school right here in this place where Mr. Roger is our neighbor. Riding the choochoo train with Queen Fat Rat. The wrought iron locomotive serves the finest fare in town. Soup and sandwiches de Jour, canned peaches, jams, and jellies until there is room for no more. Football games are plenty, in our front row seats we view. Bobsledding with Haunted Houses next door, while fire trucks pass skating rinks, and stuffed animals begin their weekends in beanbag chairs with air popped popcorn and TGIF too.

A globe of perfection in a world of unknowns, we totter in line one, two, three, four. Mother hen with her duckies on the way to the corner store. Up a hill for a trek to the place marked by a rainbow-striped Welcome sign, alluding to all the goodies awaiting inside. Candy necklaces & lollipops are a couple of the to-do’s. These never hold the same importance as the treasures on our journey to and fro, for we love to pick up trash as we come and go. Who can grab the most trash is how we fix the game. While others litter our landscape, we pick it up as play.

The frolics of my childhood dressed-up in lace and Batman, where there is never enough hairspray, and Mommy teaches Huey, Dewey, and I any plane is possible to fly.

Do you remember the scene in Aladdin where the protagonist is banished to the dungeon? As in many Disney films, a crucial life lesson may be garnered from this specific backdrop. Aladdin has just been freed from chains by the monkey Abu, when an old man mysteriously appears, sitting in a corner of the prison:

 

ALADDIN: Who are you?

OLD MAN: A lowly prisoner, like yourself. But together, perhaps we can be more.

ALADDIN: I’m listening.

OLD MAN: There is a cave, boy. A cave of wonders. Filled with treasures beyond your wildest dreams. Treasure enough to impress even your princess, I’d wager.

(Listeners will note that the OLD MAN pronounced the word ‘princess’ as “prin-CESS” rather than the standard pronunciation of “PRIN-cess.” The OLD MAN turns his back, and IAGO sticks his head out of JAFAR’s “old man” disguise.)

IAGO: Jafar, can ya hurry it up? I’m dyin’ in here!

ALADDIN: But the law says that only a prince can marry–

OLD MAN: You’ve heard of the golden rule, haven’t
you boy?  Whoever has the gold makes the rules.
(He grins, showing a hideously bad mouth.)

ALADDIN: So why would you share all of this wonderful treasure with me?

OLD MAN: I need a young man with strong legs and a strong back to go in after it.

ALADDIN: Ah, one problem. It’s out there, we’re in here?

(The OLD MAN walks to a wall and pushes open a hidden exit.)

OLD MAN: Mmm, mmm, mmm., Things aren’t always what they seem. So, do we have a deal?

(ALADDIN looks at ABU, who shrugs his shoulders.)

 

Trompe l’oeil. Visual illusion. Things aren’t always what they seem… In more than one way for Aladdin, these words rang true in the prison cell that night. It’s okay Aladdin, buddy. I too have yet to grasp the concept. The lesson apparently passed me by. I learned so last night. Not within the walls of a dungeon, but while sitting in my study, writing and researching away.

The study resides at the front of our little abode. Once an open front porch, the room now dwells as a closed-in space, with windows on all sides. The parlor looks out past our yard’s Hibiscus and Bougainvillea into a quaint city park. During most times of the year, the room feels appreciation with a running breeze flowing through its open windows. Yesterday the room became an especially alluring spot as the Florida rain roared through. I spent most of the day hunkered up at my creative zone– an early 20th century desk adorned in new threads with the top of the desk transformed into a chalkboard. Accompanied by a retro yellow chair inherited from my great-great grandmother, the destination screams charming. I love it here. The nook holds mementos of the past, reflections for today, and goals for the future. My very own time machine. And in it I fit perfectly.

So in my time machine I sit, when all of a sudden the handle to my front door behind me turns. Someone’s attempting to open it. Is my honey home?… I wonder as I glance outside in search for his car… No car. Plus he would have called. Holy shit who is trying to get into my house?! Next, I see a seasoned man with a shoulder-length mop-top crowned by a sun hat (Why is he wearing a sun hat? It is nighttime) shift down my walkway. What the hell is going on? This guy is wearing a clear, cutout, garbage bag raincoat. Garbage bag. Dusk-worn sun hat. Attempted break-in to my home. Thank God the door was locked!! I followed my offender through the landscape of windows into the dining room where I saw him attempt two more homes! Now on the phone with the police, I report the would-be-burglar, worried he’ll find the right scenario and strike! I waited nervously, locking up all my windows until the cops arrived. I can’t believe this man tried to break-in! He must have seen me sitting there. He would have tried to hurt me. What technique would I have used to kick his ass?? Oh my, my heart is POUNDING.

Good. The police officer is here. Whew. I open the door to speak to the man. Mr. Officer asks me a series of questions:

What did he look like? What was he wearing? See noted description above.

Age? 40’s-50’s.

Black? White? White. May have been homeless; he was humming to himself.

Mr. Officer jots down my descriptions in his cute little hand-sized notepad. He indicates there are officers out searching for my assailant, as he corresponds with them through his walkie-talkie thing. Then he asks, ” Do you want this man to go to jail?”

Ought oh. The humdinger. He didn’t actually do anything to me. “No I don’t want him to go to jail… I just want to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone or anything.”

Mr. Officer hears feedback through the walkie and replies, “Is there a flyer on your door?”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I knew the answer before ever confirming. There, hanging from the once-thought-violated door knob hung a flyer. A Hungry Howie’s Flavored Crusted Pizza flyer. Ripping it from its landing I burst out laughing, flooded in a dichotomy of utter humiliation and surprise, I turned towards Mr. Officer. When I waved the missing link in the air, he couldn’t contain himself either. We both oozed of laughter, grounded by such a silly encounter. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admitted, “Then my colleague asked is there was a Hungry Howie’s flyer on the door.”

Well at least I was in company. Mr. Officer helped me save some face. And so we parted ways; him to share the laugh-out-loud story with many to come to, I am sure. As with me, I think I need to call Hungry Howie’s and extend an apology… Order a pizza perhaps.

Things just aren’t always what they seem.