Home for the holidays

As the old song proclaims, "There's no place like home for the holidays." Home feels right. It's like slipping on a well-worn old pair of slippers. It's warm and comforting. It's where I belong because it's where I started. The relatives and friends may be gone. The houses, buildings, and stores from long ago may be only a memory. But I cherish those memories. They provide me a sense of belonging. We all need to go home for the holidays.

For whom are great books written?

On lists of great novels, Malcolm Lowry's "Under the Volcano" often appears. I just spent a month struggling through its contents. The main character, the Consul, is an alcoholic and Lowry invites the reader into his muddled mind by jumping from setting to setting and moving back and forth in time. It is unsettling and very difficult to follow. Arcane words are sprinkled throughout the story, and there are numerous allusions to ancient myths and characters from obscure works of poetry and prose. Nice if you're a Ph.D candidate who thrills to the quest of deciphering every literary reference, but pretty boring if you're a person on the hunt for a good read.

The story has interesting parts when something actually happens and there is clear dialogue between the characters, but the Consul soon takes another swig and bounces back and forth in time and setting again. The introduction, which is lengthy and tells the complete story before the reader begins the actual text, says that Lowry liked to compare himself to James Joyce. I should have been warned off this novel by that statement.

My feelings toward this work are similar to those I had for "Moby Dick." A few nice scenes with unusual characters and then the reader is stunned by the hammer blow of details about the various species of whales and the intricacies of nineteenth century whaling technology. Were the original audiences for these novels old sailors and temperance advocates? Give me the simple sentences and clarity of expression of Ernest Hemingway even though I hate hunting, fishing, and bullfighting.  

Whether Weather Matters

It's too humid today. It was too hot and humid yesterday. It was just about right a few days ago. The weather varies too much from the ideal and is a constant source of irritation. Oh, if only it would be 75° and sunny every day! Baloney! I spent five years in southern California. I delighted in the constancy of the weather my first year in residence. I recall standing under a palm tree in January, gazing through the fronds at the clear blue sky and feeling that I was in paradise. As time passed in blissfully balmy conditions I grew less and less pleased with my heavenly home. The trees didn't change colors in fall. Winter rains that greened the hills stopped in spring, turning the countryside into the Golden State, which upon closer inspection was more brown than gold. Natural vegetation was scrubby and dry in summer. I yearned for the lush green landscapes of the Midwest. Large flakes of fluffy snow fell gently in Harvard Yard in a scene from the movie, "Love Story." I had to drive up to Mt. Wilson if I wanted to make a snowball. Variety truly is the spice of life. I don't complain much about the weather anymore.

Death is not the American Way

To grow old is to decay. Looks decline, muscles weaken, illness is more frequent. Sounds bad, so we must fight the process. Work out, eat healthier than before, build a positive outlook. Sounds good, but it might be avoidance of the inevitable. Why not accept the process of aging? Why fear death when it occurs to every living thing? Of course exercise, a balanced diet, and looking on the bright side are all good practices to acquire. But eventually something's going to interfere with that lifestyle, so why not be ready for it? Accept the fact that death will one day happen and the rest of your life will be less stressful and perhaps more meaningful.

Sources of Hope

Why do we hope? Life is full of suffering for all of us, yet some are more hopeful of better times than others. Religion provides a comforting home for many, and I'm sure it is the source of hope for those folks. What if you're not religious or don't believe in a spiritual realm? Are these people without hope or can hope spring from another source? Is it a belief that the wheel of fate will turn and things will eventually improve?  What if you don't believe in fate? Are there other sources of hope? Can a firm sense of confidence in one's own abilities generate a hopeful attitude toward the future?

Heavy Eyelids

Getting ready for bed. Winding down. Everything slows and grows heavier by the second. Sink into the bed and become one with it. Ah, a long night's sleep to enjoy. The promise of adventurous dreams is the carrot on the stick that urges sleep. What city will I visit tonight? Who shall I see there? How young will I be? What problems will I encounter? The episodes end after they've hardly begun. Morning comes all too quickly.

The Smell of Stew

What's better than the aroma of beef vegetable stew preparing itself over the hours in a slow cooker? It takes a couple of hours for the first enticing whiffs to drift from the kitchen. As time goes on, the fragrance intensifies and stimulates the first slight pangs of hunger. Only fifteen more minutes till I scoop out this wintertime delight!

My World and Welcome to it

How should I spend my time? Watching TV is a waste. Being with others is good because you learn from people if you are a good listener and are not afraid to ask questions. Being by one's self provides endless options. Reading is entertaining and provides new information for possible future use. Playing video games is mindlessly amusing for a while. Doing chores around the house is drudgery, but it does provide a sense of temporary completion. Getting things cleaned up and organized feeds into my OCD. Thinking might be the best. The possibilities are limitless, and oh, the places you'll go!