The Age of Reason

My earliest recollections include my parents and older siblings telling me some variation of “mine was not to question why, mine was but to do and die”. This is a reference to a portion of the poem "Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The exact quote is:

Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:

This is, on close inspection, the equivalent of the “Because I said so theme”  spouted by civilian parents, but with obedience, faith, and complete loyalty  even under pain of death thrown in. For families living the military dream-- (sardonic- [sahr-don-ik] –adjective characterized by bitter or scornful derision; mocking; cynical; sneering: a sardonic grin.)-- in the 60’s and 70’s, to have poems referring to people rushing blindly to slaughter paraphrased to a toddler or elementary school student in an effort to get them to clean their room or eat their peas was the norm. When you ate your chicken pot pies while looking at pictures of mutilated Asian and American bodies stacked head high on the evening news in the country where your father was at that very moment, the thought of dying stoically for a cause seemed not only possible but probable. I did not reason why, I just did. I will call this “The Age of No Reason Whatsoever”

At about age 16 or so, I had a revelation. This sounds really exciting, but most sixteen years olds go through this same revelatory process. While I am sure there are a million more poetic or lurid ways to say it, it boils down to Hey! You’re Not the Boss of Me!! I switched overnight from being a good little soldier to being a hard headed, anti-establishment, rock and roll head banging rebel. Sort of. For me anyway. I didn’t drink or do drugs, get tattoos or run away. What I got was pregnant and married.

Go ahead, feel free to laugh, I have done it myself.  I showed them I would never become an establishment puppet by, uhmmm, becoming an establishment puppet.  I was good at it too, it turns out. The food pyramid? I could have taught a curriculum on it. I battled germs and ironed shirts and spent countless tedious hours in emergency rooms and Kmart. We had disco night on Fridays at six when my husband got home. Popcorn and Coke, an old strobe light and oldies on the turntable. Our house was the happening place for the preteens to be. I taught them to cook, to love a good story, to do their own laundry, to swim, to be silly, to play. I didn’t demand as in the old dark days. I encouraged, explained, urged and requested. I very rarely said Because I Said So. I will call this “The Age of Oh-So-Reason-able”

Several years ago, I had what can only be called an anxiety attack. I was working full time, keeping house, drowning in laundry, bills, grocery shopping, vet visits. Baby sitting grandchildren until 5 AM for parents who worked nights and getting back up at 8 to make sure another child made it to Saturday morning  detention. Always trying to point my charges in the right direction when it came to driving lessons, curfews, bedtimes, clothing, piercings, appropriate friendships and inappropriate romances. Desperately slurping down a cup of coffee like a newborn starving for the teat, it suddenly hit me. Why? Why? I needed a reason, a damn good reason to be doing what I had been doing without thought other than “It seemed like a good idea at the time” for 25 years. I got so angry at myself I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to throw off the shackles so to speak, just drop them and walk away.

In this moment, at the height of my panic, my son came out and started trying to sweet talk me into letting him get tattooed, or buy a gun or spend the night with the neighborhood rapscallion who had a smokin’ hot sister… I don’t remember exactly but all of these things had been argued passionately with me at one time or another so take your pick. It hit me then, the reasonable thing to do, or course was say no. Here was the tricky part …nothing else, no explanations or justifications, just no. Blind obedience still brought the hippie out in me but that hippie was now sharing the stage with another, stronger person, born of countless sleepless nights. My son put his best argument out on the table, spread it in all of it’s self righteous glory, smoothing out any wrinkles he perceived in the process. I thought for a moment and asked him if he had ever heard of Lord Alfred Tennyson.

Ah “The Age Of Reason”

The Sounds of Silence

The Sounds of Silence is an old song, written in 1964 by Paul Simon and performed by the duo Simon and Garfunkel.

I was 5 in 1964. As you can imagine the song had no meaning for me then. Not that I didn’t like it, quite the contrary, I loved it. The reason it had no meaning was that to a five year old, especially one being raised in a house with seven siblings, assorted pets of all descriptions, next door to an Army  post and across the street from a federal penitentiary silence was an impossible concept to grasp. It was that sweet few seconds between being awake and being in the deep, dreamless state of utter innocence and vulnerability obtained only by small children after hours of play.

Once I grew into an adult, or thought I had at the ripe old age of 17, The term took on a new meaning for me. I was riding my bike one day and came around a corner and saw for the first time the glory of the world we live in and the faintest possibility of a larger picture than that populated by me, myself and I. In retrospect it was just a stunted tree after a heavy rain in a neglected lot but I saw, and heard, so much more than that. A single ray of brilliant sunshine shone right on that crooked, crippled tree. The few first leaves of dawning spring were budding and caught the light in their perfect diamonds of raindrops and came back at me, soft, vibrant, ethereal. A green glow seemed to hang around that tree, welcoming the voices of a thousand angels and the earth shattering chaos of the universe.

From that time forward, the sounds of silence for me were owls hunting in tandem in the night, woodpeckers banging out a rhythm all their own on the chimney hood, the non-sound of a thousand monarchs fluttering around my little piece of heaven on earth, tomatoes swelling from their buds, water running over rocks smoothed by an eternity of liquid friction. The soft sound of a newborns’ breath against my chest, the gasp as children saw for themselves the glory of the world around them and the joy that was there for their taking. Nature, the stars, the moon, the fates all called to me and made me feel impossibly small, and impossibly blessed.

Now that I am well entrenched in middle age I am finding yet another meaning, a new level of sound, sweeter still but oh so hard to take. The Sounds of Silence now are echoes of sounds once heard. Some, the sound of fat bare feet running on asphalt, or giggles behind closed doors when it is supposed to be bed time, or four children and a hundred pound dog all crammed in the back of a car meant to seat five singing (and howling) along with their father at full throttle to John Anderson’s Seminole Wind while the sweet summer heat brings the smell of honeysuckle rushing into the open windows on a country road.

To hear the melody of these memories I must also listen to the others, to the sharp crack and loud cries of tortured anguish that followed, to the sirens, to the doctors, to the sound of traffic roaring by on the highway while I wonder what the hell could ever come after this moment in time.

I choose to hear them all.

Whale Songs

It is official; I have been ruined by movies... kids’ movies in particular.

Laying in the bed, flipping through channels, trying to find something soothing to listen to while I doze off, find a documentary about hump back whales. While an extremely erudite sounding announcer speaks eloquently about these majestic animals a sound track of their songs plays softly in the background. The images are stunning, the voice soothing, the information fascinating I am sure, but I can't concentrate on any of that. My eyes are screwed shut, my teeth clenched to prevent unwanted jaw flapping, my fist are clenched and I am thinking I will not say it I will not say it I will not say it.

Out of the dark comes my husband's voice doing a spot on imitation of Ellen DeGeneres doing Dory from Finding Nemo... "I speak whale".

Alas, he too, is ruined. :)

Women Are Wierd (I can say that, I am one)

We had a get together at our house tonight. A family dinner for my dear sister's birthday. The prep was enjoyable, the food was great (working on modesty, not quite there yet), the company was entertaining and the kids all behaved.

I took a few pictures, not as many as I would have liked because I forgot I had the camera, and put them up on a social networking site to share with the ones I love. This is when the women are wierd part comes in.

If I look at a picture of myself, I see the gray hair, the double chin, the huge bazooms. When I look at my sister, who also has grey hair, double chin and huge bazooms, I see her perfect smile, shining eyes, sense of humor and grace.

Her daughter let me know that the picture I took of her at her mother's fete was, and I quote, Bleechk!!! I went back to the site, pulled up the picture and thought okay, my niece is nuts. She also has a huge smile, gorgeous dark hair, dimples for god's sake, a waist you can see and be envious of, Eyelashes!! I haven't got any damn eye lashes!!. &%*$#, who does she think she is? If she thinks she is Bleechk!!! then what the hell are the rest of us? Eh? Eh? Double, no triple Bleechk!!! at least. Maybe quadruple after eating two slices of cheescake, which, now that I think about it she brought with her. Did she do that just to make us Bleechk!!!-ier? I have the will power of a slug...... tomorrow, diet, exercise, hair dye, vitamins, facial.... tonight, where did that last piece of cheese cake go?????

See?? Women are wierd. I admit it.  I OWN it.

Seed Pearls, Swine's Ears...

This is my first attempt at blogging... I hope I have a lot to offer (Seed Pearls) but have no doubt that a Swine's Ear or two will be laid out for your consumption as well.

I am not sure what this blog will be, but I can tell you what it won't be... It won't be political or faith based. It won't address current world events, global warming, or company logos and how they reflect Satanism. It won't tell you how to mother, or be a good wife, husband, mother, father, lover, employee or citizen of the United States or the globe in general. I think these topics are all pretty well covered by better (and worse) minds than mine all over the internet already. I never see anything crazy in my spaghetti bowl or Disney cartoons, and if I did I would be afraid to admit it for fear of ridicule.

I am sure that it will reflect my life, my opinions, my hopes for those I love (and those I don't probably, I am human after all) and my dreams. I am a slightly off center person with a computer, internet access and a bit of spare time on my hands. I hope I can make you smile on occasion, think about normal things a bit differently sometimes, and appreciate the fact that your front door isn't the only one with a bad TV movie hiding behind it.

Thanks for joining me!

Jean S