March 21, 2013


     What is time?

     Since the beginning we have tried to answer this questions by capturing time.  We have defined what it is.  Time tics by in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and inevitably in years and increments of years.  We built clocks to help us see time pass, our phones, iPods, computers, and stoves have the time kept on them, so we can watch it pass and keep up with our schedule.

     We are obsessed with capturing and taming the things that we cannot see.  Time runs most of ours lives.  But time is something that passes its not a clear concise thing that you can hold, see, smell, or taste.  None of ours senses sense it.  It simply... is.

     There is another thing like time, in fact it is closely intertwined.  This thing is age.  You ask a toddler how old they are and they will proudly state that they are 3 or 4, but sometimes they also throw in a "And I'm a big boy!"  Sometimes they simply say whatever age they want to.  For a couple years I told people I was 18.

     Naturally we all smile and pat the little tykes head and indulge them, letting them say it, and knowing that eventually they'll figure things out.

     We have defined things so that are heads can deal with the in-sensible.  Some of our definitions make perfect sense.  Seriously, how would the world work if we didn't have time?  We wouldn't be able to say "I'll see you in a week," "Wait just a sec," or "A couple days ago..."

     Time helps us function as a society.  So, what does age do?  Does it help society function, is it simple math, does it make things easier, and what does it mean to us?

    I certainly don't have all the answers I want, but I can share with you what I feel, have experienced, and concluded.

    So this is what I shall be posting about in the near future.  For a little while ate least.

March 10, 2013

The Arm Rest Perch

     How young I was when I first sat and watched my grandpa write.  How young I was when I took my seat beside him and watched as his thoughts spilled through his laptops keyboard and into the computer.

     I don't remember when I began to sit where I did, but for as long as I can remember the natural place for me to sit was on the armrest of his lazy-boy.  He was left handed so I sat on the right arm of the seat.

     I remember when I was small enough that climbing up on the armrest was a feat.  It would take effort, and once I made it up I would proudly sit on the armrest, like a dog might stand over a defeated enemy, I would straddle it.

     My grandpa never helped me up, he simply let me sit there.  It was something that I won.  I don't know how, it simply... was.  He didn't entertain me once I had obtained my perch, he simply went on with what he did and I watched.

     As I grew and the perch was less formidable my cousins and little brother would try to climb up on the arm rest.  They were smaller and what was a little tricky for me then was a major feat for them.  Once one of them actually made it, I realized something.  That armrest was my seat.  It was my spot, and I didn't want them there.

     My grandpa, who never helped me sit there but simply let me stay, seemed to not let them stay.  They would climb up and he would pull them onto his lap and eventually let them back on the floor.  He would tickle them until they rolled off.  They seemed to never be able to keep the spot that I so coveted.  He loved all of us on his lap, but the arm rest was my perch.  The lap and knee was for all of us, there was no rules about that.  But there seemed to be a unstated rule that the arm rest was for me.

    His excuse was that I didn't tilt the chair back, supposedly the others did.  They wanted to make the chair rock, he said, but I didn't.

     Maybe those were the reason why it was my perch.  Perhaps though, he could see that I was proud of being left to perch there.

     We visited the grandparents every summer, it was something to expect.  Every summer I was a year older then last summer.  His arm rest became smaller, easier to perch on, and I would do so in-between games, meals, swimming, and reading.  I perched when I was tired or when I simply wanted to lean my head on my grandpa's shoulder.  He would smile. And I knew that my perch was mine, his silence made it so.

     That perch led to many things. But most of all, it was the time when I got to simply be with my grandpa.  It let me breath with him and know that I was loved.

March 1, 2013

The Gossamer Lenses

     All of us look at life through a figurative camera.  We zoom in on certain things, like religion, family, careers, or perhaps somethings else.  We let these things take up our main focus.  We march through life only seeing things through our camera.  Some however, use their camera to look all around them, while some aren't quite interested in looking around them at all.  

     We all look at something, on this path of life, that somebody else has already looked at.  Many people before you or me has looked at a book that I love.  But, they would have described it differently then I would.  And even you who may have read the book when I was reading it, may have hated it when I adored it.  

     None of us see the same thing.  All of us see the same thing differently.  We all look through a gossamer lense.  

     A fine, fragile veil is our lense.  It changes how we all see the same object.  It tints life and gives us something different then what our neighbor is seeing.  Our lense twists and shapes reality, so that what we see is really reality-through-a-veil.  Our gossamer lens is formed of background, culture, religion, education, and personality.  These things can be ever changing but they always effect how we see the world.  They are a fragile gossamer lens placed on the cameras that we use to look at the world. 

     This gossamer lens is what makes people so interesting, so diverse, and worthwhile to speak to.  If we all saw things the same way we would all have the same opinions and we would probably find each other extremely dull, although easier to get along with.  Everyone has something to offer, due to this gossamer lense, everyone has something interesting to say. 

     In this day and age of technology and quick communication it has become easier for people to share with others what they see through the gossamer lens.  Some can speak eloquently while other share things more bluntly and with less spice.

     My hope is that I can share, in a not so boring way, what I see through my gossamer lens.