Ceramic Coffee Cup Philosophy

One of my kids, I honestly don't remember who (that'll get them to thinking and pointing fingers) accidentally dropped a coffee cup while we were on a visit to me Grandpa Joe's. It shattered, porcelain shards scattering all across the kitchen floor. As a parent typically does, I began to chastise the guilty party for not bring careful. Joe cut me off. "Hell, I never knew one to wear out."

I thought it was funny even at the time, and it says something about what our reactions might ought to be. While I don't want to excuse carelessness (children certainty must be taught to be considerate of things, especially other people's things) there's that old bugbear about perspective. It was just a common old coffee mug and it was an accident. And they don't wear out. It would likely get broken one day anyway.

Gruff as he was, I always thought Joe had a soft spot for kids just the same. I've told a few stories here that illustrates that. Add this to it.

What's in the Past

A customer complained to me that things aren't what they were twenty years ago. I responded, "Hell, I'm not what I was twenty years ago."

Well, I'm not. I'm only trying to give things a sense of perspective.

Perspective

Several weeks ago, I found I was at a point far down Trumbull about halfway through my morning constitutional. Walking northward, I saw the boom of a crane in the distance. Yet within a few blocks it was no longer there. 'Must've moved on,' I thought to myself.

A few days later I was back in roughly the same place, and I saw the boom again. That was odd, I thought. But you see construction equipment all the time in and around Detroit so I figured it was a different one. In another few blocks though it also disappeared. I must admit I was perplexed, but I shrugged it off and went home.

When I spied the boom of a crane north off Trumbull yet again in the coming weeks I had to investigate. I determined to walk up the street all the way to the machine just to solve the mystery. But me being me, my thoughts wandered, and before long the crane was again gone, as if into the ether. I had to keep going then. Something was amiss.

As I came into the clearing created by Wayne State University's Matthei Field I saw that the crane had returned. Or, more correctly, my line of sight was no longer blocked. The crane was part of new construction at Henry Ford Hospital. It seemed to disappear only because as I neared it the trees between it and I, being taller in perspective, hid it.

I must admit I felt a bit stupid. But that's nothing new either.