The Used Car

Me Grandpa Joe smoked. A lot. He paid for it in more ways than one.

On a road trip years ago, he flicked a cigarette butt out of his window as he drove. Unfortunately the window behind the driver's seat was rolled down. The smoldering butt flew through the opening and set the back seat on fire. Before Joe could do anything about that except pull over and, I think, retrieve his luggage, the car was in flames. A total loss.

Yet he still needed to get home. As luck would have it he wasn't very far away from a junk yard. Joe ambled in to see if they might have anything, anything at all, which was drivable.

The proprietor offered him an old vehicle of some sort which was absolutely deplorable even by Joe standards. It barely ran, and the rusted hulk of a body was held together by willpower and the grace of God. The tires were well blanched and balding rubber. Onionskins, Joe would call such tires (he had drove on enough of them). As me Grandpa listened to it valiantly try to continue running he asked, "What do you want for it?"

"Fifty bucks," came the reply. "And it goes up every time you open your mouth."

Joe paid him fifty dollars and got home with his newfound, uh, treasure.

Odd Hessel

I know that it's the very definition of a first world problem. I'm in Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula in late September. It's unseasonably warm; temperatures are in the low 70s with bright sunshine. And especially in light of the recent issues down south in the after effects of Hurricane Helene, I've got it well. So what's the trouble, Marty?

Well, the Sun seems harsh, for lack of a better term. It's lower in the horizon and feels unusually bright. The sky, an expanse of very light blue virtually every day I've been here, is also abnormally striking. It almost looks surreal, as though not blue enough.

So I wonder: is the Sun harder on the eyes this time of year? Does its angle towards the Earth make the sky more uncomfortable? Even in the shadows on the ground I find such a higher definition of brightness and shade that it can be disconcerting, indeed almost other-worldly. Is there an astronomical explanation for this or am I psychologically superimposing ideas upon it?

There's advantages, to be sure. The earlier sunsets and later sunrises make it easier to see the starry night sky, which I love. I saw a couple of shooting stars at around 5 AM yesterday. In summer, it's already dawn by that time. I have to be up at two to see such things in June. 

I still like being here. Yet it never felt this way before, during the day anyway. 

Day and Night

I know that seasons change. Things are different at different times of the year. Yet that seems so stark in Hessel.

Yesterday marks my fourth trip to da UP, Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, this calendar year. In May, June, July, and even August when I'm up here, it's still bright at 9:05 P.M. Yet now in late September at a similar hour, it's pitch dark. What gives?

I know the answer of course. It's Autumn, it's after Summer, it's late in the year. Intellectually, I get it. Old Sol is lower on the southern horizon. He sets earlier. Hessel gets dark earlier.

I know that. Yet it's weird. I'm not sure I like that.

Grandpaw Ain't Listenin'

Grandmaw Hutchins did have an infectious laugh. When she was delighted with something she was delighted with it and expressed that delight freely, even if the joke was on her.

I remember one summer day sitting with her and Grandpaw under the shade tree (y'all remember the shade tree don't ya?) and she was talking at him about all sorts of subjects. Every few minutes she'd pause and glance at her husband, whence he'd smile and say in his quiet, genteel manner, "Yes, Mae."

She'd continue her monologue about fixin' the chicken coop or weeding the garden. Eventually she would again stop to check if he was payin' proper attention. "Yes, Mae," Grandpaw would respond.

Onward and upward for Grandmaw Hutchins. She'd go off on another mini-harangue about what needed doin' or what was coming up and at each break in the action Grandpaw would respond with a grin, "Yes, Mae."

After one more affirmative response she looked at me and her eyes grew big and she proceeded to laugh out loud, in her uninhibited, wonderful cackle, exclaiming, "That old man ain't got his hearing aid on!" She thought it was the funniest thing in the world. She surely knew he'd done it purposefully.

Grandpaw just answered simply, again as if on cue but with a twinkle in his own eye, "Yes, Mae." I think he figured she was onto him.

Money Talks

Old TV shows can seem quaint about things like money. What they regard as significant we might actually laugh at.

An episode I stumbled upon of Our Miss Brooks, a sitcom from the middle Fifties, was centered on the 'safeguarding' of forty cents. That's right, four whole dimes. On The Andy Griffith Show, a litterer was upset over a four dollar fine and vowed to extract revenge on Barney Fife for having issued the ticket which cost him so dearly. Vengeance was sworn over four bucks. It sounded downright absurd for a man to be mad over such a paltry amount.

Of course, I remember me Pops talking about making $100 a week in 1963 and feeling it was good money. And when I had my first $50 dollar bill at age 16 it felt like I had struck gold. I was in total awe of General Grant. I kept a guard on it as though I were Fort Knox. Still, I don't think twice about four dollars let alone 40 cents these days. And when you think about it, maybe that's a shame on me.

Mocking Bird

The Babylon Bee, a satirical comedy site, uses mockery to make philosophic, political, and religious points to such a degree that even conservatives sometimes criticize it for poor judgement. Apparently we should take all ideas seriously. My question is, should we?

I don't think so. I mean, unless you're willing to argue that all ideas are equally valid, that all systems of thought are true and all ideas just, concepts I will say are false on their face (is there really a moral equivalency between Iceland and North Korea, between killing for self defense and murder?) then surely not. Truth be told, if there is complete moral equivalency amongst literally every idea out there, what's the point of debate at all? I'm as right as you are, if we can even say that either of us are right. The idea doesn't even rise, as C.S. Lewis remarked, to the dignity of error. That's because even error, honest mistakes, exist only in a world where correction is possible, where true moral gains might be made.

Simply, not all ideas are just. Right and wrong exist. So unless we're discussing ideas in order to determine the one from the other, to find out what is right and apply it (or wrong and avoid it) we're not having a serious discussion at all. We're just squabbling, and for no reason other than to get our way. It's an inherently selfish basis for action by anyone at any level.

Here's where the Bee comes in. The folks there realize that some ideas do not merit serious consideration. Indeed, some ought to be mocked, they're so ridiculous. They deserve derision and scorn. They don't have to be taken seriously. 

In fact, they can't. If for example you actually don't know what a woman is, you need instruction, not dialogue. If you really believe Iceland and North Korea equal in the family of nations, you need to sit and listen to more knowledgeable people. You're not at the point where we can have useful discussions. You're the Emperor in his new clothes. Someone needs to tell you you haven't any clothes at all.

Two Years

Mom has been gone two years, almost to the minute as I type. As a matter of fact, almost to the minute that the paramedics apologized that there was nothing they could do. You want to know an image you can't forget? Watching from the next room as EMTs are doing chest compressions and working a large bladder to force air into your Mother's lungs, trying to get her breathing and restart her heart. It's indelible.

We should always pray, and I do for her. I trust in God for her happiness, but there's no real way of knowing her place right now. So pray. It can't hurt, and can help more than we imagine. She will in turn pray for us.

I love you, Mom. Godspeed. And, you know, it kinda gives me another Sunday with you this year.