Conversations with Charlie

Being and Non Being

8/6/2022

My wife is currently in Arizona visiting with her mom — she generally makes it the great southwest at least three, sometimes four, times a year. I know her mother greatly appreciates her faithfulness; although Linda calls her once or twice a week, unsurprisingly her mother thinks it is better to have the in person visits. I agree, at least, that is what I tell Linda when she is in the Valley of the Sun: "it’s good to talk with you on the phone but it’s nice so interact with you in person, especially over those gourmet dinners that you lovingly prepare for me (perhaps lovingly is not quite accurate; it might just be dutiful; though that's probably not right either, as it wasn’t included in the marriage covenant)." Anyway, I got you it yourself leftovers for that comment.

I was recently asked what I do with all my free time in retirement. Generally, my routine is simple and consists in mastering the art of being & non-being. Once again my wife helped me articulate what that actually means. A few weeks ago, she asked me what I was going to do that day and I told her — nothing! She said, that’s what you did yesterday, and I replied, that is correct, but I didn’t finish. That is the art of being and non-being at the same time. Of course, I suppose doing nothing is, in a manner of speaking, doing something; though that something is generally of little or no consequence. In my case, those non-being acts are observational testimony to the effects of age related entropy and make be observed in my daily routine of inconsequential activities generally involving playing two to three hours of pickleball, taking random photos of whatever catches my eye (here's a link to my Flickr photo site: www.flickr.com/photos/100353575@N06/), reading, periodically playing the piano (generally review the hymns for an order of worship for wherever I'm scheduled to preach [I suppose, that is the one activity that may be of some consequence]), meeting with a friend or two to discuss theology, philosophy and esoteric subjects of monumental insignificance that the vast majority of people spend their lives pursuing.

If it wasn’t such a bother, I’d write a book on writing stream of conscience email letters, and assorted other trivial things — the problem with words like “things” is that the word is nebulous and, frankly, takes too much work to fill in the blank that it leaves on the page, both as a reader and as a writer. Thankfully, I’ve read A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole and I’m now properly cautioned against any such literary undertaking; it can only lead to paranoia, depression and suicide.

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August 09th, 2019

8/9/2019

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Linda and I will celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary on the 22nd of August; to commemorate the occasion we took a delightful river boat cruise with Viking Tours. At the close of the tour our excellent program director shared the following poem. It's worth passing on.

You start dying slowly
if you do not travel,
if you do not read,
If you do not listen to the sounds of life,
if you do not appreciate yourself.

You start dying slowly when you kill your self-esteem,
when you do not let others help you

You start dying slowly if you become a slave to your habits, walking every day on the same paths … if you do not change your routine, If you do not wear different colors or you do not speak to those you don't know.

You start dying slowly if you avoid to feel passion & its turbulent
emotions, those that make your eyes glisten & your heart beat fast.

You start dying slowly if you do not change your life when you are not
satisfied with your job, or with your love, or with your surroundings.
if you do not risk what is safe for the uncertain,
If you do not go after a dream,
If you do not allow yourself, at least once in your lifetime
to run away from sensible advice.
Pablo Neruda

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The Destruction of Beelzebub's Offspring

10/8/2018

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There are all sorts of little hairy creatures invading our lives at almost ever turn, some are even rather cute like the one pictured here; but one of the most persistent, disease infested and annoying life form has wings and is a hellish master at avoiding death. Walloping the little beasties from hell with our torn and bent fly swatter has been an exercise in futility. Well, I’ve had it with these winged pests congregating on my uncovered tostadas to plot my early demise. Sadly, my initial and lengthy quest for the latest and greatest flying horde killing device resulted in being grievously disappointed. The dispair resulting from my initial inquiries for a quality fly swatting device almost ended up with my embracing a nihilistic worldview: I was beginning to think that there would be no triumph of moral goodness. Though I was on the verge of believing that mankind had given up its fight against the forces of darkness and that the making superior fly swatters was once and for all a lost art, I was, however, constrained by the noisy flying black bug to give it one more try. Thankfully, my thorough research led me to the discovery of an old school craftsman who truly understands the spiritual implications of waging war against the vile emissaries of Beelzebub (lord of the flies). Yes, you guessed it, I found myself at the doorstep of an Amish craftsman who has been producing handcrafted weapons of destruction — no longer will these airborne disease laden denizens of hell invade our peaceful domicile. As one might expect Amazon provided the link to a fly free refuge.

If you too are looking for fly relief, then you might want to read the following two fly "whapping" reviews I found on Amazon. The first review I found to be the most historically researched and scientifically informative.

Fly swatters are another of those dying breed of products like rotary dial phones, TV’s with picture tubes, cassette players, etc. that used to be found in every home but these days not so much. If you walk into even the big mega department stores looking for one you likely won’t even find one. And when you do, like here at Amazon, they are almost always the one-piece molded plastic things that are stamped out by the billions in China.

My great-aunt from Pennsylvania had an Amish-made fly swatter. She was 92 and when she aimed for a fly she could have been Annie Oakley … she never missed a shot. Her fly swatter, which she probably had all of her life, was a supple piece of perforated leather with what looked like a bent metal coat hanger attached to it.

Here are some little-known things about fly swatters that you probably never knew:

1. The device really shouldn’t be called a fly swatter at all. Swatting flies is what you do with your hand or what a horse does with its tail. Your mission with one of these things is to KILL the fly, not just swat at it. A much more appropriate name should be a Fly Whapper.

2. The cheap plastic things are designed all wrong for whapping flies. First off they are usually brightly colored. Flies have hundreds of thousands of “eyes”, in fact fly eyes have the fastest visual responses in the animal kingdom. So, bottom line is that if you want to surprise them the last thing you want is a neon pink piece of plastic flailing at one of them.

3. Plastic fly swatters are also too rigid. My great aunt’s fly whapper had a wire handle just like this Amish one does … and for a good reason. The thin wire minimize the disruption of air currents, which can be detected by the fly and allow it to escape, and also reduce air resistance, making it easier to hit a fast-moving target such as a fly. The thicker, more rigid plastic handle is like sending an engraved warning notice to the fly that you’re about to hit it. It’s the same reason that a rolled up newspaper rarely actually hits a fly.

4. There are some other (similar) handmade fly whappers with a leather pad at the end but they use a wooden handle. Same thing … the wooden handle isn’t whippy enough, to be able to flex just before the moment of impact for maximum squoosh with minimum damage caused by hitting other objects.

5. Finally, the business end of the fly whapper, let’s call it the “pad”. For absolute maximum whippiness there is nothing that beats natural leather. There was another kind of pad that’s hard to find now that was a fabric mesh like a dense window screen. They were a close second to natural leather in whippiness. The cheap plastic pads aren’t even in the same league as either of the above.

So, you’re shopping for a fly whapper and you now know that those bright neon colors that attract your eye also attracts all of the thousands of eyes on the fly and destroy your chances of a stealth approach. You’ve also learned that a stiff handle can be your worst enemy when whapping flies … the whippier the handle the better. You’ve also learned that my 92 year old aunt had a batting average that makes yours look like junior league and she did it with an old Amish fly whapper that wasn’t too different from this one.

This second review of the wooden handle “whapper” was clearly the most inspiring and appealed to my manhood and my desire to make a positive impact for world peace, but in the end science and history won out.

This is the greatest fly swatter on planet earth. It is the champion, the Alpha, the G.O.A.T. among swatters. When men hold it, your testosterone count will double, your car will get nicer, your abs become visible, and the best-looking woman in the room will wrap herself around your leg and look up adoringly at you like in those old movie posters. When women hold it, well, uh, I wouldn’t know. But something amazing will certainly happen.

It is 16” of solid wood, with a thick leather flap riveted to it with titanium (probably not, but they should be) fasteners. It feels like a king-sized leather quilt lagged to a 4x4 fencepost. You will wield this swatter like Excalibur, like Durendal, like Anakin’s lightsaber, like Wallace wielding his broadsword against the English. You will swing it like Babe Ruth, swinging for the fences in his prime. Flying insects of all types will tremble at the mere whisper of your swatter. They will simply fall dead from fear when you & your swatter enter the room.

However, with great power comes great responsibility. Like King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, only the worthy can tame this beast. When you swing it, you will shatter breakables, strip paint, and crush the bones of the unworthy. You are Thor with his Mjolnir, and you must exercise caution at all times, like the noble Avenging hero that you will be. Don’t swing angry… anger leads to hate, and hate is of the dark side. If you take the quick & easy path, an agent of evil you will become. You will become like Negan, coldly & mercilessly swinging Lucille. You don’t want this.

Also, this weapon of mass destruction is made by the Amish here in ‘Merica! With each swift stroke that brings death to an insect of evil, the national anthem will spontaneously play and American flags will flutter regally in the breeze, even when there is no wind. Eagles will fly, Old Glory will dance, Rosie will rivet. A small purchase on Amazon will be a great leap for mankind. If Reagan had had this thing, he could have ended the Cold War. Plus, you know, you’re supporting the Amish and stuff.

I’m telling you, buy this fly swatter. And do not look back. Don’t look back. You too, for less than $20, can be a superhero! The world needs you! The insects are coming!

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Around the Corner I Have a Friend

7/8/2018

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If we are not very careful about our relationships, life may end up being an exceptionally lonely experience. It is a rare event to truly connect heart to heart with another person; to lose such a friend in death is sad, but to lose them in life through neglect or offense is tragic. The loss of such a friend in life may be the fountainhead of regret and sorrow. I woke up this morning thinking about the following poem.

"Around the Corner I Have a Friend"
Charles Hanson Towne

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end;
Yet the days go by, and weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year is gone,
And I never see my old friend's face,
For Life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell,
And he rang mine. We were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men:
Tired with playing a foolish game,
Tired with trying to make a name.
"To-morrow," I say, "I will call on Jim
"Just to show that I'm thinking of him."
But to-morrow comes -- and to-morrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner -- yet miles away,…
"Here's a telegram sir,…" "Jim died today."

And that's what we get, and deserve in the end:
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

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Walking My Dog

4/29/2018

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Generally, I look forward to the beginning of March as a major turning point in the seasons. I’ve made it through January and February, which are for me the two toughest months of the year – they are cold and dark. Despite what people may think, I really do prefer warmer weather. Never once have I had to shovel two feet of rain – swim in it perhaps, but never shovel it. Linda has no sympathy for me when I protest the cold; invariably she’ll just suggest that I put on long pants. I’ve explained to her that I can't do that. What if summer should come unexpectedly while I am out for a walk? I would be completely unprepared.

It always snows near the beginning of March. Yesterday and today we got hit with a big snowfall. According to my estimate after having cleared off the driveway, deck, steps and walkway I’d say we received about 14 feet (no, not inches – feet). I shoveled it so I should know what we got. Thankfully, it is March and it should start to melt in a day or two. So, before you can say hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian or floccinaucinihilipilification (I was going to say colposinquanonia but Linda took offense at the sexist language) the snow will be little more than a memory – I rather imagine that should be sometime mid-July. Anyway, I am looking forward to this Sunday when we change to daylight savings time. It will be lighter later in the evening and that means I can leave my flashlight at home when I take Charlie out for an evening walk in the woods.

It’s not that I greatly mind walking my dog in the dark as I have a good flashlight, but a few months ago it was unusually dark and the woods seemed to resemble Tolkien's Fangorn Forest when Charlie, my black Standard Poodle, and I set off for a night walk at the Carlisle State Park. Although Charlie quickly set off to go exploring in the woods (dogs have great night vision), I didn't worry about his wandering far afield as he customarily checks on me quite frequently to see why I am walking so slowly; but, of course, I only have two legs and he has four.

On this particular occasion he was gone for what seemed to me to be an inordinately long time and I was beginning to worry that the coyotes might have gotten him. I carry a 500-lumen flashlight and I was casting this bright torch about the woods looking for my best four-legged friend when I saw what seemed to me to be two fiery red eyes staring out of the woods at me. I called out to Charlie, but the eyes didn't blink or move. Only, the night before I had been reading poems and shorts stories by Edgar Allen Poe. So, I suppose it is not surprising that I immediately thought that this might be some spirit-possessed creature sent to torment me (thoughts of “nevermore” were racing through my head). Personally, I am not particularly fond of Stephen King’s horror stories, but I have to admit I thought that this nocturnal beast might be of one of his literary perversities partnering with one of Poe’s creations. “Charlie,” I said, “don't fool around, if that’s you, let’s get going home.” The next thing I knew the eyes were running toward me and there was a low growl as the beast leaped into the air and landed on my chest. My dog is such a prankster – he definitely had me going. But I have to say that I am a little relieved that I won't be walking out in the dark woods again until next November.

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First Report

1/24/2017

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I resolved not to drive any excessive distances on any given day of my western road trip and to date I have been relatively successful. I’ve been on the road for nine days and I spent three nights at Carrie’s place in Raleigh and I am spending three nights at my sister’s place in Austin TX. At both places I have been confronted with either my flagging mental capacities or my decaying body. At Carrie’s, my grandson who recently came back from a chess tournament in Nashville TN, insisted that we play chess. I knew what was coming and I tried my best to avoid inflating his ego and deflating my own; but, he would not be put off. He remembers all too well the many years that I mockingly took advantage of his youthful inexperience to consistently beat him in ten moves or less. Don't let anyone miss lead you – revenge is sweet. I was fortunate to play our only game to a draw. I feigned exhaustion to avoid a tiebreaker. His brother Jon is working on getting his pilot’s license – he assures me that when, in a couple of years, I'm too old to drive he will be able to fly me anywhere I need to go. He is fulfilling my own childhood dream (sadly, my being colorblind sidelined that youthful ambition).

So, now I am at my sister’s house in Texas and I discovered she frequently goes for a walk in the morning. I am not unfamiliar with walking – Linda and I do it occasionally. I know that when we go for a walk at Great Brooks I will graciously slow my pace or wait for her to catch up to me. Our first morning together, Candace suggested we go for a short walk; that is, short for her. It was just a bit less than 7 miles. Not only could I not find my walking shoes but there is no way I could not keep up with her 6 mile per hour power-walking pace. Thankfully, there were benches along the way and I took full advantage of them; claiming I needed to remove the stones in my shoes. And then, there were the bladder rest stations that afforded me more face-saving rest stops. By the time we returned to the house I had a couple good size blisters. Today, she assumed I would love to go for another walk; after all, I had found my walking shoes and my blisters had a chance to heal overnight. She graciously suggested we take a shorter route – just 5 miles today. I think Candace is teaching me to be a little more considerate of my wife when we are out walking.

Tomorrow I plan to drive toward Albuquerque where I’ll see friends before heading to the Grand Canyon by way of Arizona backroads -- where the above picture was taken. After a few days breathing the high altitude air overlooking the Great Pit, I hope to spend a few death free days in Death Valley. I'll be stopping along the way in Boulder City NV to see some long-time friends. I'm looking forward to trying out my year-old tent that has never been used and I have a new camp stove that I received for Christmas -- I'm sure the open air cooking will enhance the flavor of my Dinty Moore Beef Stew.

Fresh never before published photographs are forthcoming.

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The Journey Begins

1/16/2017

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As promised I am beginning my travels to the Southwest and perhaps as far as the California coast with a blog entry. My speaking commitments precluded my leaving on this trip any sooner than today. Yesterday I filled in for a friend of mine at the 1st Baptist Church in Tewksbury and preached on the "Glory of God in Prayer" (here is a link to my notes). I had five pages of notes and though I preached for forty minutes didn't get past the first page -- pathetic, I know.

Thankfully, I do not have to be back in New England before the end of March; but, whatever plans I may make - and I make very few - God has a way of changing them. Consequently, I find it helpful to stay flexible; not in body, of course, but in spirit. It is my intention to avoid any days with excessive milage. Thus, I find myself at the Dover AFB at the end of my first day of driving. It turns out that driving on the MLK holiday was a good choice as far as traffic goes.

No photos today; however, I took this one yesterday while I was out walking Charlie. Winter in NE sans the snow. Linda tells me there is snow on the way this week. I'm so sorry to be missing it. I hope to be posting some as the trip progresses.

I've brought along my clarinet and I'm tempted to practice tonight, but I'm a bit leary as the military installations are a little rigid about what is permissible with regard to "disturbances" at the BOQ and might evict me in the middle of the night. I may press my luck with friends I see along the way. Linda graciously tells me that I'm making progress, but I think she may be glad not to have me around for the next month or so as I frequently practice until late in the evening.

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Gary Moore

College: Arizona State University - Major: History (B.A.)

Seminary: Eastern Baptist Theological Seminary (M.Div.)

Sabbatical Studies: 1984 Westminster Seminary (Escondido)

2004 Westminster College, Cambridge University (UK)

Old Posts

Being and Non Being

August 09th, 2019

The Destruction of Beelzebub's Offspring

Around the Corner I Have a Friend

Walking My Dog

First Report

The Journey Begins

Gary Moore

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