Victor Hugo et les principaux personnages des Miserables

Victor Hugo et les principaux personnages des Miserables

By Jay

I’ve always been a huge admirer of Victor Hugo, ever since I saw the 1935 film version of Les Miserables when I was eleven years old in 1979.  I finally read an abridged version of the novel in 1984 followed by the unabridged version in 1988.  I’ve subsequently read just about everything of his that has been translated into English and own an antique 30 volume set of his “complete” works that dates from shortly after his death in 1885.  I also own (I believe) all of his biographies that have been either written or translated into English and have copies of many film versions of his novels.  I suppose I could almost consider myself an expert on the “anglo” interpretation of this great writer’s works in English, and my only regret is that I have never read any of his works in his native French.     

Recently, I came across a very short film called Victor Hugo et les principaux personnages des Miserables.  According to a quick internet search, this is the first film version of any of Hugo’s works though it can barely be called a “version” but rather a curiosity.  It was filmed by the Lumiere brothers circa. 1897/98, making it nearly 120 years old.  It’s surprisingly very clear for such an old film – almost as if the footage could have been shot today.  Of course, there were no feature length films in the 1890’s, mere snippets.  The film itself lasts for just over a minute and shows an anonymous impersonator assuming some of the substantial roles within the novel beginning with Hugo himself, white beard and all.  Hugo stares at us as if to say, Wait until you see what I have in store for you, as he gazes directly into the camera, head somewhat loftily raised, arms folded, gaze set with purpose.  Hugo’s character is then followed by the angry looking convict Jean Valjean, beardless and with his prisoner identification number on his stocking hat.  The impersonator then turns around and changes into the identity of the benign and kindly looking Bishop Myriel, bespectacled and with eyes gleaming benevolently into the camera.  The next character that is portrayed is the innkeeper Thenardier with full beard, arms folded, hunched over and almost leering into the camera as if to say, Watch out, or I will take what’s in your pockets!  And the final impersonation is probably his most unique – that of Valjean’s nemesis, police inspector Javert, beardless, police hat, with false broken teeth – leaning back with his hands behind him, his mouth open and expression wild with obsessive determination.  It is a macabre portrait, and one that demands continuous viewing.  On the whole, the entire film demands continuous viewing.  It is one minute captured in time towards the end of the century before last when films were in their infancy.  On Christmas Eve I found myself watching it over and over again.  I cannot explain why I am so fascinated by the film except perhaps that everything about it is in the distant past.  The anonymous impersonator has surely been moldering in his grave for many, many years and yet the sparks of life he brought, however fleetingly, to the various characters forever remain etched in time.

A copy of the film can be seen on You Tube.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9l4H5pe4kaU

Edvard Munch: Melancholy

By Craig: A wise person once said; "live for the moment as if it may be your last." The other day I was reflecting on the passage of time as it related to my existence, and realized that if I doubled the years that I have already lived....I would be 96 years old. It was not really a revelation to me, as I frequently think of things like this, and realize that as the world spins I am merely an object that spins with it. As I sit here in my library and write this, I can hear the revving of a car engine not too far away and wonder if the person behind the wheel is like me and has ever stopped to ponder on the relevance of his existence. Maybe not...But I am certain that this experience is not unique to me. In fact, I am certain of it.

A number of years ago I became fascinated with the artwork of the Norwegian artist Edvard Munch. He is best known for his series of paintings and pastels called The Scream which has become an iconic and sometimes spoofed work. Although The Scream is generally considered his most famous work, I am intrigued by another work that has mostly fallen into obscurity. It is called Melancholy. It depicts a man sitting by the waterside. I don't particularly examine artwork to the high intensive level of a critic. I merely like a work for either its symbolism or its beauty. With Munch's work it is the symbolism that impresses me. The subject of Melancholy sits with his chin resting on his hand in a seemingly pensive mood as if something were bothering him. Is he reflecting on a distressing event in his life that he has just experienced? Perhaps he has just fallen out with his lady love? Or maybe it is a change in his life that he is having a hard time dealing with. Although the artist had his own personal inspiration for the work, another person might look at it in another way. To me, the subject, although seemingly solemn in his thoughts might have reached an epiphany of sorts. Perhaps he has come to that moment of time in his life when he has suddenly realized that he is at a crossroads. He sees time slipping by and the reason for his existence has become lost to him. He desperately seeks it again, but the grandeur novelty of youth has passed him. Beyond him, the endless shoreline disappears into infinity. He is lost...and lonely.

Friedrich Nietzsche might have summed up the man's mood when he wrote: 
"In some remote corner of the universe, poured out and glittering in innumerable solar systems, there once was a star on which clever animals invented knowledge. That was the highest and most mendacious minute of "world history", yet only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths the star grew cold, and the clever animals had to die. One might invent such a fable and still not have illustrated sufficiently how wretched, how shadowy and flighty, how aimless and arbitrary, the human intellect appears in nature. There have been eternities when it did not exist; and when it is done for again, nothing will have happened."

I can't get worked up about current events like most people do. Perhaps I would if I didn't have time to contemplate the mood of my existence, and the passage of time. It would be out of sheer necessity and the instinct of my survival that I would be forced to forget the luxury (or curse depending on how one sees it) of philosophical meditation and resort to the temporal politics of the day. Does it really matter if Trump or Clinton wins? Or...if this blog post is even written?

 The car has stopped revving its engine. It is quiet now and the sky is getting dark as the sun has slipped below the horizon yet again in the western sky. My mind races back to my youth...I am riding my red Schwinn down Route 68, my bag full of newspapers. It is blistering cold, and I can see my breath as I pedal hard toward the next house where I will launch a newspaper onto the back porch. The world and future stretch out in front of me...Melancholy and infinity are the farthest things from my mind. Another day has passed on this diminutive world that we temporarily inhabit... all the while stretching toward a timeless and measureless forever...

Marx Carry-All Action Knights and Vikings Playset

Marx Carry-All Action Knights and Vikings Playset

By Jay

I suppose I didn’t know what a Viking was until I was about six years old. I remember playing at the home of my parents’ friends, who also happened to be the godparents of my younger brother. They had a son who was about three years older than me, and he had a wonderful medieval action playset – grey castle with all the accessories such as a drawbridge, banquet table, catapults, horses, silver knights, and oh, yes – these mint green Vikings that looked as tasty as mint chocolate chip ice cream! I remember taking them out of these small brown bags and setting them up in different positions within and outside the walls of the castle.  Although I did not own the set, my brother and I played with it every time we visited our friends, and though we wanted one of our own, we were never able to find one.

There was something mystical about this playset that inspired my interest in medieval life, Christian Knights and Vikings which has not abated to this day.  Every time I still think of a Viking, I cannot help but remember those mint green plastic figures with horned helmets wielding battleaxes and swords, struck in various martial poses.  The same can be said for the Christian Knights, who seemed pure and upright in their handsome silver cut. Of course, being a Roman Catholic, we always made the knights the good guys and the pagan Vikings the bad guys even though we have quite a bit of Danish and Viking blood, our great-grandmother hailing from Copenhagen.

With a little research, I recently found out that this playset was manufactured by Marx, a manufacturer that specialized in playsets and action figures that were popular during this time period – late 60’s early70’s.  I was also determined to own one, something that I had been unable to fulfill in my childhood.  I began searching on EBay, and, wow!... The price for these old sets was way beyond my bank account!  I was looking at upwards of a hundred and fifty dollars! Yes, it would look nice set up and sitting in the corner of my library with the morning sun shining upon it, but not at that price.  And so I resigned myself to forget about it and chuck the desire away as a mere superficial whim.  However, little did I know that my brother was just as determined to get the same set, or… Well, I guess I should have known.  He is just as mentally unhinged as I am on these matters.  And so it was that on our birthday, at the top of the stairs to his library was the Marx Carry-All Knights and Vikings Playset, set up and ready to go!  He had bought it for me so that I could put it in my library!  So now I finally have one, but the question remains.  Why would a grown man nearing fifty with terminal cancer want a play castle and a bunch of plastic figures?  What am I going to do with it now that I possess it?  As I sit here in my library with my lazy cat sitting on the chair beside me, I ask myself this profound question.  I hear a dog barking a few houses down…  An old man, my neighbor across the street, sits on his porch looking up at the clouds…  The chirrupy sound of the ice-cream man drifts by as my neighbor’s head turns to watch the colorful vehicle roll around the corner… The dim rumble of rush hour traffic has begun its weary moan in the distance…  And a large commuter jet has just groaned by overhead as if something somewhere up in the great big sky is about to burst forth and come flooding down to Earth…  

    

 

1939 New York World's Fair: The Forgotten Appearance of Superman

By Craig: A long time ago I was told that my grandparents attended the New York World's Fair on their honeymoon. They were married in 1939. I cannot remember if one of them told me this, or perhaps it was my mother that told me. I was only 9 when my grandfather passed away in 1978. My grandmother followed him to the grave a few years later. Needless to say my interest in this World's Fair did not really begin until after they were dead.

I probably first heard of this spectacular event about the time that my grandfather passed away. It was about this time that I started collecting postage stamps. One of the first commemorative stamps that I acquired was the purple and white 1939 World's Fair issue. I was intrigued by the symbol on it and wondered what it meant. To me it was merely a white sphere and a long triangle. I knew it represented the Fair, but what was the meaning? It became one of my favorite stamps, and I eventually found a block of four that I added to my growing collection. I still do not know why I was initially drawn to the symbol, but I was. During my teenage years and into my early 20s I  had moved on from collecting postage stamps, and the furthest thing from my mind was the 1939-1940 New York World's Fair. Then, in the mid 1990s, quite by accident, I stumbled into an antique shop in North Carolina to look for books when I happened to see an object that caught my attention. It was an old wooden thermometer with the old familiar symbol on it that I remembered from my childhood. It was the Trylon and Perisphere. I looked at the shopkeeper and asked him how much he wanted for it. He told me that I could have it for $30. At the time I really couldn't afford it, but I had to have it! I reached into my wallet and paid the man and walked out of the shop with it. It was an impulsive thing to do, but for some unknown reason I felt compelled to purchase it. I started reading up on the Fair and purchased David Gelernter's book  1939: The Lost World of the Fair which was the only book that I could find on the subject. I became completely engrossed in it. The theme of the Fair was "The World of Tomorrow." Exhibits at the Fair told a hopeful tale of how life might look at a time in the future. It was an optimistic outlook. A philosophical exuberance of hope during a time of uncertainty. When the Fair opened to a large crowd on April 30, 1939 the world was on the eve of another world war. The Fair offered a glimmer of hope in a world festering in confusion. Albert Einstein summed up mankind's inability to mediate issues among the many nations of the Earth, which prevented the transition into the utopian World of Tomorrow. He delivered a message in a time capsule that was buried on the fairgrounds and was to be opened 5,000 years in the future. He wrote:

            Our time is rich in inventive minds, the inventions of which could facilitate our lives considerably. We are crossing the seas by power and utilize power also in order to relieve humanity from all tiring muscular work. We have learned to fly and we are able to send messages and news without any difficulty over the entire world through electric waves.
            However, the production and distribution of commodities is entirely unorganized so that everybody must live in fear of being eliminated from the economic cycle, in this way suffering for the want of everything. Furthermore, people living in different countries kill each other at irregular time intervals, so that also for this reason anyone who thinks about the future must live in fear and terror. This is due to the fact that the intelligence and character of the masses are incomparably lower than the intelligence and character of the few who produce something valuable for the community.
             I trust that posterity will read these statements with a feeling of proud and justified superiority.

The most popular attraction of the Fair, by far, was the Futurama exhibit in the General Motors building. Fairgoers were herded into the building and seated in plush moving chairs that slowly moved along a track overlooking a vast model of a futuristic city. Each chair was equipped with a sound system from which a voice resonated:
"And now on its magic 'carry-go-round' General Motors invites you on a tour of future America. The moving chairs below the map will transport you into 1960." 

The 1939 World's Fair ran into a second season in 1940, and by this time Europe had become embroiled in the second World War.  On the third day of July the Fair celebrated Superman's Day. The Man Of Steel was only 2 years old at this time having first appeared in Action Comics # 1 in 1938. This day, however, would mark the first time that Superman was seen in public. There seems to be some sort of controversy as to who played the role of Superman on this day. The best guess is that it was a character actor by the name of Ray Middleton who donned the blue tights and red boots and climbed onto what appeared to be a large white pedestal. Standing erect, poised and confident on top of the float he was pulled along the fairgrounds followed by a parade of screaming kids. A silent home movie reel captures the event as it happened 76 years ago. There is something timeless about the 1939-1940 New York World's Fair, almost a pervading sense of loneliness as one watches silently the footage from a time long gone and now nearly forgotten. Before Superman makes his appearance there are athletic contests that are held for children of all ages. At the end of the day a Superboy and a Supergirl will be crowned. Celebrities of the day were there including Charles Atlas who presented the Superboy award to William Aronis, and the Supergirl award to Maureen Reynolds. These were the days when there were winners and losers and not everyone was handed a participation trophy.

                                                     https://youtu.be/yNaMbFAQF4U

76 years have now passed since the World's Fair closed its gates for the last time. The magnificent symbols of the Fair, the gleaming white and radiant Trylon, and Perisphere were dismantled, and the steel structures that supported them were supposedly later used for the war effort. The fairgrounds were turned into a park, and another World's Fair used the same ground 25 years later. It was a smaller Fair, and the feeling at that time was a lot less hopeful for the future. Today, most people visiting the park have no idea that the grounds that they are walking across was once the epicenter of a utopian vision for mankind. A future that promised a technology that would make the lives of people much easier. In a way it has, but with technology also came  dystopian warnings of Orwell and Huxley. Today, one can almost see the ghosts of the fairgoers of 7 decades ago. Mute witnesses to a time now almost at the limit of living memory. Then there is Superman... the symbol of hope, standing tall, a representation of a future that could have been, followed by a parade of youthful faces he turns the corner past the view of the cameraman, and into a certain oblivion from a world and a time that no longer is.

Arthur S. Maxwell's The Bible Story and the Procession to Heaven

Arthur S. Maxwell’s The Bible Story by Jay

Sometime in 1977… 

It’s just an image, but one that has been imprinted in my brain since I was eight years old.  My parents were sitting at the kitchen table talking to a stranger.  I had never seen him before, which was unusual because I generally knew everyone who came into the house.  He was a salesman, but not a pushy one.  He was selling books - - a set of 10 Bibles for children called The Bible Story by Arthur S. Maxwell.  These were the days when sales people actually came to your house to sell you books like encyclopedias and magazines as well as Bibles!  Unheard of in today’s age of the internet…   But there he was talking to my parents about these crisp, blue books with colorful illustrations.  Of course, at the time I had no idea what he was doing there; however, I soon found out the purpose of his visit, and being the bibliophile I am, was elated to learn that they had just purchased the whole set.  If my memory serves me correctly, the salesman gave them the first volume as a sampler and placed the rest of the set on order.  I devoured that first volume and couldn’t wait until the other books arrived.  Every day I would come home from school hoping to see a box inside the house with the rest of the books.  When it finally arrived, I remember the excitement I felt as I removed each individual volume from the box and carefully flipped through the pages admiring the beautiful pictures.  One picture particularly caught my eye.  It was in Volume Eight and showed a line of people from the modern day going all the way back to Christ.  In the distant background, Christ stood in a white robe with arms outstretched as if saying, “Here I am!  Follow the line to infinity!”  There are a few robed images of people standing around him as if listening to him speak.  His disciples, perhaps?  From this group a line begins to form and weave its way onto the following page, the figures getting larger the closer they approach the modern day until the parade finally ends up back on the first page.  What my eight year old brain found fascinating was the fact that as the line moved away from Christ, the wardrobe of the figures changed as they moved through the centuries.  The first figures are all wearing robes as the first few centuries tick by.  The styles then begin to change, and we begin to see roman sandals, hose on the legs of men and conical hats on the heads of women as people walk forth from the Middle Ages.  We then see a distinctive Renaissance fashion as those from the 1400’s and 1500’s step forward trailing people wearing the garb of Puritan attire, steeple hats and coifs.  The procession continues to march across the page as we see the classic tri-cornered hat and bonnets from the 1700’s.  As we move closer to the present day, top hats begin to replace the tri-cornered ones, and women’s hats begin to show more color and style having flowers and frills.  Finally, as we near the end, we see clothing common in the early part of the twentieth century until we reach the first two people in line, who dominate the entire spectacle.  It is a man and woman dressed in modern clothes (at least by 1950’s standards when these books were first published).  Unlike those behind them, who seem to be looking every which way but up, this couple is gazing skywards, holding their bibles with expressions of complete complacency – the man in particular.  His cherubic, gently smiling face, framed by dark hair is the representation of pure innocence and faith as his raised eyes appear to be scanning the sky for his eternal reward. 

                I recently rediscovered this set of Bible stories, which was actually being used quite irreverently to raise a bed in the guest bedroom at my brother’s.  I had forgotten which volume this illustration was in, so I poured through each one.  However, when I got to Volume Eight, I did not have to scan for it at all.  It popped right open to the illustration as if the book was chiding me for neglect over the past few decades.  Thumb prints and old specks of what was probably 1970’s food stained the pages.  This illustration had been well loved in its day.  The concept of time fascinated me in 1977 as it still does today.  I never really believed in creationism – even then.  The concept seemed too simplistic and pat -- naïve and charming rather than truthful.  But there is an undeniable sincerity and probity in these childhood stories that I just can’t forget. 

                 I’ll always think of that bright faced man in the front, beaming purity and holding his Bible, his benevolent expression fixed in a state of supreme bliss. I suppose the procession of hope for a world hereafter will always continue to march forward regardless of all the darkness, despair and negativity that surround us.  It is a peace we all strive to attain even if our final curtain falls to nothing more than a deep and profound eternal rest.  I would like to think however that the dream is reward enough and is in itself filled with purpose as we continue to march towards that forever elusive heaven in the sky. 

    

Transit of Mercury

Transit of Mercury by Jay

            On November 9, 1769 Captain James Cook of H.M.S. Endeavour and astronomer Charles Green were on the Coromandel Peninsula in what is now known as (appropriately enough) Mercury Bay recording the Transit of Mercury.   The Coromandel’s weather is unpredictable and can go from being bright and sunny one moment to dark and torrential rains the next.  I had the good fortune to live there from 2000 – 2001 not far from where Cook and Green recorded their historic observations.  I remember visiting Shakespeare Cliff where there is a memorial located commemorating the important event where it was thought they made their recordings.  It has since been proven that they actually observed the transit from the beach, and according to Sydney Parkinson, Endeavour’s artist, another observation seems to have been made from the ship. 

            Though a poor astronomer as well as being mathematically incompetent and technically deficient, I am fascinated with science and theory not to mention history.  1769 was a big year for transit viewing.  On June 3 -4, interested spectators could get a view of Venus passing across the disc of the sun as long as they had access to a telescope.  A few months later on November 9, 1769, Mercury made its transit. This is extremely rare for the transits of Mercury and Venus to occur in the same year.  Captain James Cook and Charles Green as well as other members of the crew were luckily able to view both transits.  The day seemed perfect for viewing.  According to the gentleman scientist, Joseph Banks, this was “fortunate circumstance as except yesterday and today we have not had a clear day for some time” (Banks’ Journal).  Fate seemed to be with the expedition for astronomical viewing, for the weather was predominantly clear for observing both transits, Venus from Tahiti and Mercury from New Zealand.  Unfortunately, on the day of the Mercury transit, tragedy occurred.  It seems there was a dispute over the trading of cloth between Lieutenant John Gore and a Maori named Otirreeoonooe.  Details are vague, but it seems that Gore became incensed when Otirreeoonoe took off in the canoe with the cloth the lieutenant had given him without giving him his own whereupon Gore shot and killed him.  When Cook found out, he was frustrated and upset that one of his own officers (Gore was actually third in command of the ship at the time) had resorted to killing a man for stealing a piece of cloth.  It had been an eventful day marred by the bloody incident.

            I had no such worries last Monday when I took out my Nikon and homemade solar filter (courtesy of my creative wife Tina) when I woke up shortly before 7:00 A.M. to observe this year’s Transit of Mercury here in Pineville, North Carolina.  I was ready for the ingress which occurred between 7:12 and 7:16 though I was unable to get a good view due to the trees blocking my view in the back yard.  It wasn’t long though before I was able to get a clear view and shot of the tiny and innocuous looking planet passing before that majestic ball of hydrogen and helium.  Throughout the day I was able to take about 115 pictures at various times.  Unfortunately, I missed the egress, for I had inadvertently touched the viewfinder button so that I was unable to see the sun through the lens.  Because I was unfamiliar with the camera and only had a few minutes to catch what would be a tiny “tear drop” or “black drop” effect, I missed out on what would have been some fascinating pictures.  However, I was satisfied with the pictures I had taken – not bad for an astronomical novice.  If only Captain Cook and the royal astronomer Charles Green had had the technology that I, in my ignorance, had so carelessly used, I’m sure they would have made a much better “go of it” than me! 

Enjoy the pictures!

 

 

 

 

Change and the Old Hubbardston Mailman

By Craig: When my son was five years old I bought a brand new truck. He went with me to the Ford dealer and was excited about sitting in a shiny big red truck. It was a lot different from the vehicle that he was use to traveling in. He had known only the black Jeep Liberty that I had bought shortly before he was born. It was the only vehicle that he had ever known except for my beat up old Dodge Dakota that I had been driving since the early 90s, but he hardly ever got to ride in it. The salesman let me take it for a test run and my son was excited to say the least. The same could not be said about the salesman who was reluctant to be on a test drive with a talkative five year old sitting in the backseat. After the test drive I told the salesman that I would be back the next day, much to his chagrin. My son asked me if we could take the truck home, and I told him that we would the next day if it was still there. The next day I was true to my word and returned to the dealership with my son and wife and drove out of the lot in the shiny red truck that my son had kept asking about. However, as we were pulling out of the lot a funny thing happened. My son became serious and asked me why we were leaving the Jeep behind. I told him quite succinctly that the Jeep no longer belonged to us. I had sold it to the dealer. For a few seconds he was quiet. I thought it a natural question for him to ask, but what happened next surprised me...although it probably shouldn't have. He started to cry. When I asked him why he was crying he could only say two words over and over. "The jeep" The jeep" and then "I want the jeep!" He really liked the big red truck, but he never thought that he would have to say goodbye to the old Liberty which in his mind was the only vehicle that he associated with his existence. In his mind the Jeep was to be with him always. It always had been. Why should things change? He was comfortable and familiar with the Jeep. I tried to talk to him about change but it is difficult to reason with a five year old. Eventually he forgot all about the Jeep and when I recently reminded him about that day he laughed.

When I was a young boy I had a habit of waiting for the mailman to come. Was something coming for me today? I don't know what I expected. Most of the time the mail consisted of nothing but boring bills addressed to my parents, or lame advertisements and promotions offering a sweepstakes. Those sweepstakes mailings always puzzled me. First of all nobody I ever knew won. Secondly, they were almost always published on a thick cardboard, and made to look real important and enticing to the person receiving them. Sometimes they were sent by a car dealership in an attempt to get you to come to their lot by offering a chance to win a NEW CAR! Other times a magazine publisher would try to get you to subscribe to different magazines with free subscriptions knowing that at the end of your trial period you would forget to unsubscribe and they would send you a bill. Even though I never subscribed to any of the magazines I use to like separating the stamps of the magazines I wanted  from their perforations and sticking them on the postcard. Why I did this I cannot say. I never had the money to subscribe to magazines when I was a kid, and even if I did there were probably other things that I would have spent my money on. I guess it was something to do. The mailman usually arrived after I got home from school. He was a middle aged man I only knew as Mr. Meagher. He always arrived in a light colored car, the make and model I have long since forgotten. He was a pleasant fellow and would always smile. Even though it has been nearly 40 years I can still see his hand reaching through the window and opening the mailbox, stuffing the mail in and closing it again before driving off to the next house. It was a daily ritual, except, of course on Sunday. He performed this action of opening, stuffing, and closing in one fluid motion as if he were born to do it. It was inveterate to his being. I couldn't fathom anyone else doing it the way he did it, although this notion of mine was of course ridiculous. He was just one of thousands of mail carriers, but to me in my isolated world he WAS the mail carrier. Anyone else in the role would have seemed preposterous to my juvenile brain. One day, a new dark colored car pulled up to the mailbox. I was naturally taken aback and suspicious of this new turn of events, but when I saw Mr. Meagher's familiar hand and smiling countenance I realized what had happened, but it still wasn't right. Where was the light colored car that had always carried Mr. Meagher to our mailbox? It had been a constant in my life. Never changing...always the same...forever and ever. As I sit here today and reflect back on this time I don't think I ever recall seeing Mr. Meagher outside of that car? It is as if he were born in it. As if the only parts of his body that existed were his head... and his hand, that was needed for opening the mailbox.

I am not even sure why I write sometimes. Usually I write in a sort of stream of consciousness and jot down my thoughts and reflections that sometimes have no order or fluid motion to them. They are also mostly irrelevant things, fragmented memories from another lifetime that are always changing... Unlike an old mailman that seemed to represent order and a stability at a time when the world of youth was still filled with wonder, and a seemingly endless infinity ahead... which I now know to be specious.

A Lost Moment in Time: Grizzly Adams (1977)

By Craig: "My name is Mad Jack and if anyone knows the story of James Adams that would be me." So says the character Mad Jack played by grizzled actor Denver Pyle at the start of every episode of the 1970s classic The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams. I can remember watching this TV show when I was a kid and it was one of my favorite programs. They were simple stories that usually contained a lesson in morality. The main character of course, was Grizzly Adams himself, played by the late Dan Haggerty. He was a big man with a big heart who was accused of a murder that he did not commit. Fleeing his home he left for the mountains where he adopted a bear cub named Ben and built a cabin with the help of the trapper Mad Jack. Adams also had a native American friend Nakoma. In an early episode Adams tells a young boy how he became blood brothers with Nakoma after saving his life one day. The boy wants a blood brother of his own, and at the end of the episode is introduced to Nakoma's nephew. It is symbolic of peace and friendship and how easy it is to get along with people of another culture without the judgmental and preconceived notions that surround it.

I have started to watch these episodes again nearly 40 years after I first saw them. The first thing that I thought about was how this series would never make it on television today. The episodes are too slow moving. There is not enough violence to entertain a modern audience. People today require action and a fast pace. The attention span of today's Ritalin induced audience would be gone in the first five minutes. "Where are the guns? the ass kicking tough guys (and girls) and the cars crashing through police barricades?"  As if this vapid nonsense isn't enough, today's audience also requires there to be shows where certain people have their lives minutely examined and filmed so people can judge them. Who gives a damn about what the Kardashian's are doing? I don't. Oh well...I guess that is what our constricted, fear induced world has come to...watching bad guys with guns fight good guys with guns, and celebrating the arrogant pampered existence of reality TV stars that do nothing but engage in unfettered consumption. For my part, I'll go back to 1977, a time when I was nine years old...watching the adventures of a quiet, unassuming mountain man living among the wild animals and the peaceful forest of a an age that has long since passed.

The Quest for Universal Stability

By Craig: I try not to pay attention to the news. It is wrought with violence and mayhem. Every day the headline has to do with some mass shooting or murder. There is always a war going on at some place on the globe where thousands, if not millions of people are victimized by mankind's inability to get along. This is nothing new. There have always been wars caused mainly by greed, differences of religion, jealousy, or simply lust for power. People also engage in violent acts out of desperation and a longing for some sort of recognition or notoriety. "I WANT TO BE REMEMBERED" some desperate character might think before engaging in some dastardly act. Sometimes the news is hard to ignore. These days, technology makes it easy for people to find out about some disaster only moments after it has occurred no matter where it is on the earth. This instantaneous access to news and what is happening on the other side of the globe, or outside of a persons own neighborhood has created a certain type of individual that is paranoid about their own fragile situation in life. These type of people tend to overreact and create environments that really have nothing to do with their own reality. This environment attaches itself to the persons persona and sticks to it like a parasite. People naturally break up into camps with people of similar thinking. I like to think of myself as a lone wolf. Unfortunately, however, I tend to migrate toward one of the prevailing camps. I am no different than anyone else no matter how hard I try to be. I am human and therefore clannish.

Recently, France was attacked by a rabble of cowards that had, or have no conscience. Human life to these savages means no more to them than if they were squashing fruit flies. I cannot fathom how people like this can exist. Is it some kind of genetic trait carried on from generation to generation? Is the human race evolving at different rates within itself? Environment surely has something to do with this aberration, but there are people brought up in the same environment as these terrorists and they do not randomly attack people in the name of some god? Why can't people just get along with one another? Why must some people try to impose their radical views and beliefs on people with differing opinions or beliefs? I guess these are the age old questions which might never be answered. Realities are the sums of a persons experiences and what that person is exposed to. Plato talked about dancing shadows on the cave of a wall. A fire burns deep inside a cave where a prisoner is chained facing a wall. The fire is behind the prisoner, and he is chained so that he cannot see the fire or the things happening behind the fire. He can only see the wall in front of him and the shadows of objects that are behind him. To this person his reality is the shadows on the wall. If he is released and turns around he will be shocked at what he sees. He might be afraid of this new reality and return to his comfortable shadow world. As Thomas Paine once said "A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right." Perhaps it is so with these savage people? Their philosophy of what is right is a pestilence...it is a plague on the rest of society. Most people go about their daily lives trying to live a comfortable existence the best way that they can in a world where ethics and morality varies with the individual. Historically there is no difference in what is going on in the world today than what was happening 200, 500, and 1000 years ago. What is it exactly that human beings seek more than anything else? Is it power? profit? love? lust? I say nay to any of these. I believe that most humans seek a sort of tranquil state of stability, or a satiation of sorts. Isn't that what the rest of the cosmos seek? I don't know.

The universe is chaotic and unstable. One just has to look at the stars to see this. A star is composed of elements that act in a constant state of  violent interactions with one another. Hydrogen atoms collide with terrific force generating fusion which splits them apart. Heavier elements follow suit until the star eventually either burns itself out or explodes in a cataclysmic final burst called a supernova. Gases from these dead stars eventually collect together and it is thought that they form stellar nurseries which create new stars. Comets and asteroids composed of heavier elements also play their respective roles in randomly colliding with embryonic planets as well as ones already in the state of formation. What force is it that causes these transient particles to interact the way they do? We know about fusion, gravity and inertia, but what is the natural state that these particles unconsciously seek? Is it the state of stability? They interact with each other because they have to interact with each other. It is the universal way. When all elements no longer have to interact with each other this is called Universal Stability. It is a term I will use to describe the ultimate attainment of cosmic harmony. It remains to be seen if this harmony can possibly exist when the natural order of things seems to be one of change and flux.

So, this being said, I gravitate toward how humans and other conscious and sentient beings and organic organisms relate to this. If we are composed of the same star material than we should be no different in how we behave and act than the inorganic elements found in nature. The natural state of things seems to be the eternal  quest to find a perfect balance. It is perpetual and never-ending because the universe is infinite. There has to be something beyond that something. Little cosmic bubbles that interact with each other on a grand scale, some contracting, some expanding. As I sit here and write this in a sort of stream of consciousness I can't help but feel how irrelevant I am in relation to the cosmos, but at the same time relevant because I occupy a minuscule part of it.

The Miami Dolphins, Wonder Bread, and Space
By Jay

I have never been a fan of football though I enjoyed playing pickup games of the flag variation when I was younger.  However, as a child I did collect cards of all types, and some of the very first cards I remember having were football cards.  My father used to deliver bread for a company called Genest Bakery up in New England, and back in the early 1970’s Wonder Bread released a set of football cards with many of the star players of the day.  He would bring us piles of these cards.  Two of them I remembered the most were Bob Griese and Larry Csonka.  Both cards had a red border, and both players were stars for the Miami Dolphins – at the time, the best team in professional football.  Growing up in Massachusetts where it is cold and snowy for a good portion of the year, Miami Florida seemed a world away. In my mind, it was a hot, sunny tropical paradise totally remote from the climate I was used to.  It seemed so far away.  At the time I thought I would have just as much of a chance taking a trip to the moon as to ever seeing Miami.  I remember looking at the Bob Griese card.  He was smiling broadly into the camera with a blue sky and clouds in the background.  Because I knew very little about the sport at that age, I thought he looked more like an astronaut than a football player – as if he had just descended from the upper reaches of the atmosphere.  Larry Csonka was squinting as if he were melting under the heat of the hot Miami sun.  Oddly enough, I associated these cards more with the sky and space than I did with football.  My imagination saw the sky as a major component in both pictures though you are unable to really see it in the Csonka photo.  However, Its presence is still distinctly felt.  The entire background is nothing more than a bleary brightness.  It is probably the stands filled with fans from over four decades ago, but the camera and light have obscured them into a blob of blurred bubbles.  Whoever was there or whatever was there will never be known, not that this fact holds any relevance to what is intended to be captured in the photo, which is simply Csonka’s face for the purpose of the card.  As he gazes slightly upwards, he almost seems to be searching for something.  Is he witnessing Griese’s capsule as it descends from the stratosphere?  Perhaps he’s contemplating the first manned mission to the crushing furnace of Venus?  Childish silly thoughts, really.  In reality, he was probably on the sidelines studying the plays on the field. 

It would be nearly forty years before I would begin regular visits to Miami for cancer treatments.  Little did I know in 1974 that my fate would be linked with that bright and hopeful city – so distant to a child of six who lived in an area where the sky seemed perpetually gray over a landscape blanketed in snow.  I suppose Miami still holds the same mystical element it held to me all those years ago, but in a much different way.