Tea Tax Anyone? I'd Gladly Pay The Queen Her Few Pence!

By Craig: I live in a bubble...I go to work, come home, go running or ride my bike, eat supper, read a book, and go to sleep. I don't watch the news. I don't have a TV...At least one that is working. I like my bubble. I had someone ask me today my opinion of the government shutdown here in the United States of America. I kind of looked at them with a blank stare and replied: "The government shut down?" Seriously though...who cares? Except perhaps the thousands of people who found themselves unemployed because a bunch of numskulls in congress can't do their job. Since the corporate mafia has taken over the United States the two impotent political parties cannot compromise because they are beholden to their corporate sponsors. Member of congress might as well wear corporate logos on their high dollar Italian suits to let everyone know who they are in bed with.

I am certainly no political science expert but from what I see, and have seen in the last few decades leads me to believe that the system that the United States is using as its governing body is not working. So why don't we scrap it. Who needs a Constitution? Great Britain doesn't have one and they get along just fine. Everyone over there has health care and the tax rate is comparable to what it is over here in the Corporate States of America. In fact, if one adds up all taxes which include federal income taxes, state income taxes, county taxes, sales taxes, and many, many other hidden taxes we idiots in the United States actually pay more and don't get a damn thing for it. We actually pay for our corporations security overseas by using the military. Why don't they pay for their own damn security? I don't know...I'm just asking a question...sort of writing in a stream of consciousness now...more of a rant than anything else. What do I know of such things...I'm just a runner.

Freedom you say? What freedom? This country seems to be heading down the road to perdition. You hardly ever hear of a gunman going into a school or a movie theatre over in Europe and blowing away scores of people. Why is it so prevalent here? Do you feel safe? Or do you find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder? When you go into a restaurant do you take notice of the exits? When you go to a sporting event or a movie do you scan the crowd around you to see if there might be a disreputable character lurking about. I took my son to a Tampa Rays baseball game a few years back and we got fairly good seats along the third base line. The whole game a security guard stood at parade rest along the foul line with his back to the field staring into the stands. In fact there was a whole row of them strategically placed so that they could gaze into the stands. He seemed to be constantly staring at me and it was a little unnerving to say the least. Is this freedom? I hardly think so. It seems like fear to me. I constantly hear, It's the Democrats!!!! It's the Republicans!!! It's the Liberals!!! It's the Conservatives!!! It's Obama!!! It's Bush!!! BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!
The government is nothing but a seven headed hydra that lashes out at everything in its path to feed the corporate gods that it is serving. The constitution is a vapid, outdated, and antiquated document that needs to be discarded. The same goes for the precious Bill of Rights which are there in name only as a historical document that once served a purpose. Today these Rights that are suppose to be held so sacred no longer exist because other federal laws, state laws and county laws supersede or negate them. So, put it in a museum somewhere, or better yet sell the original to a corporate sponsor so that they can charge people to look at it. That is where it will eventually end up anyway.

I was in the U.S. Marines for six years. Would I serve now knowing what I know? Absolutely not. Why would I serve a country that is run by  BIG drug company cartels, BIG oil, BIG banking, BIG government, BIG BIGGERS, BIG BIDDLES and BIG BOOBS! And oh Ya, a country that has sold out to China. Ok forget it I'm done ranting! What is my remedy you might ask? I don't have one. I'm just an average guy that is overwhelmed by the Bigness (Is that even a word?) around him. The Bigness causes confusion, and the confusion is too widespread to get it under control. Let's be existential and keep running around the mulberry bush. Wait I have an idea! Eureka! Let's bring back the monarchy! Didn't we rebel against King George III and parliament because of a tax on stamps and tea! Yes, that's it!! I'd rather pay the Queen her few pence tax on tea than pay these corporate monsters half my salary wouldn't you? Then it is settled. I am a monarchist!!!! Damn Thomas Paine! Bring out Edmund Burke! Conciliation I say!! I'll take Cornwallis over Washington any day!! We surrender!! The United States is a big greedy cannibalistic mouth reeking of halitosis that is trying to devour itself. Long live the Queen!
It serves the person right that asked me my view on the government shutdown. Let's all just go for a run. Now I will crawl back inside my bubble.

The Food Chain

By Craig: About two months ago my 9 year old sons hermit crab died. We now had a 10 gallon aquarium without an inhabitant so I asked my son what he wanted to do with it. He suggested getting another hermit crab, but I told him that if we waited until dark and then turned the lights on to illuminate our driveway we would see plenty of toads. Would he like to have a toad for a pet? He thought it was a capital idea and so we waited until dusk. Finally the time arrived and I flipped the light switch on. My son was in the driveway like a flash and almost immediately spotted a healthy looking American Toad jumping nonchalantly near the garage door.

"There is one!" my son shouted. He pounced upon it but because he was brought up in the burbs he was afraid to touch it. So, knowing what would happen when I picked it up I snatched it, and of course it pissed all over my hand. We placed it in our aquarium and being ignorant about what it actually considered dinner we fed it some ReptoMin floating food sticks which an equally ignorant teenager at Pets Mart had recommended that we feed it. A few days after finding the toad my son came running into my library.

"He's gone! The toad is gone!"

I scrambled from my chair and found myself looking at an empty aquarium. I asked my son if he had left the top off, but he denied it. Anyway, even if he had left the top of the aquarium off I could not imagine the toad jumping that high and getting out. Still, I had to ask myself the question "was there a toad jumping around the house somewhere?"  I convinced myself that my son had left the top off of the aquarium and that the toad somehow managed to get out. My son didn't seem too overly concerned about it as he returned to watching Pirates of the Caribbean. I too returned to what I was doing and thought no more about it until the next day when I heard my son yell "dad he's back!!"
Once again I rushed into the bedroom where the aquarium sat on my son's dresser. Sure enough, there he was sitting in the wood chips as if to say "what's the problem folks!" I was now completely mystified but I soon figured out the toads mysterious Houdini-like disappearing act when I noticed a hollowed out area in the wood chips. The mystery was solved! He had buried himself. I also noticed that that he was getting real fat and wondered if it was because of the floating food sticks. This, I soon learned was not the reason for his obesity. It was the quantity of fleas inside of the aquarium that became snacks for the toad that my son and I soon nicknamed "Fat Ass."

Since my son lives with his mother in Florida for most of the year the responsibility of taking care of "Fat Ass" has, of course, fallen on me. Since I was the primary caregiver of "Fat Ass" it was my responsibility to make sure that he was properly looked after, unless, of course I would release him back to his wild state. However, I tried this, and felt bad, knowing that he would become a meal for some predator like a king snake or an owl. So, what did I do? Naturally I turned to Google and one of the first things that I learned was that toads only eat things that move. So much for my floating food sticks! I found some grubs and some isopods under a rock in the backyard and put them in front of "Fat Ass." It was an instant success! The first isopod never knew what hit it. One second it was unceremoniously and innocently crawling on a wood chip in front of "Fat Ass" and the next it was inside of the toads stomach. I wondered about the purpose of the isopod as it related to the food chain. To me, it seems that its only purpose was to crawl around under rocks and become a snack for the million other creatures that fed on it. It's only defense mechanism that I could see was rolling up into a tight little ball. It was like it was saying "look at me! I'm no snack I'm just a little pebble!"  Crickets were next on "Fat Ass" Smorgasbord. He seemed to relish these crunchy delights like a child eating an ice cream cone. After watching "Fat Ass" in action it got me wondering about the food chain. In this small aquarium "Fat Ass" was the top predator. He had nothing to fear from the crickets, isopods, slugs or fleas that happened to invade his element. However, if I were to let "Fat Ass" back into the wild he would need to watch his back. A king snake might just be lurking in the tall grass waiting for a not so tasty toad treat! Or perhaps a great horned owl sitting stoically on a branch might swoop down on its unsuspecting victim. Then again, a few weeks ago while I was walking out to the mailbox I noticed a flattened toad that had obviously been the victim of another kind of predator, an F-150 tire. A trail of small sugar ants led up to the distorted remains in a gleeful procession. I watched this ceremony with some interest, and decided on performing a little experiment. I stomped my foot on the head of the procession closest to the sun baked carcass. This had the effect that I assumed it would. A few of the ants had been crushed by the giant intrusion that befell them from the sky causing the neat and ordered procession to become a chaotic frenzy. For a minute or so there was mass confusion among the little army as they dashed this way and that, but eventually order was restored, and the food line regained its orderly line. The reinforcements merely climbing over or around their fallen comrades as if nothing had happened. I almost imagined the steel jacketed soldiers performing a seven gun salute to the fallen when they returned to their hill.

"Ha!" I said. "If it wasn't for me running over this poor unfortunate critter you fellows would not be dining on this delicacy at the moment!"

I left the ants to their not too hard earned meal and returned to the house glad that I was not an ant, or a toad, or a cricket for that matter.
As of this writing I went out to look at the remains of the splattered toad in my driveway and was astounded to see that not a bit of evidence remains except for a slight discoloring on the white cement. I imagine that with the next rain this too will disappear and the only memory of that toads brief existence on this planet remains in the memory of the one who accidentally caused its demise. What had happened to the skeletal structure of the toad? Had this been carried off by the savage elements of nature as well? To what use or purpose? Nature is still a big mystery.

Thomas Hobbes: Of Man... and the Headless Man

By Craig: Nature can be cruel. The great English philosopher Thomas Hobbes said it succinctly when he wrote that the condition of man is a condition of war of every one against every one. Everyone, Hobbes wrote, is governed by his own reason. In such a condition as this there can be "no security to any man, how strong or wise soever he be."

Carefully examine the photo above which, at first glance, is a seemingly unobtrusive scene. Indeed, it merely shows a rural street set within the backdrop of a wooded rustic setting. A freshly mowed lawn and a nicely kept brick house tell the viewer that here live people of means, or at least earn a decent living and care about the condition of their habitat. However, a second glance at the photo may raise an eyebrow, or perhaps a caution flag that something is just not right with it. There is a blemish in the photograph which takes the shape of a humpbacked, hulking, headless man. He stands in the center of the photograph, his bright red shirt in stark contrast to any other colour. He is the headless man. A creature forgotten and discarded by his friends and family as if he were a bubonic plague. His journey through life has been a harsh, brutal Hobbesian one. He is the face...if he had one...of desperate and pulverized humanity. Cursed at, made fun of, kicked, prodded, a lifetime of ridicule due to the humble state of his simple being. He is one of those unfortunates who are born without the necessary tools and skills that are needed to survive on his own in a society based on Darwinian principles. This is the headless man's last walk...it is the apogee of his existence...the dark cloud that has followed him from birth has now settled on him once and for all. He has finally surrendered to time...as inevitably we all must. He is a simple specimen of humanity who has never questioned the reason for his existence, or for that matter any subject that relates to the cosmic question of "why" something is. His life is a superficial one, like most, who live vicariously through the false lives of the fiction that is fed to them on a daily basis. It is not his fault, and like countless others who reside in this vapid sphere he is the mere product and sum of his experiences and interactions.

The headless man in the red shirt finally finds his head and lifts it high staring into the sky with a struggling grimace. His facial features contorted, he gazes into the infinite and wonders why he is having trouble with his breaths. He is simple...as far as he is concerned he has always been here...he doesn't remember his birth...only that he is here, and that he will always be here. Nothing can happen to him because "he" is "he." He merely reacts to events around him, and seeks the hedonistic pleasures that it is only natural by nature to seek. There are no consequences because like a dog the future is an abstract concept to him...there is only NOW.
The headless man had waged war against his fellow man as they had waged war against him. He has competed with them for space, food, shelter and anything else that the body requires to retain life. His struggle is at it's end...he has flown the white flag of surrender and now beseeches humanity to come to his assistance. His instinct is to continue...what else can he do? The cosmic clock is ticking!
Now, once again examine the photograph...what do you see now? I'll tell you what I see...I see a moment caught in time...a reflection of a man's life...a reflection that grinds at the core of existence and the truly short duration  of our consubstantial nature. We will one day...all of us...find our defining moment when all must come to an end.

Mummies of the World

Mummies of the World

By Jay           

It’s about time I wrote something else on this blog.  I don’t know how many people actually take the time out to read these entries, but the brothers can’t be blamed for trying. 

            This is something that has been kicking around in my head for a while now, and I figure now is better than next week or even next month though I should have written it in January, 2012 when it was still fresh in my mind.

            Last year, in downtown Charlotte, they had the Mummies of the World exhibit, and my wife (fiancé then) and I were eager to go and see what all the fuss was about.  We were fortunate to get tickets for Christmas, and so we went a few weeks later.  Unfortunately, we went on a Saturday when everyone else was there.  I detest crowds, especially when you’re crammed in and people are waiting for you to move, which was exactly what was happening the moment we arrived.  I felt like I was part of this big squirming worm as we waited in line to get in.  When I go to museums, I don’t like the feeling of people on all sides of me.  Who does?  I want to take the time to enjoy the exhibits without feeling the pressure of stepping aside.  Ah, well!...

            Finally, we reached a point where our tickets were stamped, and we were corralled into an area and pressed together with the rest of the mass who were there to view the mummies.  A young woman, probably just out of college, greeted everyone and gave us a brief background on what we were going to see.  She also stressed viewing the mummies with respect, and reminded us that we were in the presence of those who had once been alive.  I wondered if there was anyone among us who was so desensitized to death as to believe that what he was going to see was not a dead body.  And then I wondered something else…

            What was I doing there?

            I was holding the hand of my fiancé as if we were about to go on a peaceful stroll through a beautiful garden.  But in a moment we were going to be viewing dead bodies  --  shells which once contained living, breathing souls just like all the eager, well-fed people in the room waiting to view them.  The official exhibition catalog opens with what is defined as Mummy Ethics.  This states:

 

“All of the mummies and artifacts presented in the “Mummies of the World” exhibition have been held and established in well-respected European museum and university collections for a century or more and have a traceable provenance.  They were acquired at a time when collection of archeological objects and human specimens were a common practice.

Our goal in our exhibit presentation is to advance the relevance of anthropology in ancient global cultures, and to provide visitors with an educational and scientific window into the cultures, history and lives of the people who came before us.

We present “Mummies of the World” recognizing that ethical guidelines of global museum partnerships demand that human remains are treated with respect and dignity, taking into account the interests and beliefs of the social, ethical and religious groups from which the human remains originate.”

 

            This was essentially a euphemistic way of saying, “Hey, people!  It’s okay to go in and gawk at a bunch of desiccated corpses!  Don’t feel guilty!  Enjoy yourselves!”  Okay, this is a poor paraphrase, but you get the picture.

            I wondered how many of those who actually viewed the mummies visited for “educational” reasons.  How many of us were there to peek into the “scientific window” so that we could learn about “the cultures, history and lives of the people who came before us”?  I don’t deny there is a lot to learn from studying the dead.  It is very important for anthropology, archaeology, biology, and a host of other scientific disciplines.  But what could Joe Public actually get out of this besides satiating his morbid curiosity? 

            The exhibit was small but very interesting.  One of the exhibits that I remember was that of a mummified cat that had been found in Schwerin, Germany.  I remember gazing at it and thinking of my own cat at home.  I gazed at its savage looking teeth, once used to rip, tear and shred some poor and unfortunate mouse or bird back in the 1800’s. 

            Another particularly macabre looking mummy was an exhibit called “The Detmold Child.”  He was encased in a glass case and appeared to be in either a sitting or crouching position.  His eyes were shut and lips were closed.  The entire lower part of his face had puffed out and settled into his shoulders, so that he seemed to be without a neck when viewing him from the front.  He also had a full head of brown hair.  If I only had that much hair on my bald scalp after 6500 years!

            I looked over to see a middle aged couple gazing at an exhibit called “The Tattoo woman.”  Apparently, this mummy had been found in Chile and was dated to the 14^th century.  From the side, you could almost mistake her for a young woman with long hair who was sitting down with her knees pulled up to her chest.  A direct view showed a ghastly, bony corpse with the imprint of her (presumably) burial cloth patterned into the mummified flesh of her face.  The couple was gazing at the morbid figure with blank and unreadable expressions as if they were viewing a print of a still life, their arms around each other’s waists. 

            But the most disturbing mummies were left for the end.  I guess the directors of the exhibit still believe in the old motto SAVE THE BEST FOR LAST.  These mummies were called “The Vac Mummies” and consisted of husband, wife, and their infant child.  Apparently, the Orlovits family had been found in a crypt in Hungary in 1994.  Michael Orlovits, the father, appeared the least mummified.  He was laid out in a replica of the military uniform in which he had been buried.  His face, which was nearly skeletal, held an almost painful expression -- almost as if he were attempting to retain the remaining flesh which still clung tenaciously to the bone.  Veronica Orlovits, Michael’s wife, appeared more composed and comfortable with her situation.  She was laid out in her best white Sunday dress and bonnet.  Her arms and hands were folded over her stomach in such a way as to suggest complete repose.  Even her face, which was more preserved than her husband’s, simply gave her the appearance of one who had been sleeping for a very long time.  It was only her mouth, which was slightly upturned that seemed to suggest disgust with her condition and a distaste for the natural condition of death and the process of decay.  The infant, Johannes Orlovits, was situated in the middle of his parents.  He was wearing a child’s gown and bonnet, and like his mother, his tiny hands were resting peacefully upon his chest.  His gray face appeared to be made out of clay rather than mummified flesh, and the black empty holes where his eyes had been gave him a singularly resigned expression – as if he had not even attempted to comprehend the bewilderment and confusion of his single year on planet Earth.

            When we left the exhibit, we had to leave through the gift store where there was everything from paperweights to pens to children’s games.  Of course, I went to the books where I purchased Mummies of the World: The Official Exhibition Catalog as well as a much larger and more detailed volume called simply, Mummies of the World (This is where the “educational” value of the exhibit was richly detailed!).  If only the mummies knew how profitable their corpses would become. 

            This brings me back to my main point.  Why did I go?  I still don’t have an answer for that.  Was it because my brother, Craig, gave me the tickets for a Christmas gift?  I probably would have gone anyway.  Then why?  Was it simply just the morbid curiosity of seeing dead people?  Am I nothing more than a shallow minded, nosy looky loo?  I don't know!  I think I’ll go with the Mummy Ethics.  That sounds good to me!

 

 

   

              

A Lost Moment In Time

By Craig: The other day I was sifting through some old boxes looking for a certain document when I happened to stumble upon an old photo album that I had made when I was about ten years old. A lot of the photographs have become dislodged from the corners that they had been set into. However, overall, the photographs were in pretty decent shape considering the rough condition of the album. Some of them had been bent and tossed around. In fact, when I removed the album from the box a few of the photographs came tumbling out as if they were telling me "okay! okay! we have had enough! It has been 30 years since someone has looked at us! As I flipped through the fragile cardboard pages one of the photographs caught my attention. It was a photo taken by my father with my old Kodak camera back in 1978. The image was taken at summer camp in Gardner Massachusetts. I can remember the day well. It was a rainy day and a fairly miserable one at that. It was one of those days where the sky couldn't make up it's mind whether to clear up and dry everyone off with a blazing sunshine, or keep drowning us with vicious cloudbursts! Finally, it decided to drown us, but for some oddball reason none of really cared...We were having too much fun.

 

 

The photograph is hazy. The image is blurred. The human figures small and faceless, their identities eradicated by time. Only the bell bottomed trousers and the period cars give it a hint as to the time and era that this grainy image was captured. Disco was the craze. Jimmy Carter was the U.S. President. The New York Yankees with the late Thurman Munson behind the plate were three months away from winning another World Series, and weeks away from Bucky Dent's five minutes of fame. Does anyone remember Buck Dent?

 

  Only one of the tiny figures can be identified. A boy wearing a blue scout uniform and a yellow jacket can be seen near the middle of the photograph. His blazing wavy red hair standing on top of his head like an Olympic torch. He has broken into a run! He is on a mission. He is racing! He wants to win! He is me!  I forget the particulars. It was some sort of relay race. I was running toward a table to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Did I run back? Did I tag someone? I probably tagged my brother and he raced to the table and spread the jelly on the sandwich. Did anyone eat the sandwich? Did we win? It is strange how memories of events in ones past are only fragmented. Perhaps this is why we take photographs...to jog our pathetic memory banks. In the background there can be seen five other human figures. They all seem to be interested in the boy in the yellow rain jacket running at top speed toward something undefinable...something hazy...something blurred. That would be their recollection if somehow they could be identified and asked "What were you doing here?" There were hundreds of people at camp on that long ago day. Besides myself, does anyone else remember it? Would I remember that day if I did not have the photograph to refresh my memory? Over a third of a century has passed since the skinny boy in the yellow jacket raced toward a date with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He is still running today....He will continue to run...and run....and run...from the specter of time until, one day...he will run no more.

 

 



 

 



A Certain Encounter: The Man In The Front Pew

By Craig: One of the things that we all share as we pass along on life's short journey are interactions that we have with our fellow brother's and sisters. We start out as young babes under the loving care of a mother or father, or perhaps someone else...we all have different experiences. The world to a young tot is a compact thing. The child carefully observes his surroundings and learns from them. The people in the child's immediate circle are the ones that create the biggest influence. However, as the child enters school and meets new people he or she is confronted by new challenges. The path then leads to adulthood and finally old age. Along our wandering and weary path people come and go...some...never to return...They have a different path to follow than your path. That is the way of life.

     Every human on Earth is linked to everyone else through an intricate web of greetings, meetings and friendships which makes humankind a truly unique and compact body. In other words, I shook the hand of the hand of the hand that shook Napoleon Bonaparte's hand. However, before I digress into further absurdities I will get to the meat of this post and relate the history of the subject...The Man in the Front Pew. I will relate the details of this man's existence only as it relates to me, for I am wholly ignorant of any other aspects or knowledge of his life.

      When I was ten or eleven years old my twin brother and I became altar boys at our local church. It was a small parish with two resident priests. One of the priests (the head vicar) was an intelligent, kind man who would have given you the shirt off his back. The other priest was an elderly French-Canadian gentleman who interjected his sermons with humour and wit and was frequently somewhat drunk. When it was time to pour the wine and water I would pour every last drop of wine into the chalice. My brother, standing beside me would tilt the water and let a mere drop fall into the chalice before the old Frenchman would slap his hand lest the water dilute the effects of the wine! Perhaps he needed this boost to get him through the end of the Mass...I don't know....Anyway, my brother and I would spend a good portion of the Mass seated on cushioned chairs flanking the priest. Being twins, we were like a matching set of cards. I can remember going through the motions during the Mass. I suppose some naïve people in the church thought that we were two pious children. However,  I spent most of the Mass reflecting on all of the things that I would do outside afterwards! Sorry Jesus, but an 11 year olds mind is easily distracted, unless the 11 year old was a precocious one of pure genius and piety, the child has anything but pious thoughts running through the mind. I surely was no precocious genius! On the contrary, I was rebellious and rather hard headed. Anyway, as I would sit there next to the priest waiting for the Deacon to finish a reading I would scan the assembly and observe all of the pious and not so pious faces. Most of them were familiar to me, for I had been going to this church since I was five. There was the little old lady with the smoky colored veil who must have performed the sign of the cross a billion times during the Mass. There was the perfect couple Biff and Jane with their 8 kids who always sat next to the front so that everyone could see them. Biff, with his straight jet black hair and square jaw sitting bolt upright holding his wife's hand and seemingly engrossed in the sermon, but in reality was thinking about how he could get the big business deal done the next morning. These days he might be caught taking a peak at his I-Phone. Then...there was The Man in the Front Pew...He was an elderly gentleman, perhaps in his late 70s or early 80s, rather smallish with an olive complexion as if his antecedents might have come from the Mediterranean. Indeed, he himself might have hailed from that part of the world. I had no way of telling. I never once heard him speak. Was he mute? Probably not, but his speech is not what interested me. It was the regularity of his attendance. He always wore glasses with thick rims, and his eyes sat behind them like two giant ones that might have belonged to a bug...or better put, a fly. Indeed, I often had an absurd notion that he might sprout wings and fly up out of the pew where he would buzz around the church waking the lethargic ones out of their slumbering state.
"BZZZZ...Have some respect!" He would buzz in their ears.

     Bug man always wore a large wooden cross around his neck. I often wondered if he might have carved it himself. It was unusually large for an object to be worn in the manner that he was using it. It would have been about the size of one that you normally would have seen above somebody's bed. The little man was always alone, and seemed to attend every Mass whether it was the early one, the High Mass, or even the Vigil Mass the night before. He was ubiquitous, yet I never saw him at a function other than a Holy Mass...It was as if he somehow formed from the pew itself just before the Mass started and then after the Mass had ended would recede back into it until the next one. He always sat in the same place...front pew...port side of the altar. He would, therefore, be the first to receive holy communion.

     I served in the capacity of Altar boy for about 4 or 5 years. In all this time the man in the front pew never failed to show up. What was his history? Did he have a family? Had he ever been married? Did he have any kids? I never knew. I moved away from this area and it would be over a quarter of a century before I returned to this church, and it was quite by accident. A couple of years ago I made the trek north to visit my aunt. One day I decided that I would show my son where I grew up, so we drove the twenty or so miles and merely drove around as I pointed out the places that I had lived, and where I had gone to school. I decided to take a detour back and inevitably by some quirk ended up getting lost...Or was I lost? It had been years since I had been to this area and things had changed. I was suddenly able to orient myself when I came out on the road where the church was. It is still there, unchanged from the days when I attended Mass there. I thought about going in, but decided that we needed to get back as it was getting late in the day. A short time after we passed the church a large horse fly had somehow managed to find its way into the truck and was making a nuisance of itself......

Elements of Time: The Fate of Man?

By Craig: It was a dream unlike any other. It happened sometime after the witching hour, but the exact time now eludes me. Perhaps it was early on in the night, or maybe I dreamed it right before dawn. It was a dream, yet it might have been a vision. It spoke to me through a voice that only I could recognize. It is hard to explain...for it was my dream, and even the dreamer cannot remember every sharp detail. It took shape out of a hazy fog which slowly dissipated until I could make out clear images. I became aware of my surroundings rather suddenly. I was floating in the sky...above the trees, but not so high that I could not clearly see the ground and its features. I was on Earth...I knew that it was in the future, but I had no way of ascertaining how far in the future until I rose much higher...but this would come later. I was traveling at a slow speed over a lush green forest. It was a hardwood forest, primeval in its look dominated by massive red and white oaks...their trunks so thick that a small car could pass through them. I was looking at a virgin forest. It was the kind of forest that the pilgrims encountered when they landed off Plymouth in 1620...unblemished...untouched, not yet raped by man. It was the forest of the Brothers Grimm...Young Goodman Brown, and Goldilox...I descended into the trees and observed the sounds of the forest primeval. A woodpecker performed his business sounding much like a jackhammer on a crowded city street.  A faint chirping sound brought me to a thick branch of a chestnut tree which reached out of its trunk like a giant's arm ready to do battle. There, I saw three yellow heads bobbing up in down in their nest looking for their mother. First one, then another, and finally a third which flapped its little wings as if it might be saluting my ghostly presence. But of course, it could not possibly see me. I was but a soul flying invisible, unburdened by the corporeal body to which I am normally attached.

    Wait. What's this? I heard a noise, like a rumble from afar. What it was I could not tell, but it was getting closer...and now it was right under me! Wild horses! The Kentucky Derby of the future! Minus, of course, the throng of people, and the track and stands. Like Eohippus of old, here they were, darting here, darting there, around trees they went, hundreds of them. Some of them were black, some white, some different shades of brown and grey. Soon, however, they had all passed leaving nothing but the trampled earth behind them. My friend the woodpecker, had barely flinched in his business as if nothing else mattered in the world, and indeed, at this time in the distant future...nothing did!

     I decided to fly higher...way above the trees. Soon the tree tops amalgamated with the rest of the landscape until I was so high that I could no longer discern shapes...only colors. Green, black, grey, brown, yellow, what's this! blue?.. It was the ocean! I rose so high that the continents began to take shape. Yes...There was North America...South America...Africa, and Western Europe. But something was wrong. Something was not quite right...The continents seemed further apart...and Lo! some of the real estate was missing. Where was Florida? It wasn't there...And the west coast of North America was fragmented. Indeed, it appeared as if a big gaping sea had carved itself between the Rocky Mountains and California. I was somewhat disturbed...This was not my time...not my world. It was foreign to me. I lowered myself back above the tree tops and soared through the sky like a freebird. As I sailed effortlessly through the sky I now became aware of something that had been grasping at the handle of my mind.
"Where was man?"
"Where were the great cities and towns created by man?"
"Where were the great monuments erected by man throughout the eons?"
There was no trace of my species. They had vanished...seemingly swallowed by time...perhaps devoured, bones and all, the dusty remnants disseminated across the globe by the elements from which they arose.  BUT WAIT! WHAT'S THIS! A lone figure...an animal of some kind...lurking behind a large boulder. It was almost human in form, but grotesque in it's hairy bloated appearance. And the stench...it was overpowering...and although I was but a spirit it somehow managed to permeate my wispy soul in a manner that I could not readily explain. The lone figure squatted on it's haunches with its overgrown head and large gaping mouth open as if ready to consume whatever came its way. It stole a suspicious glance at a cave entrance from which two more of these hideous beasts emerged, their posture and movements were curious to say the least, sometimes walking upright, sometimes on all fours. They made horrible guttural sounds, and were soon joined by the suspicious looking brute that had been hiding behind the boulder. It now dawned on me with horror and disgust that what I was looking at were the descendants of man. Carnivores...savages...self consuming brutes that had regressed back to what they really were. Appalled at this future apparition I quickly rose into the sky until I was traveling through interstellar space. Earth, nothing but a tiny dot, a microcosm that stood as a blemish among all of the stars, planets, and cosmic dust that make up our universe.