Tuesday, October 15, 2024

2024 Turkey: Food And Driving To Kuşadasi

 Part of being on a tour where you cover something like 1600 miles is that you spend a lot of time on the motorcoach.  It may seem like we "stop" a lot, but that is punctuated by periods (sometimes long) that are just driving with nothing more remarkable that looking at the landscape.

Our first stop after Pergamon was restaurant/road stop.

The bread in Turkey was inevitably delicious.


If I recall correctly, this was falafel:


Beer in a fancy mug:


More of that sweet, sweet grilled meat (and rice and more bread):


Another baklava?  Of course!


And coffee to go with it:


From lunch, we began to work our way back towards the coast.






Our destination for the evening:  Kuşadasi

Monday, October 14, 2024

The Passing Of The Master Sergeant

 My father-in-law, the Master Sergeant, passed away yesterday.

He was, in some ways, a very prototypical man of his time and place.  An Iowa farm boy and one of ten children (including three sets of twins within 5 years), his options out of high school were either farming or military.  He chose the military and joined the U.S. Air Force, ending up spending twenty-odd years as a mechanic, primarily on C-4 Aircraft (hat tip to Old AFSarge, who was also an aircraft mechanic).

His specialty, as it turned out, meant that he did not have the opportunity to rotate locations as other Air Force members had:  bound to his aircraft, other than single rotation to the Philippines during the Vietnam Era overseas and one to the Great North (where my sister in law was born), he spent most of his time in a location not too far from Old Home.  The house he and my mother-in-law lived in, purchased in the mid-70's close to his retirement from the Air Force, was the one he lived in for the rest of his life.

He was a man of differing interests.  A coin collector for many years (until failure of his sight forced him to stop), he specialized in Silver Rounds and Wooden Rounds (typically issued as commemoratives; there a great many more than out there than you might think) and for years served as the secretary and newsletter editor for his clubs; many was the time we would stop by their house and he would be in the back bedroom, typing away on his typewriter updating a newsletter.  As a result of these activities, he had very broad network of contacts throughout the country long before the InterWeb and Social Media was a thing.

He was a fisherman for many years (mostly before I met him), boat fishing on the sloughs and bays by where he lived (The Ravishing Mrs. TB and my sister-in-law have several memories of being out with him fishing and him having them pee in a can).  It was a love that he was able to pass on to his grandsons (my nephews) after he had largely stopped doing it himself.

He was also a master gardener; for years I was amazed at the size and yield of his garden (and this after he had scaled back):  you can take the boy out of the farm, but you can never take the farmer out of the boy.   His citrus trees as well were a marvel to me; for years I would go and visit and sit beneath his lemon tree, fragrant with lemon blossoms and tinted with the sound of the water fountain he had built.

Likewise his grilling skills were legendary.  It was easily 10 years of marriage before I was "allowed" to cook ribs for him and even then only under his supervision for the next 5 years or so (He was very much a charcoal not propane fellow).  And his ability to accurately tell me what size wrench I needed based on the nut remained an item of dark magic and sorcery.

Even when I met him, his life was dominated by diabetes, the disease which ultimately claimed his life.  To be honest, he did not handle his initial diagnosis well:  there was a fatalism to it, a certain "It is coming, and I am just going to continue to do what I want as it does not make a difference".  As it turned out, it did make a difference:  he was only convinced to stop smoking once his circulation became so poor they had to amputate part of his foot (he ended up loosing both lower legs) and he never - up to his final hospital stay in April - made a significant effort to control his diet, which ultimately contributed to the health problems that he ended up with over the course of his last 10 years.

He could be a stubborn man.  He struggled with kind words sometimes to family - although knowing what I know now, I wonder how much of that was bequeathed via his own experiences growing up as came to find out with my own father combined with ever increasing physical issues.  He was very loyal to his family and friends (58 years of marriage) and supportive of his family (even with the above issues with kindness at times), supporting my sister-in-law through her post addiction journey and two sons, whom she largely raised as a single mother and for whom Papa helped serve as a surrogate father.  He loved all his grandchildren very much, proving the oft quoted rule by children that they have no idea where this grandparent came from as their parent was far different when they were growing up.

My relationship with him was typical, I suppose, of the relationship many men have with their father-in-law:  we shared minimal common interests, but tried to find connections where we could.  He helped redo the tiered garden boards at our first house (managing to tear his rotator cuff in the process) and invited me to a few coin shows, where I at least found some ancient Roman coins to buy.  His advice in gardening and grilling (as mentioned above) remain relevant to this day.  He always asked how work was going even if he scarcely understood what it was I actually did.  He had a love for what are now called "Dad Jokes", although his wind-up could be such that one could the punchline coming long before it landed.  Of personal matters we spoke seldom if at all; in that sense he remained a man of his time and I the introvert I always was.

He had been in hospital since April this year:  a tumble off his scooter broke both of his femurs, which were slow in healing.  He had begun to demonstrate signs of what I would call dementia.  The Ravishing Mrs. TB lasted visited him in August and noted he both seemed confused and had lost a lot of weight.  This Saturday past he had aspirated something into his lungs:  the doctor said it was likely to result in infection which could not be treated.  My mother-in-law and sister-in-law made the decision to put him in hospice Saturday afternoon.  They estimated up to two weeks; he slipped off Sunday morning sometime between 0900 and 1000 between rounds - perhaps a last benediction, sparing his family the grief of a long wait and - very much like himself - leaving on his own terms.

At this point, the process takes over.  He will buried in the nearest local National Cemetery, for which (I gather) we wait for an appointment and date.

The question of belief comes up in such moments.  I cannot with definition say The Master Sergeant was a believer, even as I cannot say he was not:  his personal beliefs on the matter were very private and he seldom shared them.  That said, I can only choose to believe - as in all of these situations - that even the least spark of belief is enough; no-one could have been less likely to receive heaven than The Thief that hung on the cross.

I posted this when my father passed.  It has come, I think, to represent for me the last best wish for all who find themselves in the latter years, facing the dark corridor of declining years with the knowledge of the common inheritance of Adam which is prescribed for us all, Death:

Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and fee, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel:  I will drink
Life to the lees:  All times I have enjoy'd 
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone, and when 
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known—cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all,—
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.


This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle,
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.


There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunday, October 13, 2024

If You Knew How Quickly People Would Forget

 

I fear our modern world, with its constant need to be relevant, seen, and paid attention to, will have a great struggle in the years to come when they in turn fall victim to those behind them who will become the new "influencers" and "trend setters".  Ultimately we will all be forgotten except by God, at least in this world:  the sooner we know that, the sooner we can order our life appropriately.

To that end, were I given the choice (not that I have ever been) of being famous and young or famous and old, I would choose famous and old.  It is one thing to enter a level of recognition in the latter years of your life; it is another to have been famous and then suddenly be no more than any other ordinary system.  Few that have lived that route ever seem to have been able to make the transition.

(Also, another prayer request [it apparently is that kind of year]:  I got word last night from The Ravishing Mrs. TB that my father in law, The Master Sergeant, has gone back into the hospital and given his condition, the decision has been to move him to hospice.  He may have up to two weeks as this involves the discontinuation of dialysis.  Any prayers or good thoughts would be greatly appreciated for my in-laws.)

Saturday, October 12, 2024

On Media And Alternate Content

 This November our Disney streaming service expires.

We originally got the service as part of the opening "good rates" that were offered in 2020.  It seemed like a reasonable deal: our children had good memories of the programs that they had watched growing up and there seemed to be some content that we wanted to watch.  We watched what we wanted to watch over the years - most of the Disney shows they grew up with were actually the innocent entertaining sort, not the modern sorts of things that air now- but at some point you reach a limit of re-watching re-runs.  We made the decision after my job loss in December 2024 - unfortunately for us they only bill annually and so we had to wait for the cycle to complete.

Other than that, we currently only have Netflix (although I am led to understand we may or may not have access to other channels).  Even finding something on Netflix worth watching has been difficult of late; I find myself (if I am there at all) returning to Japanese or Korean films, Anime, or reliable movies I have seen before.  More recently, I have struggled to find anything at all.

It struck me, as I was settling into another historical Japanese drama on The Tube of You, how little I interact with any commonly available media form now.

At this point most things I watch or listen to are to be found on The Tube of You.  There is a huge amount of movies to be seen (just recently I found a channel that specializes in Japanese historical dramas and older movies) and plenty of programs that I listen to (Are they podcasts if they have a video feed?  I am never sure.) when I am working out, driving my short distances, or occasionally at work.  And virtually all of the music I now listen to is found there, either older songs from the 1970's and 1980's or a plethora of specialty music (right now I am very much loving a channel who uses traditional instruments for recreations of historical periods using regional instruments).

Reading materials?  Beyond blogs (of which I scarcely manage to keep up with all those fine writers over to the right),  I seldom buy any newer books - but, for example, I am now in my second crowdfunding for a comic book based on Kull the Conqueror (originally written by Robert E. Howard).  Most of reading is of used books (thereby older) or simply old books (I am also trying to read some books electronically; it is not a great medium for me but I suspect these sorts of books would never make it to publishing at a price I could afford).

All of this to say:  Within a relatively short period of time, I have somehow managed to fall completely out of the commercial media stream.

I have not watched commercial television at home for years or at all since we had to move my parents in 2021.  I have not read any newspaper in at least that same period of time; magazines far longer.  And I do not even find myself listening to the radio anymore, something I picked up as a habit during my years of long commutes.

The bottom line - to me - is that the age of commercial media as the main provider of content in all its forms is rapidly drawing to end.  The age of the content creator is upon us.

I have seen content made by individuals that surpasses anything provided by a major publisher or major studio.  Part of that is likely that such projects are infused with passion (why else would make videos or write or produce things that seem of little interest beyond a certain group).  Part of that is also due to the fact that content creators live or die by the content they create, unlike major players who can afford to do whatever they want or feel and assume the consumer will follow along.

More and more, the consumer will not.  People want excellent information and entertainment.  Turns out, they are willing to support such content as well, not just with praise but with dollars.

Am I quite ready to have Netflix disappear?  Probably, but that becomes a discussion like everything else (I will note that there is at least one streaming station, jme, that only streams Japanese language programs).  But I do highly suspect that as we continue to move into this era of content creation, studios and publishing houses will continue to decline and merge, hoping that somehow people will still want their content which definitely seems to be less and less desirable as we go on.

I suspect at this point the bird has flown the nest:  the older content people may want is out there and the newer content is of high quality.  We are reaching, if we have not reached, the era where the consumer no longer need consume things simply because it is labeled "entertainment".

It is indeed a Brave New World.  Long live the Content Creators.

Friday, October 11, 2024

On Writing And Reactions

 One of the things that I find increasingly difficult to navigate these days is writing about anything that in any way touches on the the political.

Given the state of the world, it is obviously a very exposed nerve - as most recently noted in yesterday's post (and some of the others on The Collapse).  Although I have pretty clearly not mentioned politics in any of what is a speculative fantasy (other than the most localized of them), it provoked some rather strong opinions about the Now.  

This is not an isolated event.  Other bloggers that I follow - the crew at Chant du Depart and Eaton Rapids Joe, both FOTB (Friends Of This Blog) can sometimes post about rather banal subjects and the discussion can immediately go places that I sincerely question had anything to do with the original post (yes, sometimes they do post more openly political things - but not always.).

I have always tried to be as honest as I can on this blog- certainly about myself (I am as honest as I can be about those I write about; they deserve the level of anonymity I give them and should not be tarred with my brush).  And so, I can say honestly, that the more this goes on and the closer this election gets (and, I suppose, the closer the post-election gets), the more the whole thing repulses me.

Yes, I know - I can ignore politics, but politics is very interested in me. And yes, I do very obviously have to live in in the world that these politics create.

But I suppose that is precisely my point.  We all have to live in the world that these politics create.

At some point, one candidate, one party will win and the others will lose.  But all of the animosity, all of the hate, all of the bitterness does not end on that day.  It lingers like acid, eating its way through the fabric of society and every relationship long after the initial spill is gone.  Given the world of the InterWeb and Social Media, it will all live on in eternity (or at least until the power goes out). 

To me, it is like having a huge blowout argument with one's spouse or a very good friend and then having to go back after the fact and try to restart the relationship. It is awkward at first (if even possible), and the best one can hope for is something approximating what was there before.  There are silences that are not breached, subjects that are no longer talked about.  Sometimes the friendship never recovers.

The level of trust is broken and is difficult restore, if it can be at all.

So that is one point - we all have to get up the day after and live in a world where for the last X years has been filled with vitriol and emotionally laden (even verbally abusive) words.

The second, for me, is personal.

I am Christian. It is not something that I particularly hide, but it is not something I trot out at every conversation either.  But like most things, it will come out in the wash over time.  As a Christian, what I say and do ultimately reflects on Christ and His Church.  Woe be it to me if I end up turning people away from Christ because of my behavior, words or actions (I am sure it has happened already, perhaps multiple times.  All one can do is ask for forgiveness and soldier on.).

I know, I know.  There are significant problems that need to be addressed.  I agree.  But vitriol and emotion are never the way to do it, let alone violence.  All of those things beget more of those things; things that start out evil in nature are destined to fail and fall.

By writing this of course, I suspect I will have created some reactions.  For once, let me be stern:  It is not the day to remind me of the state of the world and the forces that are out to get "us" and likely how I am ignoring the whole situation.  Please spare me the effort of checking my phone multiple times a day to delete comments.  I will do so.  

Also, those sorts of responses are exactly the sort of thing that created this post in the first place.  If that somehow no longer makes me palatable, I very much appreciate your support over the years, but likely this will not continue to be the blog for you.

I have great writers that I admire over at Five Acres and A Dream and An English Homestead and Riverbend Journal that write nothing remotely invoking a political response.  I love all of their work (and as with Chant du Depart and Eaton Rapids Joe, heartily commend them to your attention).  I prefer to go a bit wider in my ponderings.

But even with the ability to write a bit more broadly, I value more the fact that people of widely differing opinions stop by and read and offer their wisdom.   I will do anything to protect that, even to the point of ending any writing that invokes those responses (and being more proactive in deleting responses that touch on such matters),  not only because it does not encourage discussion, but that it discourages those who might believe differently from commenting or reading at all.

Conversation, relationship building, and problem solving are a dialogue, not a monologue.

Your Obedient Servant, Toirdhealbheach Beucail

Thursday, October 10, 2024

The Collapse CLXV: A Sweater Unraveling

 09 September 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

I write this to you in the light of evening that is starting to wane.

The “vote” – I call it a vote, it was much more of a dis-spirited discussion – concluded not an hour ago.

We held it in the old storefront that we had Church in and the Fourth of July in over a year ago, one of the slowly declining store fronts from 80 years ago when this was a fully functioning town instead of the drive through location that it has become. The belief, I assume, was that by having a large space it would encourage people to attend.

The population hereabouts has always been a bit of a contentious discussion. The “official” numbers peg it right around 100 souls, plus those that live farther out in homesteads or ranches but are closer to here than anywhere else; the river that crosses Birch Creek is likely the “border” to the North and East and the other border runs somewhere between the edge of town and the creek that exists beyond it, a fluid border to the town that lies beyond, one of the biggest locally.

Of those 100 old souls that may or may not be around, a scant 30 were present.

Part of it makes sense of course: no use bringing children to an event that would make no sense or more than one from a household in some cases. Still, I suspect Young Xerxes and those who organized the thing had higher hopes.

The question was put to those in attendance: would we continue to stick with Kentucky City, knowing that we would likely have to support them at some point – as they would us - or would we, as Little City, strike out on our own?

Someone from the back of the room asked about the cities beyond us, all the way to the state highway, those that the Colonel and the Leftenant had gone on to. No idea, came the response from Young Xerxes. Yes, someone had been sent there and would likely be back tomorrow with information, but it would be good to have a decision for them when they came. And no matter what their decision was, ultimately we had to make our own.

A gentleman in the back stood up, one that could in no wise be other than one of the ranches in the area. He spoke for all of them hereabouts, he said. They were fine staying in association, but had no intention of marching to any sort of fight. They had enough problems of their own trying to get through the Winter; taking on another charity – the word he used – was beyond their capacity.

Others began to speak up. A few said they were going to stay with friends or relatives out of Birch (likely to the aforementioned ranches and outlying houses); the idea of being here in the Winter effectively alone was too much; best of luck to those that stayed. At least one was of the opinion that Birch should pull a Little City and go their own way – which was largely talked down, as we did not have near the resources or natural protection of that town.

Most sat, like me, remaining silent.

Young Xerxes made an impassioned plea, pointing out that there was strength in numbers and support. Yes, it likely entailed some support of other towns – but those other towns would be in the same position to support us. Our close neighbors, he said, were our best chance to make it to Spring.

In the end, there was not so much of a vote as a tired agreement – those that said they were leaving obviously did not really matter at that point, and those outside of town had little say. The motion “passed”, if one can call less of a roll call vote and more of a general sense.

Walking back to his house, Young Xerxes was clearly distressed. It makes a certain sense: he was very plugged into this community and these people and for all intents appeared that it was slowly falling apart. He had no count of how many would leave, he said, but it could be as much as 25% - which would make the town even emptier and even more vulnerable.

I walked with him in silence back to his house, listen to the sadness in his voice. I did not really have words, or at least words that would likely be of any use: what does one say in the face of understandable self-interest?

Sitting here writing the last words in the evening light before it goes dim, I feel more and more like we are a sweater, slowly unraveling. Can the thing be knit back together?

A sort of bland indifference is what we can seem to muster, Lucilius; we will see if that will be enough.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

2024 Turkey: Pergamon and The Asklepieion (II)

The Asklepieion consisted of the temple, the rooms where priests would meet with patients, and the various areas for exercise and cures.  In general, these places seemed to have a treatment regime of "healthy living" of diet, exercise, and psychological and emotional treatment.  Fortunately for modern man, we know that those ancients were bound by superstition and a lack of knowledge....wait a minute, that is what we recommend today.  


An existing spring.  This would have been a bathing pool for treatment in ancient times.



One of the reconstructed portions is the consultation rooms.  Patients would go down these stairs






and through this tunnel


And emerge into a series of vaulted rooms, where they would consult with the priest about their dream.




Private consultation rooms.  What a strangely ancient and now modern concept.








Remains of the main part of the temple:

The Asklepieion of Pergamon also had a theater - because who cannot benefit from a little entertainment while they heal?





Walking out from their healing, patients would have seen the city of Pergamon on the hilltop above them.