Passing Through Our Hands

(Source)

When I was in high school, my world (beyond school) largely consisted of band, drama, role-playing games, and video games.

I spent hours reading through books and modules of the early days of role-playing games:  Dungeons and Dragons, Traveller, Gamma World, Car Wars.  I played, with a best friend or small group, as we adventured through worlds that did not exist in our minds.

The same with video games as well - these were the days before home computers, so the only place to play was at the local arcade, pizza parlor, or bowling alley.  I pumped quarters in.  If we went to the bookstore in The Big City, I would find the magazines that had "50 ways to score high in Defender" or "Galaga:  Unlocked!".  

Meanwhile in the background, band and drama filled the passing of the year.  When I was not studying, I was practicing or rehearsing.  When I was not practicing or rehearsing, I was reading or playing.

And then, of course, high school ended.

As it turns out, role-playing games and video games had a pretty limited application in the post-high school world.  Yes, I continued to play for awhile, but the increased demands of college and then work pushed such things away.  Drama fell by the wayside, driven by the fact that being a big fish in a small pond is not the same thing as being a small fish in a big pond.  Only music stuck with me in some form or fashion through the years - along with a nostalgic love of 1st Edition Gamma World materials, which I keep lovingly on my shelf.

My life - or much of what I had prepared for - simply did not matter.

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It is easy enough to look back on our late teens or high school or even college and sniff at what we spent our time on, realizing that it was really not preparing us for the life we actually lived.  But the reality is that this situation continues unabated in the modern world.

If anything, I wonder if the modern world has exacerbated the situation.

Americans, among other things, have often been known for the fact that they seem to believe they can do anything. In some ways that is undoubtedly a legacy from our founding and the fact that for many, they came from hard circumstances or from elsewhere and made a life for themselves.  But just like fruit hanging on a tree too long, the idea seems to have gone to rot.

We have moved from the era of "I can do (or be) anything I want" to "I do (or be) anything I want".  My interests, my passions, shaping the world around myself and my wants and desires has become paramount.

An easy place to see this is in the growth of college programs, where we now have majors that cover literally every possible outcome in the world. Which is fine, I suppose.  But many of those bright eyed students (including me, at one time) never asked the question "And what am I going to do when I get out of school?"  

We prepare for the life that we imagine, but have no true influence over. 

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Arguably the modern world is more busy and active than ever.  If one wanted to, one could be engaged in inputs and activities every hour of the day one was alive, every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year.  And those inputs are exciting:  visually stimulating, sounding amazing, mind engaging, fulfilling every desire we might have to be engaged or educated or entertained.

And yet this is a life which is in some means artificial.

We spend so much time in a world "out there" or preparing for things that do not truly matter that we forget that the life we do control - the one that matters - goes on quietly in the background.  

The life we control is generally not glamourous.  It is often not exciting.  It consists mainly of the things we do day to day, the interactions we have with others, the daily religious observances and prayers, the small chores and preparations and other tasks that seem completely "boring" or uninteresting.  And yet arguably it is in the moments that we are truly living our lives, truly grasping the hours instead of letting them slip through our fingers.  Because these things are the true things that impact us in meaningful and deep ways, ways that make us ourselves.

I cannot grasp the life that has slipped through my hands already.  But I can at least make the amount remaining mean something, instead of wafting off into a future that never was going to be.

Book Review: Facing East

I first became acquainted with the name Frederic Mathewes-Green through the writings of Rod Dreher, who referenced her as a gentle voice describing conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy, a journey which he himself has made.  I filed it away in my "That might be a book I want to look into in the future" and promptly went along my way - for some years.

The issue reappeared more recently, as I go through one of my periodic religious peregrinations.  I have a number of books on Orthodoxy - Kallistos Ware's books The Orthodox Church and The Orthodox Way are enjoyable and highly readable (his essays, which constitute two current volumes but are starting to roll out in a collection again, are also highly enjoyable) but they are a 10,000 foot overview of the Orthodox Church.  Mathewes-Green's book, as I suddenly re-discovered it on Thriftbooks, was billed as "A Pilgrim's journey into the Mysteries of Orthodoxy" - and at a discounted price, it was worth a try.

What a genuinely pleasant surprise I was in for.

Facing East is a book of many different layers.  It is the description of the liturgical year of an Orthodox congregation as viewed by a member of that congregation. It is a history of the authoress' journey from non-believing free-spirited "Hippie" with her husband to a belief in God and their religious journey to Orthodoxy.  It is a story of a start up congregation. It is a view into the interactions of a small community of people living out The Word in the world.

If that sounds like a lot to pack into 240-pages, that is because it is. And that is because Mathewes-Green is a excellent writer.  The stories - vignettes really - are focused around the seasons of the Orthodox church: Preparing for Lent, Lent, Holy Week, Pascha (Easter for us Western Christians), Pentecost, Nativity and Theophony, and back to Preparing for Lent.  Within each of these major seasons a series of stories are packed in.

We meet the congregation of Holy Cross Orthodox Mission of Cantonville, Maryland.  Mathewes-Green gives the members of the church descriptions and names that make them real: Musical David, Hardworking Jeannie, Basil of the loud voice, Carolyn the Icon painter.  We watch them through the year as they deal with the struggle of making do in a rented space (familiar to anyone that has been involved in a church startup). Mathewes-Green is a member of the choir, so we we get an insight into how Byzantine chant works.  We get a view into Mathewes-Green's family as well, her older daughter and two younger sons.

We also learn a lot about the Orthodox church and believes - not from a formally religious person, but someone that seems to be able to clearly describe things from a layperson's view.

Like Rod Dreher, Mathewes-Green never tries to argue the reader into Orthodoxy. She simply presents it as it is, as she sees it.  Her love of the Orthodox Church clearly comes through the way she speaks and the way she writes of the church and its mysteries.

The best part?  She is a very good writer.  I devoured this book, making it a part of my early morning reading.  I was sorry when we reached the end (beginning) of the Liturgical year.

The book was originally written in 1995.  Mathewes-Green wrote a post-script and then - for the 10th anniversary edition - gave a 10 year update.  It was a nice closure to the book, to find out what happened to these characters that I had met and become - in a way - friends with over the Liturgical year  - they did end up finding their own space, for example, and the Mathewes-Green family went from three children to three wedded children to 5 grandhildren in 2006 (and apparently 15 now). 

The book was so good that I cheerfully ordered the follow-up, At The Corner of East and Now, which documents the continued adventures as they move into a new space.

Bottom line:  Highly recommended, both for the comment and writing style. What a joy it is to find a book that both educates and is well written.

A Year Of Haiku (XXXVIII): Autumn Sky

Not just the sunlight:

the deep blue sky of Autumn 

different as well.

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: Saigon (IV)

 The Basilica of Our Lady of Saigon was built between A.D.1860 and 1880 using materials all shipped in from France (although interestingly, the clock on the front is from Sweden).  The two towers were built in A.D. 1895.  The statue of Mary is from much later, A.D. 1959.

The former South Vietnamese Presidential Palace, now the Independence Palace:

Back to the Central Post Office - this time with interior views:

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: Saigon (III)

The Ben Thanh Central Market was original a market location that predated the arrival of the French in the 19th Century.  The building was rebuilt in A.D. 1914.  

It is an indoor/outdoor market, which includes a wet market and a wide variety of items for sale.

...including coffee stands:

Ho Chi Minh (or "Uncle Ho" as we heard him referred to more than once) is in a lot of places:

A Saturday Morning Stroll

 For the first time in what feels like a while (but maybe not), I had a Saturday with no scheduled events on it.

It is a hard thing for me at times, this idea of nothing on the schedule - modulated by the fact that "nothing on the schedule" never means that I do not have things I need (or at least think I need) to do.   An empty early Saturday morning means more time to pray and read and write, more time to try and translate Old English (we are currently - and slowly - working our way through "The Battle of Maldon"), more time to have more coffee (maybe a little more than I usually do).

It is also a good time for a stroll.

During the week I try to get out the door no later than 0615 for my stroll, which is approximately 30 minutes long.  It is more appetizing in the Spring and Summer of course, when the sun is up.  But we are plunging slowly beneath the waves of Autumn into Winter, with the sunrise now delayed to 0645 - but always moving later.  As a luxury to myself, I wait until the sun comes up, busying myself with laundry and more reading.

This is the coldest morning we have had in a while:  40 F/4.5 C is what greets me when I get up.  The temperature has risen to a warmer 43 F/6 C by the time I get underway, making my traditional stop at the dumpster to dispose of the cat's litter box leavings.

It rained last night at some point as I was treading the darkened paths of sleep; I heard no sound of it but the evidence is always clearly on the blacktop as I stare out the window.  As a result everything is cool and wet.  It rained yesterday, enough that I did not have to water.  Today's rain will obviate the need to water today as well.

Once I get going, I do enjoy walking in the morning darkness:  the play of light on leaves and trees is lyrical, the moon and clouds dance between seasons, the clouds winning more than the moon at this point.  Walking in the morning light is different, especially on a Saturday:  far more people are up and about, running or strolling or walking their dogs.  I move to the street (or try to) as a courtesy to dog walkers:  at least one small dog still considers me a threat.  I mockingly throw up my hands in surrender as I walk by and acknowledge his fierceness; his owner and I share a laughing glance.

I modulate between listening to something and silence in walking, neither of which seems to take with me this morning.  The podcasts are too political so I turn them off.  The silence leads my mind down things at my job or other larger events that cause a spike in my anger.  I have to self modulate between them.  I have a song list on The Tube of You that is well curated and I can concentrate on.  The Ravishing Mrs. TB reminded me I have a Dotify account as well - it turns out they have a wealth of music there, songs that I have not thought of in years.  Alan Stivell, the Breton harper is there:  after years of not hearing him, it is a pleasure to find out I can still hum along.

After the long walk to the end of the street, I have a choice - immediately go back or walk down the The Allotment.  I was going to go down today as a sort of pre-harvest cleanup for next week, but I would like to let things dry out.  It is worth the quarter mile stroll or so to get there.

This is the first time I have been down there in the daylight in almost a week:  the rapidly decreasing daylight means most visits are now in the evening dark which is enough to see where I need to water but not necessarily specifics.  It is working for now; I will be glad to have a rest for Winter.

In the daylight, one can see my wins and errors:  a few bean pods still cling to drying as to the better amount of my soybeans.  The potatoes have fallen down. The grain I planted is clearly too close together; I need a better planting method.  And I still have tomatoes on the vine.

One of the branches is bent over with the weight.  In my attempts to "help", I manage to break the branch. There are two tomatoes that are close; I think the rest will have to be sacrificed.  I grab all the ripe ones I can find.

Tomorrow, I mutter to myself as I wash the tomatoes off from leaf mold, I need to cut the beans back.

Walking home with a pocket of tomatoes on one side and a phone in the other, I start to play something else - and then find myself wound up again.  I change the subject in my mind - and then get wound up again.

Then I reach in my pocket and feel the tomatoes, dried and warm in the fleecy pocket.  And calm down.  This, I remind myself, is reality.  This is the sort of thing I can marginally influence.  This is representative of what effort properly directed in action does.

Making the last turn, I hear the sound of geese overhead, a set of many that I have heard on this hike, flying in formation heading for warmer climates.  Like them, I turn towards home as well.

A Year Of Kindness (XXXVIII): Never Regret Choosing Kindness

(Source)

Arguably are there times that I have "regretted" choosing kindness?  If I am honest, at some level I am sure there are.

But if I look into that a little more, I find something else at play.  It is not regret at having done the act of kindness but the regret of how little it may be noticed or appreciated.

But that really becomes my problem, not the other person's.  Yes, I may have been taken advantage of or misunderstood or ignored.  But ultimately, kindness is more about myself and not their reaction.

It is a far better thing to be able to look back and - no matter what the outcome - realize that I did the right thing, the better thing, the kind thing.  Part of it is a recognition that life goes on beyond this mortal plane and every deed - good or evil - comes along with us to the Great Day of Judgement.

But part of it as well is I just feel better afterwards.  Because I did the kind and correct thing.

Never regret choosing kindness.