24 December 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
“Good King Wenceslaus looked out on the Feast of Stephen,
when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shown the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,
when a poor man came in sight, gath’ring Winter fuel.”
Roll call this morning was a very organized affair. I say “roll call”, because Pompeia Paulina had me up and out of bed in a very organized fashion this morning. A quick – and I mean quick – breakfast, and we were off into the cold, clear morning with the tracks beginning to freeze into the snow.
Our destination was the old Post Office, now converted into our “central headquarters” (a rather wildly overshot description for such a thing). Imagine my surprise to see a dozen people there or coming as we arrived: Statiera, Young Xerxes, friends of Young Xerxes, the Alcmaeonids, even some of our Erstwhile neighbors.
All, curiously, men with their wives.
“’Hither page and stand by me and if thou knowest, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?”
‘Sire, he lives a good league underneath, the mountain.
Right along the forest fence, by St. Agnes’ fountain.’”
Within 10 minutes of gathering, we were all “given” our orders for the day. Men were split up and sent in various directions. The women, after giving instructions, headed in the Post Office – with strict instructions that we were to knock and not enter (as opposed to before entering).
Young Xerxes and one of his friends was gifted with the task of heading out to the East for something. Mine was...gathering wood.
“’Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pines logs hither,
Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither’
Forth the went monarch and page, forth they went together,
Through the cruel wind’s wild lament, and the bitter weather.”
And so, I spent my day gathering wood.
Someone had generously donated a sled to the cause, which made things a little easier. Out I tromped to past the house to gather wood, break or cut it into smaller pieces, and put it on the sled. Back I would drag it to the Post Office and start a wood pile. Thankfully the day was at least sunny, so much so I reached the point of having to shed an outer layer.
Lunch, after dragging back another load, was some kind of beef jerky, dried fruit, and an honest to goodness fresh biscuit. How long has it been since I had one of those.
By the time the sun was sinking behind the hills, I flatter myself that I had dragged enough wood over to light the halls of Heorot, although I suspect my Anglo-Saxon ancestors would not have been impressed with my efforts.
That night, Pompeia Paulina seemed in an almost joyous mood, something which has seemed to elude her of recent days.
I have to confess, Lucilius, I have not looked so forward to a Christmas Day in years.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
The Silver Pagoda (Wat Preah Keo Morakot, or "Temple of the Emerald Crystal Buddha") is located on the greater Cambodian Royal Palace Grounds. The temple itself was completed in the 19th Century. It is known as the Silver Pagoda by tourists as the floor is covered with 5,329 silver tiles, each weighing 1.25 kg. ( you cannot walk directly on them). Additionally, the temple is filled with over 1600 artifacts of Buddhism including many items of gold and silver. The masterpiece is a standing statue of Maitreya Buddha of gold which weighs 90 kg (198 lbs.) and includes 9584 diamonds, including one of 25 carats. It also includes a green crystalline Buddha manufactured in the 18th or 19 Century.
Sadly, no pictures are allowed in the interior.
Outside of the Silver Pagoda. The model you see in front of it is of Angkor Wat, which we will soon be visiting.
More views of the Cambodian Royal Palace Complex:
Do I have mistakes that I grieve? Of course. A lot of them involve people and my relationships with them, some of them involve things that meant that life took a very different turn indeed. I certainly try to make less of them now, but I still stumble.
Still - like the Piper quote above - the frog struck me as well. Only those who never make anything never make a mistake. Comforting to realize that without the mistakes, the rest never happens either.
I find a quiet comfort in these thoughts as I sit writing this on the first day post Daylight Savings time, when the sun is clearly not where it should be but shining brightly on the red and golden leaves and naked branches of Autumn. I can become troubled about the world at times, but these sorts of things remind me that these, too, are in God's control. I need only be attentive to His hand to see them.
Some weeks ago - after my return from The Grand Canyon - my Mother in Law sent me a text just checking in with how the hike had gone. I let her know it had gone well and had been an enjoyable experience for all involved.
The question surprised me a bit - I was sure at some point she and The Ravishing Mrs. TB had talked - but in her follow up, she noted that she looked forward to seeing pictures from the hike.
The reality was that - for the first time in a very long time - I had posted no pictures of my adventures on any social media platform.
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Our age - at least for certain age brackets - has become an age of complete openness. People share everything - their adventures, their meals, their gatherings, their emotions, their interests. In some ways these can be valuable things - especially the interests for example, where I have come to find I have common ground in certain things with individuals all over the world. The other side of it, of course, is that with this sharing comes a complete loss of privacy.
For some people, I can tell a great deal about their lives: where they live, what they enjoy, who their friends are, what beliefs they hold, some estimate of their income bracket - things that once upon a time were the sort of things that we had to gather by actually knowing someone.
Now, that information is almost thrown at us.
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Interestingly, there seems to be some kind of age differentiation in this. Na Clann's generation, at least in my immediate circle, seems to post infrequently or not at all (although that may simply be due to the fact that the platforms they might post on are the same their parents post on, and who wants that). The generation behind me and ahead of me seems to post much more frequently.
Or not. There is a whole slew of people I know in my own age bracket who post almost nothing.
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One of the great privileges of life is privacy: the simple idea that one has the right to lead one's life in one's own way without any requirement to have people intrude in it or know about it. This has often been a noticeable different between non-authoritarian/totalitarian and democratic/republican (note the non-capitalized letters there) governments: East Germany, for example, was famous for the government surveillance apparatus. China, or at least from what I read, employs a network that essentially tracks everything that you do (including how you spend your money). And North Korea - well, I cannot imagine a private moment there that somehow does not have government sanction.
One of the greatest privileges of life - and yet we now live in an age where such things are casually thrown to the wind.
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At one time I posted like everyone else. Do I think I will go back?
Probably not.
Part of it is simply that with a general retreat from Social Media, it is simply not something I do now - at least to the general public. There is a smaller group of my friends with whom I share such things, but really is that not the way it should be? Friends sharing with friends, not friends sharing with the entire world?
Will it "cost" me a few likes or having experiences that no-one else knows about? Yes. But ultimately, is not life an experiential event viewed from our own perspective or interpreted via ourselves through our lens? Far better to focus on processing those thoughts and experiences ourselves or with a few rather than sending them to the four corners of the Earth without thought.
This week has had more than its fair share of foggy mornings.
I am not sure why fog appeals to me as it does - I like cloudy overcast days as well, so that may be a reason. There is something about the muting, both of sight and sound, that the fog brings, the soft edges it gives to items near and the complete concealment of items farther away, dim hints of shapes that acquire mythical appearances. In the fog, trees and houses become monsters.
Walking in the fog is its own experience: the muffled sound, the floating edges that streetlights acquire, the constant drips of moisture from surfaces. Now, as it is Autumn, the leaves I walk over have a muffled "slap" as I step on them, so freshly fallen and damp as they are. People become dimly seen shapes that resolve from the fog and become human, only to disappear again into passing shadowy shapes.
Fog brings all the meditative atmosphere of a good rainy day without the inconvenience of the falling water. I can get out and do things, but the fog seeps into my thoughts as I do them. It adds thought and and element of mystery to the commonest of activities: given a deep enough fog, even taking the trash out becomes something of a meditative adventure into the unknown as the common landmarks between here and the dumpster are erased except for the brief moments that they hove into view.
Would I like fog all the time? I suspect not: too much gloom is bad for anyone's soul. But I surely grateful for it when it appears now, a haunting condition that teases me with mystery and thought and can, at least for a little while, make the world almost an adventure.
23 December 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
My wife has informed me that there will be a Christmas in this community this year.
Even in my short time married to her, I hesitate to contradict her unless I am rather certain of the facts. In the case I tried to point out – gently – that given the state of things, this might not be the year, especially given the weather and the fact that as a community we were – perhaps – just healing.
She pointed to the four candles on the Advent wreath and a fifth one in the middle, to be lit on Christmas day. Being a man of wisdom and virtue, I quickly retreated from my position.
I carefully busied myself for the rest of the day while my wife was away “on errands”. By the time she arrived home in the late afternoon – given we are just past the Winter Solstice, effectively almost sundown – she had that sort grim happy determination of someone that was told they could not do something but went ahead and did it anyway.
I have been informed, Lucilius, that I had “best get my jolly on in two days”.
Finding my role models in the Wise Men from the East, I believe I will comply.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
The Cambodian Royal Palace (Preah Barom Reacheaveang Chaktomuk Sereay Mongkol) located in Phnom Penh, is a palace complex consisting of the royal palace and religious sites. The palace is of "newer vintage", being built between 1866 and 1870 by King Norodom.
