resolution resale - recycling human nature

This column of mine appeared in 1/2/91 issue of The Reporter, a now defunct weekly newspaper in North Conway, New Hampshire.


So it's Jan 2, 1991. (Well it was when I wrote this.) Resolutions already broken?
Don't throw them away. My Uncle Jake has a friend who's in the recycling business. "Fred's Old Age Home and Recycling Center for Broken New Year's Resolutions, Dreams and High Hopes." Every January 1st, the sandwich sign at the end of the driveway says "Big Sale today: two for one."

Uncle Jake and I rode out to see Fred last week, to see what the specials were for 1991. Now, I have personal statute of limitations on New Year's resolutions, Once their year is up, it's up. I never make the same resolution two years in a row. Why spin your tires on sheet ice?

Fred's place is a long, rangy one-story shack with lots of little rooms added on one at a time, probably without asking the planning board. The stove pipes all stick out sideways and the shingles are falling off.

Old Fred looked pretty scruffy and sad when he came out to meet us. I guess it's pretty depressing work cleaning up after all those broken resolutions. "What can I git yah this year?" he asked, slapping Jake hard on the back as they ducked through the low doorway of the shop.

"Well, I'm not so sure," Jake said. "What you got that's cheap?" Fred ushered us over to a dusty table with heaps of old papers with fancy letters. Resolve: No more drinkin' cussin' or lyin.' Resolve: To invite your crabby mother over for dinner once a month and treat her nice no matter how bad she acts. Resolve: To be a better neighbor and to paint the kitchen for Molly. Resolve: To save $10 every week and mend my own socks. Each scroll was tattered and had strips of crinkled, yellowed scotch tape where Fred had mended it.
"So - did you bring a trade-in?" he asked. Yep. Last year I resolved to show how I felt toward people more, try to let the soft heart show instead of always playing the wicked cynic. I had some mixed results there. (I guess I really am a wicked cynic.)

Old Fred said he had a wide selection of barely used, mostly broken resolutions that could replace it. He highly recommended that I swap for a "No more negative attitude" resolution. Fred says that resolution is out of favor now, because with the declining economy, negativism is in, and he'll sell that one cheap. No surprise there.

Uncle Jake couldn't decide between a "Not talking so much when I drink," and a "Keeping the cellar clean," which I must say he would break in half an hour taking some Christmas present apart to see how it worked. (He'd break the other one too.) To trade,  Jake  brought along a "Not to pinch my wife in public," resolution which he broke at 12:07 a.m. on on January 1, while he was still at a New Year's eve party at the neighbors house. (Fred is very fond of Jake because he often has something unusual to trade...)

Uncle Jake suggested I might want to get a diet resolution because he was worried about the springs in his truck. "Mind your own business," I snapped. "I don't need one of those right now." Besides without a "self discipline" resolution, there's no sense to it.

I hope your resolutions last longer than mine. I won't tell you what I finally swapped for at Fred's. I'll probably break it anyway. Happy New Year.

LIFE itself is reason and meaning enough for anyone

A version of this column of mine appeared in January of 1994 in the Ridgefield Press.

There is a strange nocturnal tendency at the end of the year. The whirl of Christmas celebrations complete, children in bed, we sit exhausted amid holiday debris. We catch our breath, count our toes and our debts. By the tree’s schmaltzy twinkle, we measure the weight of the passing year and ponder the meaning of our lives.


Apparently weighty matters ripen more rapidly after dark. Only a few moments ago, with eyes clamped determinedly shut, mind still in the spin cycle, I restlessly stretched out my right arm, As I did so an odd intruding thought crowded out the annual clamor of self-assessment.

How smooth, that movement of arm; how incredible and improbable the sensations of each muscle moving, perfectly coordinated and alive... I sat straight up in bed. How strange, how amazing, I thought every human being over all the Earth, whatever language, religion or economic reality, every one of them partakes in this same phenomenon - life.

We have life; we are life; yet we spend life arguing about what life is. We are alive yet we can’t agree on life’s cause or goal.

Over centuries, humanity has fermented a primordial sea of argument. Ideas and needs that simmer like soup, boiling over often into political and personal violence. Despite the beauty of  each season, despite the sincerity of our endeavors, despite our common aliveness, we have never once agreed on the scheme of things. But we carry on anyway. Each year people fall in love. Children are born. New projects begin. The status quo decays. Revolutions are launched. Ideas take hold. Countries are founded, technologies invented, branches of knowledge expanded, fallacies debunked, empire disassembled. New fallacies, new empires arise.

Apparently life itself, full of vigor and promise, is enough to work with, this life which contains its own wordless philosophies, which is astonishing - both to philosophers who ponder it and scientists who study its mecahnisms.

And being alive is like tasting good soup. No amount of probing the roster of ingredients, no amount of pleading with an imagined chef or  picturing vegetables being chopped, no amount of accurate measurement, timing, skimming or stirring -- none of these will convey the wonder of savoring a single spoonful.

Whatever life’s cause - each moment is precious, complex, intricate. This is true whether there is one loving god, an army of indifferent gods or no god at all. It is true whether there are angels and archangels, a living gaia, a sentient universe or only DNA struggling for survival in chaotic cycles of energy and time. None of these concepts alters the immediate reality of my arm. Or your arm. Or my brain or your brain. Or the cacophony of our conscious minds swirling with divergent and conflicting thought every hour of the night and day.

As an experiment, observe yourself inwardly for a moment. Mentally slip thought the side door. Stand just out side your stream of thought and watch the flow. Listen to your heart beating, to the steady rhythm of your breathing. Notice the faint odors of familiar things without labeling them or thinking about them, simply be them all. You are them all already. It sounds simple, inane even. But this process of simply observing reveals the rich texture of our existence.

Perhaps, as life is what we have in common, we might in the new year contemplate and celebrate the life inherent in our competing arguments. this network of vigorous, argumentative (letter-to-the-editor-writing) life -- over all the Earth and anywhere else it night be found -- this life itself is reason and meaning enough for a thousand philosophers.

So live every day of this new year. Remember the soup. Some days may be nourishing and hearty. Some may be watery and bitter. Whatever life’s taste, savor every second.

Scultpture reclines with glass of milk

This sculpture was photographed, not next to a granite pillar, but on my desk next to a glass of milk. It's all low res, shot with an early computer cam, but pretty accurately shows the work which is in unfired clay. Drop it in a bucket of water and its gone. The problem is, I kept several different types of clay. Since I am off-again, on-again at my various hobbies, by the time I made this piece, I had already lost track. I am fairly sure it can be fired, but the proper cone is unknown. Organized people would label all this stuff as they work. I suppose I will have to talk to someone knowledgeable and get some advice on this. It's been curing for over ten years.

Life drawing aids the eye

From the Metaphoratorium Gallery

This is a scanned section of a sketch I did during a studio class with a live model. Have taken quite a few of these helpful sessions, one at Western Conn State University, and several each at Weselyan University (in the GLS program), at Wooster Community Art Center, and also at the Housatonic Art League. The models have been different sizes, sexes, ages and races, in various states of clothed and unclothed. When you are trying to understand the relationships of the different parts of the body and how they move - a live model is priceless. I also like to watch dance classes and dance on TV for the same reason.

head in hand watching the world roll

I have always liked this impossible photo of a head I made in Sculpty. No, I didn't use a mold.

I've made a series of heads, some mounted, some painted. To the right is the sculpture in its original flesh-toned material. Some how though, I prefer the black and white photo.

Oil Pastel: Overwhelmed

For some of us, holidays feel a lot like this sketch — we sit quietly while other folks race around acting crazy, trying to match some past holiday ideal. It's done in oil pastel on a 5 by 7 inch index card. (low buget materials.) For me, this year was a relatively good holiday, less stress. Today is work day though, with more than enough stress for everyone.

Another Christmas, Another Religious War

It's Christmas morning and a new religious war is afoot between Christians in Ethiopia and Muslims in Somalia. Religion all around seems more a cause of war than a source of comfort. This photo is one not used for a story I did recently on Hanukah. A Reformed Congregation Rabbi, a warm and caring person and a great interviewe, is reflecting on and reflected in a display-case of seasonal items. Hanukah celebrates the 're-taking' and re-dedication of the Temple by the Maccabees -- who mounted what this Rabbi called 'guerrilla warfare' to do so. Is there any religion with a truly peaceful history? I doubt it, since religion is the invention of mankind, and man is a dangerous and aggressive animal. (Women I do not exclude you here....) We are an animal species full of loving kindness and also full of savage craft. Selah.