'Pump don't work cause the vandals took the handles..." Bob Dylan
Written 40 years ago and naive by today's standards...sigh.
There's a much smaller and personal issue here at home that often astounds me. It happens when one of my children lose or break one of their prized toys. There's a sense of frustration and loss, the knowledge we dont have control. There is actual sorrow over the passing of a revered toy, and that emotion reflects the sorrow over living.
In our Age gone mad, the small ways we maintain the illusion of control become very important, inordinately serious. I just drove 4000 miles and, 'all I wanted was to be able to keep 5 miles an hour over the posted limit'. I wanted this on every road driven, the entire length of the route regardless of condition. When people got in my way with their own plans, it was irritating.
The Road reveals the temper of our society. It's a good blank slate when evaluating our status. And everybody knows that condition isn't always good. The majority of us do pretty well, all things considered, but there are outstanding individuals behaving dangerously. They hardly value their own lives, let alone yours. And we've conditions in which nearly everyone is a scoff-law. Situational morality. The sign says 45 in a work zone. A single car or two push it to 60, and soon most on the road match them. A mob of cars all over the speed limit, spraying gravel onto each other and jeapardizing the men working on the freeway.
Nearly everyone I know has behaved stupidly at least once while driving. When an accident takes place, and you're brought back to reality, the reasons for the accident are correctly seen as trivial. What? What's that you say? You risked your life and that of your family's, and countless others driving near you, because the sports car cut you off and left you stuck behind a semi-truck? e How many minutes you figure you lost when that happened? You want your thirty seconds back.
The less responsibility, the less control the individual has over his day to day job and life, the worse our driving will be on the Road.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Many years ago the nicest fellow, Carter the kind and good, took some peices from a Winnie-the-Pooh toy his younger brother was trying to assemble. He was jealous about the toy. There are lots of toys in his room. He didn't even want the Pooh car, but out of frustration he made sure the set wouldn't be complete.
Keith is the only one who hasn't spoiled his brother's toys, and that's probably because there was no one beneath him on the food chain.
It's funny how a little rot is passed down from head to head. And if the Good were not passed also, I'd be writing this from a cell.
There are some toys in the house, the most loved, which have fought the battle of Good vs Evil, and met the challenge of wether or not Life is worth living. Isn't that amazing? A little toy carrying all of us on its shoulders. They must be selling some powerful toys these days....
They want the toy to work. It's that simple. Getting to that event is not. My boys work for money. They do their chores and expect a reward. They save and wish, and eventually buy themselves what they wanted. If that toy doesn't work right, to them, the contract is broken. Those are real tears, and a window for some parenting.
The kids want to know; doesn't anything work in this world?
Let's imagine you teach your children to keep their toys in proper perspective; school, hunger, war and national borders are much more important. That's good. They don't cry over toys anymore. But the question remains, it might even show up on the Freeway years later, or in gun collecting, or....
Hold onto yourself and your loved ones, because the toys fail every time. Tools fail. Jobs are incomplete. Men fail. The rules of the road can be lodged, but will never be obeyed.
The most important things to keep can't be held or seen.
You know that years later, sometimes a part or two shows up and we can actually assemble the Winnie The Pooh picnic set? The Munk Brothers laugh with a kind of joy when that happens, knowing themselves just a little better.
munk
Written 40 years ago and naive by today's standards...sigh.
There's a much smaller and personal issue here at home that often astounds me. It happens when one of my children lose or break one of their prized toys. There's a sense of frustration and loss, the knowledge we dont have control. There is actual sorrow over the passing of a revered toy, and that emotion reflects the sorrow over living.
In our Age gone mad, the small ways we maintain the illusion of control become very important, inordinately serious. I just drove 4000 miles and, 'all I wanted was to be able to keep 5 miles an hour over the posted limit'. I wanted this on every road driven, the entire length of the route regardless of condition. When people got in my way with their own plans, it was irritating.
The Road reveals the temper of our society. It's a good blank slate when evaluating our status. And everybody knows that condition isn't always good. The majority of us do pretty well, all things considered, but there are outstanding individuals behaving dangerously. They hardly value their own lives, let alone yours. And we've conditions in which nearly everyone is a scoff-law. Situational morality. The sign says 45 in a work zone. A single car or two push it to 60, and soon most on the road match them. A mob of cars all over the speed limit, spraying gravel onto each other and jeapardizing the men working on the freeway.
Nearly everyone I know has behaved stupidly at least once while driving. When an accident takes place, and you're brought back to reality, the reasons for the accident are correctly seen as trivial. What? What's that you say? You risked your life and that of your family's, and countless others driving near you, because the sports car cut you off and left you stuck behind a semi-truck? e How many minutes you figure you lost when that happened? You want your thirty seconds back.
The less responsibility, the less control the individual has over his day to day job and life, the worse our driving will be on the Road.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Many years ago the nicest fellow, Carter the kind and good, took some peices from a Winnie-the-Pooh toy his younger brother was trying to assemble. He was jealous about the toy. There are lots of toys in his room. He didn't even want the Pooh car, but out of frustration he made sure the set wouldn't be complete.
Keith is the only one who hasn't spoiled his brother's toys, and that's probably because there was no one beneath him on the food chain.
It's funny how a little rot is passed down from head to head. And if the Good were not passed also, I'd be writing this from a cell.
There are some toys in the house, the most loved, which have fought the battle of Good vs Evil, and met the challenge of wether or not Life is worth living. Isn't that amazing? A little toy carrying all of us on its shoulders. They must be selling some powerful toys these days....
They want the toy to work. It's that simple. Getting to that event is not. My boys work for money. They do their chores and expect a reward. They save and wish, and eventually buy themselves what they wanted. If that toy doesn't work right, to them, the contract is broken. Those are real tears, and a window for some parenting.
The kids want to know; doesn't anything work in this world?
Let's imagine you teach your children to keep their toys in proper perspective; school, hunger, war and national borders are much more important. That's good. They don't cry over toys anymore. But the question remains, it might even show up on the Freeway years later, or in gun collecting, or....
Hold onto yourself and your loved ones, because the toys fail every time. Tools fail. Jobs are incomplete. Men fail. The rules of the road can be lodged, but will never be obeyed.
The most important things to keep can't be held or seen.
You know that years later, sometimes a part or two shows up and we can actually assemble the Winnie The Pooh picnic set? The Munk Brothers laugh with a kind of joy when that happens, knowing themselves just a little better.
munk
