Nightfall

Nightfall

How still the darkness of the night,
even intently though I listen.
The sounds all muted, as though they had not been,
and never were except in memory.
Here I might once have heard a sigh of lovers
or the shifting of a babe in it's cradle, all are gone...
no shadows trace their way through this ebon darkness,
no gossamer thread of whisper to guide me in this night.

How sure my feet once tread this path,
following the sounds as others follow light,
drawn like the moth to a flame;
filling my world as surely as water might fill a vessel,
leaving not the tiniest imperfection dry.
So were the sounds of my living,
filling my days and bringing order to the void about me.

How still the beating of my heart in the silence,
that once ordered the hours and the minutes of living.
Its cadence formed the length of my step on this path,
its movement within me the steps of my future all unfolding.
The color of my blood was the sound of its hurry.
Quiet now, subdued within this wrapper of enfolding dark.
About me the stillness of silence settles, as companion, deep
within this night and ward against the need for haste.

How was sound my need, my guide? How was it important
that I must needs run to its bidding, even as an army marches
to its drums, their steady rhythm a heartbeat that must be heeded.
When did my friends fall silent by the way?
I no longer hear their voices.
What fate befell them, what war or tragedy still their sound?
When did the symphony that I heard become a solo,
leaving where it had been, a manuscript of silent notes?
Were once those sounds so loud?

When did love become so quiet?
I hear not the slightest whisper in this place
of love that thundered in my being.
Love that called and sang and screamed and cried,
now, it too, silent in this night.

I look about and with my eyes, I strive
to hear the sounds of silent friends and long ago loves,
but in this place of darkness are only shadows.
The stealthy dark that seeps in to fill the silent space
left behind by past belongings.

Where once was being; now shadows gather.
Muffled sounds fade to silence leaving only dark.

Was I to sit and hear the silence, might soon the sun would
arise again? Dispelling darkness, restoring structure to a world
I might see again as new.
Might then my life be reconstructed and once again a path I see?
Would lost friends live and lost loves flourish and the drums
of war be stilled?

How patient I might be for sunrise, if I hoped it songs might bring.
But,. all about me is dark and silent.

I sit alone within my thoughts.

Living is the state to which we are introduced at birth. It hosts a multitude of different aspects but all of those aspects include the gaining of experience of many separate sorts. The state of living will inevitably and eventually end in death but trite cliches such as “Life (add verb of your choice) then you die” are altogether avoiding and even deleting the part wherein one passes through many states from deepest depression to highest transcendence. Those in-between states are what make life so colorful and varied.

From the richness of art and creativity to the deepest depths of despair (although this has also been known to also produce art of lasting fame and transcendence) Life is a tapestry of creation and sometimes, destruction which, in its magnitude and variety will help to (quite possibly) determine the way by which we become known to others.

There are certain known mental states, extensively studied by many, which prohibit people from relating personally to the life in which they remain or become entrapped. These include psychoses, neuroses, and those states such as that in which I now exist called Anhedonia (mentioned elsewhere in this web log) but the majority of people will find a way to exist within a comfortable (even if occasionally quirky) and sufficiently functional manner that will allow them to live a life of modest fulfillment, reasonable happiness and occasionally even success as such may be measured by the society in which they live.

There are those, often described as over-achievers, that actively seek a greater amount of public acclaim (than might seem necessary to others) during the span of life's allotted years on this earth. Over achievers might want world power. Among them, some are those who might want to have a surplus of material goods or services. Some crave power over the lives of others in smaller ways and some only desire to be able to contribute to the lives of others in a fashion that increases the quality of life for those involved. Some few, more or less accidentally, as known by the recovery of relics pertaining to them, even attain the sort of immortality that comes of simply doing what those few what might have perceived as “only doing their job to the best of their ability" in hopes that overall some good might come of it. Some of these latter might have been pressured into “doing their job” because the situation in which they found themselves might be made somewhat easier and freed their time to be devoted to other endeavors.

An example of these latter might have been Hammurabi (King of Babylon circa 1750 BC) . The fortunate recovery of a stele upon which was incised a set code of laws to be applied more or less evenly to all inhabitants of his realm is often referred to as being the first known or certainly the most widely known by the modern world, as we know it presently, to be the first example of written, codified law: dating before the Hebrew “Ten Commandants” and addressing the need for the weak to be protected from being brutalized by the strong. Although the actual presence of the steles, many of which were apparently placed throughout the land although only one is known to exist presently, may have been lost temporarily but the codes of law established therein form the basis of many existing forums of law and precedence even now.Hammurabi also states on the body of the stele that his edict was given him by his god: A claim made by many since Hammurabi's time in hopes of lending legitimacy to delivered edicts. It’s quite possible that some few of these many might even have been possessed of the hope of helping civilization to become better mannered and easier to maintain rather than having a motive of simply gaining power by being associated with whatever gods or devils might be claimed in the subscript.

I could go on at great length with examples and named identities (Moses) but those I have named herein are only two of the people who found themselves in a position won, thrust upon them or inherited and rose thereby to exalted status. I’m interested in some similar people as defined in a previous paragraph but their experience is not directly related to those with whom I hope to populate this essay.

There are people now living who are also well known but the reason they are famous presently often has to do with less gilded circumstances than Hammurabi’s. The lists of past and present kings, queens and assorted nobility as well as notable generals of conquering hoards, legions and many other types of political power are not exactly endless but certainly longer than most of us will care to assay. There are, in any case, far fewer people on those lists than there are of what are often referred to as “the little people”.

The generals and political figures may have decided the tactics but without the legions, hoards or soldiers there would have been no conquest and so it goes. There are far more crosses adorning the fields of Flanders and elsewhere than there are known names to adorn them. The unnamed soldier is far more typical of the majority of mankind than are those in highly elevated circumstances. Expand the definition of the word soldier to include all those in ordinary daily life with no recognition other than that of their family, peers or close associates and you will find the vast majority of mankind listed, both past and present, therein.

On the other end of the human spectrum are the infamous. The very word “infamous” is enough to conjure names of people that others find to be extremely unpleasant, repugnant, evil or (insert descriptive adjective here) even if only locally and possibly some of those names may even be of fictional characters. Once again I chose not to expand upon those so noted as being atypical rather than mainstream.

Amongst those in the mainstream of humanity who have contributed immeasurably are many whom history will treat less kindly than those of whom I have already indicated.

It is of these aforementioned in which I often find interest. Some have claimed a space in literature, science, arts (both fine and common or craft) and eventually, because of contributions made coincidentally as part of their ordinary or day to day life rather than purposely. Among these we might find the name of Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti. You might remember him. He painted the Sistine Chapel, carved the statue of “David” and other items less well known outside of art circles such as the “Tomb of the Medici”. He was gifted but of circumstances that could just as easily yielded someone of less capability. His fame came from diligent application of his talents gained through lengthy apprentice work, rather than high status, Amongst his peers, even he, being of high profile, is slightly higher in status than the people which I seek to expose. Those same people who would have done and often did continue to labor with only local recognition or often none at all are those whom I seek.

Mother Theresa lived willingly in poverty in keeping with her vows as a Catholic Nun. Of Albanian descent, she is well known but if I had mentioned Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu would you still have recognized the name? “Probably not” is my guess. She founded the Missionaries of Charity in Calcutta in 1950 out of a will and a vow to do good by helping those who often were unable to help themselves. Although by the 1970’s she had achieved international recognition for her humanitarian work she would have continued to do that to which she had set herself without it. Fame was not her goal. She cared for the dregs of humanity whom might have had no promise of help otherwise.

Many others who continue to do humanitarian works have never or might never achieve the kind of celebrity that Mother Theresa did. This does not and has not kept those others from going in harm’s way to help those who might not have found hope and help without intervention. “Doctors without Borders” is filled with such people, some of no small reputation amongst their own peers but, will we remember their names and give them recognition? Once again my own answer is “probably not”. Does this matter to many of these who willingly put their practices, lives and families on a figurative “hold” that they may continue doing their work amongst those considerably less blessed than they? My personal answer would be “Yes”. Of all these examples we might collectively ask “Why?” or “Why do they do this?”

Perhaps they feel a personal need to be of help and service to humanity and found that to be sufficient reason in and of itself, to contribute their time and lives, regardless of recognition or lack thereof. Is what they do noble? It might be called so but perhaps perceived nobility is insufficient reason to uproot their lives in order to do some good when so many others are not. They are among the little people of whom I wrote earlier in this essay. Guided by their personal mores, nobility is not uppermost in their minds and is, perhaps, not even on their personal checklist of why they do what they do.

I intend to go even further down the scale of recognition for the “little people” though. I want to talk about a very specific person who never even countenanced the idea of nobility as guiding her actions.

How many among my readers remember seeing the red kettles in front of businesses and prominently displayed in busy spots with passing foot traffic? Each of these is usually manned by a person who might be your next door neighbor, a friend, a businessman or tradesman. Sometimes, but less often, you might actually see a kettle being stewarded by an actual Salvation Army soldier in uniform. Almost all of the people you might see beside the kettles are volunteers. They took time from their lives to try to help those who might receive no help of any kind from other citizens.

The general public, when separated into individuals, is not known for initiative on its own although when bolstered by others also willing to follow an imperative the public, collectively, is able to do quite amazing things.

Another service that most readers are familiar with is the American Red Cross, most of whose workers on the scene of fires, floods and diverse disasters are all volunteers. They venture out in all types of weather and conditions, whatever they may be, with no more impetus than the idea that they might be able to help.

Have you, reader, ever met one of these volunteers? Do you remember their name? I do. When I was about 19, out of school and unemployed but having a commercial drivers license, I was asked to take the Dallas American Red Cross chapter’s mobile kitchen to Corpus Christie ahead of a hurricane so that it could be positioned to serve the populace after the hurricane passed.. I was there for about a week and in that time we passed out hundreds of sandwiches and other food stuffs to people who had no power and often no running water with which to prepare food. That was over 40 years ago and I happened to be in a position to help at that time.

I do know at least two other volunteers who devoted many years of service to the Dallas Chapter of the ARC simply because they could and wanted to. Many times these two would be called out to fires and other disasters to help with housing and providing help to those affected by the calamity by passing out housing vouchers for motels and hotels, food vouchers, coffee, blankets and other necessities needed to provide for those in need. Although they eventually received service pins from the Red Cross after years of service, it was not the award presented before a few other volunteers that spurred them into helping. It was simply the personal desire to be of service to their community.

Their story is repeated endlessly across the U.S. and around the world by others like themselves. Both of the volunteers I personally knew had a family to care for and jobs from which they might have been released from had their volunteerism interfered. Notwithstanding this condition they continued with their humanitarian endeavors for many years in unpaid service to organizations including the Cub Scouts of America and its brother organization, the Boy Scouts of America, and even after their family had left home they continued to present leadership training seminars for the C.S.A. and B.S.A. as well as teaching both primary and advanced First Aid classes to the community.

The person I will focus on had a special award created just for her service by the Circle 10 Council of the Boy Scouts of America. It was known as the “Silver Fawn” and only four were ever awarded, Three of those Silver Fawns were eventually exchanged for the equivalently prestigious “Silver Buffalo” in keeping with the then freshly coming idea of equality of the sexes. Prior to the creation of the “Silver Fawn”, the “Silver Buffalo” was awarded only to men notwithstanding that women had long played a significant part in the Scouting movement. The volunteer of which I speak refused to exchange her award. The occasion of this refusal was one of the rare times that she wasn’t seemingly embarrassed to be specially honored. She, later, was also honored with the “Judge Dee Brown Walker award for outstanding service to the Circle 10 Council of the Boy Scouts of America”. Only one and rarely 2 of these awards were awarded yearly and previously all had gone to male recipients. The Circle 10 Council represents the Dallas, Texas metropolitan area. Being so honored was an extremely prestigious recognition after considering how many were nominated yearly for this award. Hers, once again, was the first to go to a female recipient.

After the death of one of these two volunteers the other continued to work for and with charitable groups in her community including the Kiwanis International, The Toastmasters and the Southeast Dallas Chamber of Commerce. She helped with free dinners at Christmas and Thanksgiving, took part in SED C of C activities of all sorts and often took along her camera to record the activities. Many times she spent her own money to develop the film she shot at these activities. Her house is filled with honors and awards created especially for her. In 1999 she was recognized by the Eckerd’s pharmacy chain (now CVS) with a national award that identified her as “1 of 200” out of over 2000 nominees (she was unaware of being nominated by her local Eckerd’s store Manager and only became aware of the honor when she was contacted by Eckerd’s) and presented with a small silver plate suitably engraved with her achievement. Her response when being presented with her award was typical of her life and the prominence of awards in her activities. She was in her early 80’s at the time.

When handed the award in front of the other 199 honored volunteers, all chosen for outstanding service to their community, she was asked what she might do with her prestigious award. I was later to find her reply was “Well, I suppose I could serve cookies on it”. For her the recognition was in being able to help.

In her lifetime, in between her occupation as full time supervisor of the Arthur Andersen LLP Print shop (the title of Supervisor is misleading because until 25 years into her career she worked primarily alone.) she created countless numbers of flyers, reports, articles and other printed matter for use by the many organizations to which she had offered her volunteer services. Among these was a craft book for Cub Scouts full of projects, games and other entertainments. This booklet included drawings, skits, and ideas of interest to those involved in Cub Scout activities. She drew the illustrations and patterns, wrote the copy and spiral bound the finished product ready for use by the local Cub Scout Leaders. This book was to be eventually copied and translated into 14 languages around the world. She owned the copyright but never received a dime for any of the pirated books in copyright fees. Her response was again typical, “It doesn’t matter. I did it for the children anyway.”

Her charitable work began near the start of WW2 and there are documents of appreciation in her files from military commanding officers for the work done then. She worked with the USO during that time as well. The honors accrued throughout her life. They were small but she never doted upon them although she kept them; either packed away or filed in boxes in the closet. Through her work and in person she touched the lives of people around the world, people whom she never met but whose lives were enriched by her own life and selfless giving. She was one of the “little people” but with a big heart and hand for her world that continued almost to her death at the age of 92.

Her funeral was attended by a small group of people and family she had known well. Fewer than 20 of those whom she had touched in her life knew of her passing. Recognition is fleeting for most and she was no exception. Her legacy is in her life, well lived and busy throughout. In that respect such was the funeral of the other volunteer with whom she shared many things. She died peacefully in her sleep with relatives close by. Her body was worn out by life and unable to continue, having been in such glorious service as few might know or experience.

It has been said by many people over the span of hundreds of years in various languages and using a multitude of media that “At the end of all things we die alone” and so we do. It is the one thing that cannot be shared in the experience of living. If there is anything beyond the terminus of life we, the living, do not share in it except as onlookers. Hers was a quietly valiant life of doing what she believed in and helping as she was able, using her talents and life’s energy to accomplish her own goals of helping, serving and being useful to others. She did well.

“How did I come to know her?” you might ask. The answer is of the simplest kind for she was my mother. Mary Jane Stevens Eckstein passed in her sleep on December 2, 2010, a quiet end to a very busy life.

Solomon's Insight...

The following is another story taken from folklore. This is a story from the Holy Lands in modern idiom. Like so many stories originally delivered in the vocal tradition this story is both for entertainment and it has a moral to teach. Using stories such as this children were often entertained during the hours before bed and taught precepts that might benefit them in some way in their life. These stories often gave the family a chance to be together and share their closeness after the day's work was done and thus encouraged and reinforced family values as well. Story time was often used as a reward through entertainment for the children.

Story telling time has languished in our modern times. Stories have given way to modern electronic entertainment instead. Television and computers have superseded contact with family and lessened the ties of personal involvement with family. Games once played with others have been replaced in large part by games that are played alone. Actual social contacts have become slightly more stand-offish and relationships slightly more difficult to maintain with the loss of social skills that telling stories such as this one encouraged.

One development that has arisen is that there is a good deal of confusion between what is real and what is not. Actual news broadcasts are sometimes, or even often, indistinguishable from fictional entertainment. We have better and faster ways to communicate but those methods are often filtered in such manner as to create fictional accounts which are presented as real events. Events are "cooked" to add more opinion, more gore, more non-factual reporting and the results are easier to access than ever before.

After being exposed to many years of this sort of activity through electronic media, the youth of today often disregard or disbelieve events presented by the media. They become saturated to the point that they no longer need imagination. Reality is seen with disbelief. Death and violence is less real and yet has become more pervasive in our lives. Less regard is given to manners and respect as these items are less important to those brought up as only children in front of a video screen even though they may have siblings. The overall attitude is one of insulation and personal good has become more immediate than that of the multitude.

A victim of our modern times is the vocal tradition. Story time, when used, is still an important tool in reinstating traditional values. With that in mind I relate this very old story with the hope that it provides an opportunity for others to help reinstate and reinforce desirable family values once again. You, the reader, can revive and revitalize the vocal tradition. You'll be pleased at how this simple method can help to raise a family in these difficult times and in aid of this, I offer the following story:

The Wisdom Which Suleiman Learned From a Cat

It is said that of all men throughout history, the ancient King of Kings named by men, Suleiman or Solomon, was the wisest to ever live in the grace of his God.

The stories told of his insight, justice, fairness and piety are legion and among these stories is one that should always be remembered for this story tells how this wisest of all men learned respect of the wisdom of his god through the actions of a favored pet cat.

It is told that Suleiman owned among his treasures a great ring which he wore constantly on his hand and this ring granted him the grace of talking to animals and the ability to understand their replies as easily as you and I understand each other in the telling of this story. It is told that among his most treasured friends was an elegant golden colored cat given him as a gift by his chosen favorite of wives, most beautiful among women, the Queen named Balkis.

Suleiman often spoke with his cat and in this manner learned much of the world from the viewpoint of another and this knowledge he used to help him balance his judgments and rule his kingdom in a manner fair to all men who worshipped the Lord.

There was a rumor in the palace among the servants that the golden colored cat was descended from the a Goddess of exotic Egypt but this was never told in the hearing of Suleiman for he allowed no other than the One God in his sight and hearing and was devout in his worship thereof.

It was to be that from the action of this same golden colored cat that Suleiman was reminded of the wisdom of his God and became all the more firm in his faith thereby.

Suleiman spent many hours with his cat and so fond of the cat was he that he allowed it to sit at the table with him as he ate his meals and taught it to hold a silver candlestick that he might see the bounty of his meal by the light thereby and enjoy it all the more.

The cat sat obediently for Suleiman for great was the love they shared between them.

All of the great king's guests marveled at the obedience and grace of the cat as it sat motionless by Suleiman holding the candle that he might enjoy his meal until one particular man of the east came into the court and disputed the might of the King's teaching and the grace of his God thereby saying unto him, "Great King, you claim through the grace of God that you have taught this cat to hold the candlestick. But I can make this cat forget all that you claim to have taught and thereby the fallacy of the grace of your God that you claim granted you this power."

Suleiman smiled for in this he sensed a great challenge and was determined to test this claim made by the man from the east. He extended an invitation that the man might dine with him that evening.

That evening the Great King sat with the man from the East at a table laden with the finest of foods and the most delicate of delicacies and close by Suleiman, as always, sat his marvelous golden colored cat holding absolutely motionless with a silver candlestick between its paws.

With a smile the man from the east released a mouse from his sleeve in such a way that it ran directly over the cat's paw as it scurried away down the length of the table and ran from the room. The cat not so much as quivered a whisker as the mouse escaped and Suleiman smiled. The man of the east also smiled as he released a second mouse that once again scurried quickly past the cat as it escaped from the table. This time however the cat watched as the mouse ran quickly away and when a third mouse was released the cat dropped the candlestick and with one spring of its lithe form fell upon the mouse and devoured it.

At this turn of events the man of the east turned to Suleiman to announce his triumph and was astounded to find the great King laughing and with a rapturous smile of joy upon his face.

Undeterred the man spoke to the great King saying unto him, "You see, your majesty, you may not change the nature of the cat for all that you might claim to speak with it through the grace of your God."

With a bright smile and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes Suleiman was heard to say to the man, "Poor man, in this you have only exposed the foolishness of man and the wisdom of my God for the Cat was created by God with a purpose and all the vanities of King and common man may not improve upon it no matter as we may try."

It is said that the man of the east stayed in the court of Suleiman for many years and spent much of that time in the study and the worship of his new found faith in the wisdom of the One God.

As to what happened to the Cat? The Cat lived for many years and had many offspring and all were beloved as reminders of the wisdom of God and cherished therefore.

Perhaps...

Perhaps is an odd word. So full of promise and mystery, So meaningful in so many ways, and so very fine at holding back reality. It's the rock that divides the stream into two different paths, one to sink into the sands and be lost and another to become a torrent as it joins other streams on its way to the sea.

We use it to say things like "Perhaps if elephants (or pigs) could fly", ...and then we laugh. Or sometimes we use it to say about situations, "Perhaps if we went about this another way...." and we proceed. Sometimes it just means "maybe.."

But does it mean the same thing when the mother tells her children at night, "Perhaps tomorrow when you awaken Santa will have been here and it will be Christmas." and sends them off to sleep with a kiss as it does when another mother tells her children, "Perhaps tomorrow we may have something to feed you." Or "Hush, little one, perhaps tomorrow the bombs will stop falling."

What does it mean when the unknown gunner loads his mortar and smiles as he tells himself, "Perhaps this one will land on it's target." or when the frightened huddle in a place to shield themselves from that mortar round and whisper to each other, "Perhaps here, we will be safe."?

You might tell yourself that it always means "maybe.." and perhaps it does...after all it's just another word. Just a word that affirms, promises, denies and is indecisive all at the same time.

But is it really? Are all the perhaps in the world just more ways of saying maybe? Maybe you will have toys. Maybe you will have food. Maybe you will die. Maybe the sun will bless you with its warmth and bounty or maybe it will parch your waterholes, blast your crops and leach the life from your fields and your children. Maybe a new day will increase your happiness in the arms of a new lover or maybe a bullet will find you unaware leaving you to lie in a street. Maybe you will feel your life slipping away as your blood stains the stones beneath you, and maybe not...Maybe you look forward to Heaven or maybe you don't believe in a hell. Is it so easy to just shrug and say "Perhaps" ?

When do we stop saying "perhaps"?

When do all the peoples of this poor blasted planet reach out and say, "Perhaps we can live together." When do they lay down their guns and their bombs and their chains saying "perhaps these things are not necessary.."? When do they share their food saying, "Perhaps my brother is hungry"?

Perhaps never?

Perhaps.....

By God's Grace..

The following is based on a Romanian Folk Tale. It is one of many stories that I used to introduce literature classes to folklore, legend and stories in the vocal tradition during a period in which I served as a visiting artist at a local Junior College.

This is folklore. You won't find it in your bible, no matter how hard you look. To find this story you have to look in your heart. It could have been. Like many other stories of this type we hope it was. It has a happy ending.

Long ago and far away in the time of Noah and the Ark this story happened and from that time to this day cats lie in the sun to sleep and dream. This is the story of why they may do this.

As the rains began to fall in that long ago time and the great floods began to form as small trickles upon the mountainsides Noah, a man chosen above others by his god, was commanded by the Lord to gather his family and animals, one of each sort both male and female, and take them aboard a great vessel he had built and thereby save them from the flood sent to destroy all else of Mankind because they had grown wicked in their ways. Noah and his sons and the wives of these good men along with their children were all that had been chosen to be saved because of their goodness and their devotion to God.

As the rains fell, Noah and his family took aboard all the animals and all of their belongings as they had been commanded and prepared to close the massive doors of the ark. Just as the doors were closing, last of all, came the cat, racing through the rain to squeeze through the last crack of the closing doors and disappear between Noah's legs and into the cavernous hold of the ark, there to hide in the dark and wonder what possible new adventure might await.

Day and night the rain thrummed a steady drumbeat on the roof of the ark as the waters rose steadily upon the land until at last the ark was afloat and the land in it's entirety began to submerge beneath the murky roiling waters of the flood. Inside the ark Noah and his family tended the animals, gave their prayers to the Lord and listened to the falling of the rain.

Deep within the hold however, different drama was beginning to unfold. The devil had also come aboard and was even then plotting ways to bring about the downfall of the last good men on earth, chosen of the Lord, Noah, his sons, all their wives and their children. Through his evil plot the devil would prevent the triumph of the Lord.

Taking the form of a rat, the devil scurried off to find a dark place in which to work his evil. Behind sacks of grain and well hidden from the sight of men, the devil began to gnaw the planking of the ark. He was sure that when his work was finished water would pour through the hole he would make and the ark would founder then sink from sight into the waters that covered the earth, taking with it the pride of the Lord. Intent in his plans against these chosen of God the devil set to his work, eagerly gnawing at the planks of the ark and absorbed in his evil work, he gave no thought to that most special of animals, the cat.

Unpredictable, untamed, and caring not for the worries of men, gods anddevils the cat slept atop the piles of supplies in the belly of the ark and dreamed of the heroic things he might accomplish if only it wasn't raining and over all of this God watched as the drama unfolded.

For many days and nights the devil gnawed the side of Noah's Ark for it was stoutly built. All about him men and animals went about their business and listened as the rain fell, unaware of their ever approaching doom. The Devil, intent on gnawing his hole, gave no thought that his plan might fail.

Cats sleep with only their eyes closed. They listen all the time. This is one of the reasons that often people will put the cat outside the room if secrets are to be told. For cats are capricious by nature and might tell the secrets to anyone. Noah's cat was no exception and when, although seemingly asleep, it heard the tiny scuffling and gnawing of the rat it awakened there in the dark and readied itself for the hunt.

On silent paws the cat crept ever closer in the dark, guiding itself with its sensitive whiskers and its sharp hearing until at last with a rush and a spring the cat held the Devil, in the form of a rat, fast in its claws and then, with a quick, hard shake and a bite from its jaws, lined with very sharp teeth, the cat ended the evil plans of the Devil against the family of Noah, chosen of God.

Proud of it's accomplishment, the cat carried the body to Noah that it might be petted and awarded as was befitting a hero, however small. Laying the rat at Noah's feet the cat began to groom itself only to be frighteningly interrupted as he was grasped roughly, lifted into Noah's arms and carried out into the rain and thence to the railing.

Holding the cat tightly in his hands and full of wrath, Noah scolded, then cursed the cat for having broken God's commandments by taking a life. In his wrath Noah flung the cat over the rail and into the waters of the flood. The lightening flashed and thunder rolled across the sky as the little cat was lost from sight in the waves.

Then God in his infinite wisdom and mercy, granted Grace upon the cat. He reached down from his heaven and lifted the cat from the flood and set it gently once again upon the deck before Noah. He bathed the cat in warm sunlight. Then, speaking to Noah, who stood amazed at the sight of this miracle, told him to go and examine the planks of his ship that he might discover the truth of the cat's deed.

Noah and his sons and all the wives and children searched the ship with great diligence and soon discovered the hole the devil had gnawed almost all the way through the planks and stood quietly in awe at how they and all that was theirs given by the Lord might have been lost but for the cat.

Falling to their knees they begged forgiveness of the Lord and the Lord in his mercy granted it but to the cat he granted a special blessing and when all returned to the deck they found the rain stopped and the cat fast asleep, warm and dry in the sunshine and dreaming of heroic things he might do tomorrow.

From that day to this cats sleep in the sun as is their special privilege and they dream of the heroic things they might do tomorrow if it isn't raining. And sometimes, if you watch them sleeping, you'll see their paws twitch as in their dreams they once again do the work for which they were once blessed by the Lord or how once a small cat saved the chosen of God from the plots of the Devil.

Energy Conservation:Observation of an Elder Cat.

A Lesson in Energy Conservation Obtained by Observation: The Hunting Methods of an Elder Cat.

There are many lessons that young folk must learn before they make the transition to adulthood and by looking about themselves they can easily obtain examples to follow from life without necessarily having to learn everything the hard way.

One of these lessons isn’t necessarily the "most” important but is important nonetheless and herein I’ll try to explain it in such a manner as to be helpful to whomever reads this because it’s not just the young people that don’t study their lessons well and need them re-explained.

This particular lesson is about conservation of energy and how it can be learned by watching an elder cat hunt as opposed to the methods of a very young cat.

First: I’ll describe the hunting method of a young cat so that we’ll have a comparison for when we get to the real lesson which is that which we wish to pay attention to and remember.

When a young cat, with boundless energy and enthusiasm, sets out to catch his breakfast or lunch or in-between snack he’ll chase about until he finds a likely place to hunt and then he slows down until he spots a likely prey. He’ll hunker down in the grass and watch closely to see what his prospective food is doing before he makes any overt move, but if you’ll watch then you’ll see his tail always moving, twitching from side to side, waving out behind him like a low flying flag and his hind feet may be dancing in place even if the rest of his lithe body isn’t doing much. As often as not the prospective food, not being stupid, will be looking about as well and at the first sighted tail twitch will try to make a fast escape. At this point a young cat will probably leap from his or her (not usually very well chosen) hiding place and by sheer application of energy will try to catch the escaping food as it makes its getaway.

The reason I’ve drawn this picture in your mind is so that I can point out that the whole time that a young cat is out looking for something to catch he’s spending energy. He runs to his hunting area, he stays in motion the entire time he’s hunting (even if it’s just his tail) and he puts everything he has left into the final chase, leap or whatever he or she has to do to make up the distance he’s already lost by not being still to begin with. He’s already used up part of his energy allowance before he ever tries to make the final effort and if he misses then he’s wasted all that energy and is tired before he can try again. If he doesn’t learn better then his best hope of food is to trudge home and hope that the nice people will feed him out of a bowl that won’t try to run away when he attacks it.

About the best thing that can come out of this method is that the kitty will sleep well than night because he’s tired from all that energy expenditure. If he doesn’t have a home where nice people will feed him then he’ll not only be tired when he wakes but hungry as well and that little bit just might make him over-eager and careless when he goes hunting tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll capture something before he completely exhausts himself.

Now, an older cat has a much more economical method for hunting. One that saves energy, only takes a little longer, is just as satisfactory in the end and provides more success in the long run.

The young and old all have a finite amount of energy. If you’ve ever watched children at play then you can admire how they run and leap and seem never to slow down. We older folk all think on how we wish we had that much energy but the truth is that the young and old have the same amount of energy.

A child who weighs 50 pounds has exactly the same amount of energy as the average adult but weighs 1/3 to 1/4 as much so the energy goes farther as does the child. Explained in this manner it’s easily seen that a 200 pound adult has no chance to keep up with a fifty pound child. Oh sure, the adult can catch a child in a straightaway race but then too the adult has longer legs. If, however, the adult misses his or her grab at the errant child then the child will quickly outdistance said adult because although they have both used a significant amount of energy, the adult is using 3 or 4 times as much energy in the same endeavor and quickly reaches their limit while the child still has a lot of reserve energy left to use. It’s all a matter of weight, mass, and finite energy. As two variables increase then the finite number is spread more thinly in order to accomplish the same endeavor.

So, using the above as an example of energy expenditure and a short lesson in physics to explain why this is so, it’s time to examine the energy conservation methods of an adult cat.

First: An elder cat has had a longer lifetime to study how things work and realize that if it works a certain way for them then it probably works a similar way for others as well. This is how experience can be gained most easily. Therefore, adult cats, being naturally curious creatures, will attribute inquisitiveness to other creatures based on the premise that if they are curious by nature then surely others must also be possessed of a certain amount of curiosity as well.

We all use the tools at hand at times in lieu of the proper tools so this can be considered a common occurrence of life. An example of this might be that a rock can be sometimes used as an acceptable hammer if one doesn’t have a proper hammer handy (an extra bit of advice that the reader can tuck away against need).

Using this bit of knowledge combined with previous observation and experience, an older cat will casually approach their chosen hunting spot and instead of casting about to find prey will settle in a comfortable place or position and wait for prey to come to them. The cat, in this example will then lie, sit, nap or wash itself to occupy time while it waits, all the while listening and observing the area around its chosen spot. Listening and watching aren’t exactly labor intensive so it’s not using the finite amount of energy it has uselessly.

Once prey is detected, the next item on the agenda is to make it come to itself instead of having to go to the detected prey.

Using the previously mentioned theory concerning “what works for one probably works for all”, the elder cat will then began to act in a curious manner with the intent of bringing the prey (also known as food) nearer (drawn by the prey's own curiosity).

It is reasonably well accepted (by cats) that birds are possessed by an active curiosity as well as being reasonably good eating (by cat standards) so the above described tactic works very well on birds and with lesser success on smaller creatures that also occupy the definition of food for a cat. Lesser success is still success no matter how it looks to the observer. Lunch is lunch no matter how it’s served.

In the human world there are cultures that eat bugs. I’m not an advocate of having bugs for lunch but if it was a choice of bugs or starvation then I suppose I could learn to eat bugs even if I never learned to like eating bugs. Some people eat oysters. I rate that delicacy right up alongside bugs but the people that do this think I’m just contributing to their welfare by leaving them more oysters that they can eat instead of reducing the overall amount by what, I suppose, might be called my rightful share. Good for them. The more they eat then the less that I have to plan on how to avoid.

Birds also have the advantage of fairly good eyesight and a higher point of vantage than ground bound creatures. Any military type will be happy to explain the advantage of higher ground when it pertains to observation. My advice is not to get the military types started on this discussion unless you’re seriously interested in the emplacement of artillery.

Cats have several aspects that I won’t go into in depth in this essay because the purpose of this essay is to teach readers about energy conservation and these aforementioned aspects all have to do with circumventing the laws of physics as are generally accepted and taught in schools. In point of fact these aspects are so upsetting to the school of physics that if you’ve studied physics at all you’ll notice that cats are never mentioned. If a thing is out of sight then it’s out of mind and can be safely ignored is the (false) working premise behind this failure.

Amongst these aspects is variable weight to mass ration. This aspect is important to the rest of this discussion. If you’ve ever wondered how your cat can reach the top of your refrigerator from a flatfooted start on the floor then this would help explain it. The cat is capable of adjusting its weight to mass ration so that instead of lifting a heavy object to any given height, it simply adjusts its weight and is only lifting a light object (i.e. itself). The end result is that by using a given amount of energy it can jump higher than would normally be expected. It’s a simple solution to the cat although it might seem perplexing to a human. They can also hover using the same method although cats usually endeavor to disguise this fact lest someone pay attention to it.

Why I’ve mentioned this aspect is that it’s very useful during the elder cat’s foray into the acquisition of lunch.

I once had the pleasure of close acquaintance with a cat who could control this aspect of his existence so well that upon jumping from the floor he could casually hover at the apogee of his jump while deciding where to step across to his chosen landing point. I have observed him do this upon jumping from the floor to the top of a six foot tall refrigerator numerous times.

I have had people tell me that what they were seeing was just hang time but I observed this feat so many times that I knew it was denial of actual observation on their part. My friend, the cat, knew this would happen so he carried on in the manner to which he’d become accustomed with no further regard for the opinions of people.

A ordinary cat is fully capable of attaining a height of about 3 feet or more in the air from a reclining position through the application of this useful aspect. This can be hazardous to anything occupying the airspace directly above the cat when this happens whether it’s a bird, your hand or some other object or extremity.

If you’ve ever tried to step over a reclining cat only to trip when it attained altitude then you now know how it’s done and why you found yourself lying on your nose on the carpet. A cat’s space includes not only the space horizontally around itself but the airspace above it. Imagine that space as a bubble. You invade that bubble either with the granting of largess on the part of the cat or at your own peril.

To concentrate on the actual point of this essay for a moment, the elder cat will wait until it has attention of a potential candidate for lunch and then began to act curiously. It may flop about, engage in some manner of play resembling an epileptic fit or whatever it might take to fully engage the potential meal’s attention, all the while observing the potential lunch entre and its reactions to the cat’s behavior.

Once the cat has identified the behavior that attracts the most reaction then it will continue that behavior until the prey decides to examine the cat's activities more closely.

A bird may fly over the cat a few times then retreat to a safe distance to observe but in the fullness of time it will decide that the cat has made no hostile move and the situation needs yet another, better and closer examination of what might be ailing the creature it is currently watching, all the while announcing to the world at large that a curious thing is happening and thereby attracting other potential food to the area.

If the potential food first spotted does not get careless and make a low strafing run at an incautious altitude it is quite possible that some other equally enticing morsel will do so after exercising too little caution and forethought. These second choices are often younger birds who lack life experience. When this event occurs, the cat will burst from the ground as though rocket propelled and with a careful eye to interception and interdiction will be right in the flight path of the curiosity stricken potential food as it enters into a permanent new avocation (albeit short lived) as food. If a ground borne bit of food comes within reach first, called by the newscast of the original airborne food, then it might suffer a similar fate before it is actually necessary for the cat to exercise itself in airborne gymnastics It is of some interest to note that this strategy will often sometimes work in favor of the cat by attracting the attention of a human who will sometimes feed the cat rather than allowing it to acquire sustenance through the deaths of other birds or animals. With either result the elder cat has used a single method to obtain a meal showing good forethought and initiative in planning ahead.

All this is accomplished with a minimal amount of energy expenditure and, perhaps. includes a nap in the process.

In summation: A great deal can be learned from the observation of how an elder cat hunts, conserves energy, and eats well as opposed to the method that the energy profligate exuberance of a young cat displays.

It benefits us to be mindful of this masterful display as shown by the elder cat.

Conserve energy, plan ahead, and execute that plan with minimal flourish and wasted time. It’s a lesson that all can profit by through the energy saving method of observing one’s elders before wearing one's self out trying something that might not work. After all, if it works with time for a nap thrown in, what could be more enticing?

For humans, chocolate or ice cream would be an added bonus but the young of humans have already learned and taught their peers that they can pester the older folks to achieve that goal without the necessity of having to provide it themselves simply by offering to share once it’s been obtained. Do not trust this premise. It’s often false. Just as the elder cat practices deception to achieve its ends so do the youth of adult humans to achieve theirs. This they “do” learn early. Not all lessons are wasted on the youth of any species. Some are well learned at a very early age. Conservation of energy just doesn’t seem to be amongst those well learned early lessons.

Go forth and put into practice what you have learned herein today.

Tribute...

We all make memorable friends during our lives. We connect to them on a level that involves companionship, camaraderie , humor, love and many other levels. They are those whose memory will live on with us for the rest of our lives. In a previous essay I mentioned immortality and how it can be easily achieved so I won't return to that but I'll offer a bit of fiction instead to lighten up the otherwise serious tone of some of the previous essays.

I once had a wonderful friend named John Heath. He was about the age of my father and we clicked pretty much right away. He was often out of town but when he was in town he'd drop by the house and take me with him on a visit to his farm out near Buffalo Texas. In the evenings we'd play scrabble and talk about life. He introduced me to the writings of Khalil Gibran, John Donne, Rudyard Kipling and many others and sometimes he told stories. He wanted to be a writer someday, a dream he never realized before his death. I'm not sure if he ever committed any of his stories to manuscript and if so they've surely been lost by now as this was long before the internet and compositing was done on typewriters instead of computers. Because of the effects he had upon my life and the way he opened me to new ideas I've taken the liberty of taking one of his subjects and building it into the story he never had a chance to set to paper. I offer the following story to you as a way to enjoy time spent reading and as a tribute to John Heath, my irrepressible friend.
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The Marvelous Post Hole Threader or Why I Never Got Rich.

Have you ever had one of those mornings that dawned bright and clear and cool with the promise of heat later in the day still delayed and you find that before the world awakes you've got time for a quiet cup of coffee and some happy reminiscences before you've got to go out and spoil it all with working and noise and aggravation.

It was a bright summer morning just about like that recently and as I was finishing my coffee I was sitting and thinking about my misspent youth and all the opportunities for fortune and fame I let slip through my fingers for one reason and another and none of those ever brings quite the same feelings of exhilaration and loss as the summer of the Marvelous Post Hole Machine.

Like all the best stories I guess I'd better start at the beginning of this one and tell you about my buddy John. That way you won't miss all the fun later when the going gets deeper.

I don't really recall the exact circumstances of when I first met John. He was just one of those people that wandered in like a stray cat and every time you looked around he hadn't wandered off home yet, but you would've liked him just as I did. He was that sort of person, likable. It was nigh on impossible to dislike John. He was always wrapped up in some new scheme and eager to share the fun and the wealth that it was sure to bring.

As a matter of interest it was always good to sit a little back from the edge of the table when he got wound up talking about his latest discovery because he'd get to eating and talking and drinking his coffee and first thing you know he was chewing his coffee and drinking his words and putting a fine spray of sandwich across whatever poor sod was sitting opposite him. I choked on a few cups of coffee myself while trying to keep a straight face at John's antics and the dismay of his unfortunate victims, but he was just like an eager puppy at times like that and it was nearly impossible to stay mad at him, even while you raked the potato salad off the front of your shirt.

I guess that one of the things that always surprised me about John was his mechanical ability. He would do things that seemingly defied all known laws of mechanics and physics and for which was, to none of us who knew him, able to explain to any of our satisfaction. Like the time that he decided his tool box was too heavy.

It seemed innocent enough to start with. He reached over to pick up his box and go over to the milling department at the shop we were employed by and as it slid off the edge of the table it just kept on going down and down and at the sound of the crash that raised the adrenaline level of the rest of the crew we all turned as one to see John, all arms and legs akimbo, atop a large pile of scattered tools and various other implements that John had a way of collecting along with other unidentified objects that seemed to collect themselves when he was around. I suppose it would have just been a nuisance, except to Charlie who spilled his coffee in his lap, but for the silly grin on John's face. We all exchanged knowing looks and I just shook my head and picked up my tools and went on over to the milling department because we all knew that when John got that silly grin on his face something unusual was bound to happen next.

Sure enough when I got back to the shop John was bent over the workbench banging and hammering and talking to himself then soldering things into what might have been some sort of electrical circuit as well as throwing stuff over his shoulder as discards and then scampering around to find that same stuff again or maybe finding something else instead and carrying each new treasure back to the bench. We never bothered him when he got like that because mostly it didn't do any good. He never seemed to know that we were around and actually we kind of had to watch what was within reach of John at those times. I saw him take a sip of motor oil one time and then swallow it and his only comment was that the pot ought to get washed out because the last batch of coffee was a little heavy, not to mention cold. So, we mostly just watched out for the open flammables and lubricants and stayed out of the way until he was finished.

He did come up with some wonderful stuff though. There was the floor polisher he modified. It looked normal on the outside, just a big old rotary floor polisher. It was when he turned it on that it got strange. It made a sort of high whining noise that I learned later was called ultrasonic and it would sort of make your eyeballs itch and your teeth ache while it was running. But what it did! Just after he finished it he wanted to show it off so just to make sure it got a workout he took it out on the sidewalk in front of the offices and proceeded to polish the sidewalk and I do mean "Polish" with a capital "P"! When he hit the switch and it turned on, first Bill. another of the shop crew. let out a yelp of pain, clutched his jaw and lit out like a devil was chasing him (it turned out later that he had fillings in his teeth). Then a sort of glow came from the polishing pad and as John moved the polisher back and forth across the sidewalk, the rough concrete became slick like glass! As John happily polished his way down the sidewalk we gathered around to look at the surface left behind, It looked like polished marble!. A few years later some clever soul invented teflon by accident and I recognized the feel immediately, it was just like John's sidewalk!

That invention didn't work out too well because about three days later it rained and that beautiful slick sidewalk just melted away. I don't mean just the slick surface either... I mean the whole sidewalk! I seem to remember that the management wasn't all too happy about that little incident but nothing ever came of it.

It was always that way with John. At first everybody was loud and upset and then he'd get that silly grin and everybody just seemed to forget about it after a while.

Back to the story of the toolbox though. I guess John didn't really wake up to the world again until late that afternoon when he straightened up, smiled and tossed the little gadget he'd created into the bottom of his tool box and picked up the whole 150 lbs. of it in one hand and went home.

When I asked him about it later he just said it made the box lighter and bigger and really wasn't much of a gadget anyway. I never noticed the box being larger but I know I couldn't fit that many tools in my box and still lift it and, to be truthful, I probably couldn't fit that many tools in my box anyway! But John, all spindly 150 lbs. of him, would grab that box in one hand and walk off like it was a feather pillow. I also noticed that it always seemed to have a slight shimmer like maybe you had something in your eye when you looked directly at it, but we were used to John and his gadgets by then and never really asked more about it, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. We never understood his explanations and usually we were fairly sure he didn't either.

The summer of the Marvelous Post Hole Machine came about because of work lay-offs at the plant during a seasonal slow down. We all had our own departments to service and when we had finished orders for the standing contracts we'd get some time off every summer to go on and do other stuff that had collected during the winter or just go fishing or farming or whatever. Then when business picked up again we'd all just go back in and start over. That particular summer was to be very, very different in very memorable ways though because of the contracts we finished up. It seems like some of the parts we made were for obsolete equipment of some sort that had to have parts made for the requisite 10 or 20 years because of some government regulation and when we finished that batch there wouldn't be any more so it looked like we'd be looking for jobs elsewhere this time as we all shook hands and said our goodbyes. John in particular looked just like a lost puppy as he stood there in the parking lot holding that strange toolbox of his. I clapped him on the shoulder and told him to give me a call later if he didn't get busy and we'd have a beer together. Little did I suspect then, as I headed home, how that invitation was going to be the start of one of the stranger adventures I would ever have.

It was about two weeks after that last goodbye and summer was beginning to kick in with lots of sunshine and warmth. I was sitting at home one evening with a beer in one hand and the fan sort of lazily stirring the evening around while listening to the crickets tuning up for a noisy concerto when my musing was interrupted by a extremely loud and vigorous hammering on the screen door. There stood John with that silly grin pasted all over his face looking at me through the screen and just kind of holding his hand up in that sort of knocking pose like he didn't quite know how to put his hand back down. Actually I suppose I shouldn't say he was looking through the screen because he had his nose up against it so hard that it made a dent in the wire mesh that stayed there long after the nose that made it was removed. To say that I was surprised was a somewhat of an understatement because I'd been kind of dozing and when John commenced hammering on the door I woke up a little suddenly, actually more than a little! I fell off the chair and my beer went flying along with the cat I'd had in my lap and the dog started barking and my heart was hammering like I'd just been electrocuted, so maybe I was more than a just a "little" surprised.

In any case, there stood John with his nose in the screen and that silly grin all over his face, with his hand in the air and that sort of sparkle in his eyes that always went with the silly grin and the odd inventions. Sticking out of every pocket were the bits and scraps of paper that were the entire history of a new invention aborning in John's fertile if somewhat unorthodox brain.

As I scrambled to untangle myself from the chair, the cat, the dog, the beer and everything else that had jumped in when it saw a disaster happening, John came on in the house and proceeded to stand around in the way and help by getting me further tangled up in the pileup until I finally just lay there in a puddle of warm beer and wondered if cat scratches and noise trauma were fatal. By the end of that summer I sort of wished they had been because that was to be the summer of the Marvelous Post Hole Machine.

Later, after the cat was out, the dog was quiet, I had the mess mopped up or picked up and had fortified myself with another beer or two I was ready to hear all about John's latest scheme to make us all rich and famous and you had all best believe me when I say that it was a real humdinger!

In a flurry of spraying beer and a small tornado of flying bits of paper and waving arms John proceeded to tell me all about how there were miles and miles of dry oil wells all abandoned and just waiting to be pulled out of the ground and cut up for fence post holes and he had all the stuff to do it, designed and ready to be built and put to work.

Now did you catch all that? I mean you're sitting all comfortable and dry and happy with no distractions and did that all just make sense? No? Well then, you can sort of know how I must have felt when I heard it, sitting there hurting from the table that had attacked me during my ignominious fall from grace and the cat tracks that had appeared in bright red stripes across my chest along with the dog bite that I got when I kicked the dog as I was on the way down and stinking of warm beer that had more or less liberally coated everything in a five foot area around where I was sitting. If it doesn't make sense to you now you might well understand why I made him repeat everything about six times before I gently ushered him to the door and said I'd see him tomorrow and we'd get it all clear and then firmly but gently closed the door so as not to further damage his nose which seemed to be acquiring a permanent crosshatch from the screen. At that point I should have just quietly left town in the night but I was young and still of the opinion that people ought to be given a chance to explain themselves before you beat some good sense into them and after all, I'd already seen some of John's weird stuff work and it just might be that he knew something I didn't and that it would work again! Even if I didn't understand it!

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised the next morning when the screen slammed and John seated himself at the table and proceeded to help himself to my breakfast, all the while digging for bits of paper and waving his arms and talking a blue streak about his new machine and how it was out in the truck and I just had to go see it work right now. I just kind of settled down out of spray range and drank a cup of coffee which was all I managed to salvage of the whirlwind that had enveloped my bacon, eggs and toast and reconciled myself to a day that might prove to, at least, be interesting if it didn't kill the both of us first.

John's inventions had the tendency to fail somewhat disastrously at least as often as they worked or didn't work, sort of like the time he converted his ratty old pickup to remote start and use his newly invented super fuel. We all could attest to the efficiency of the remote start, but only the fact that we insisted in watching from behind a wall saved us from the results of the super fuel! I don't think we found more than about ten pounds of that pickup truck. But we all heard it start up and run normally for about ten seconds before it developed a strange moan which rose to a howl and ended in a tortured shriek and a sort of flash and silent boom, you know the kind you feel but don't hear? John called it an implosion. Sort of an explosion in reverse. Whatever it was, it didn't leave much of the truck behind and it kind of cleaned all the loose litter out of the parking lot for about a hundred yards in all directions as well. We were all real happy about being behind the wall and being whole and well except for Charlie. Seems as though he lost his cap to the implosion and the way he carried on about it you'd think he'd rather have lost his house, wife and dog instead. It's peculiar what things some people think are valuable.

But I digress so I'll get back to the story at hand, wherein John was eating my breakfast and a few things that happened to fall out of his pocket into the plate including bits of paper and pocket fluff.

After John had finished all the real food and mopped the plate with a bit of paper and ate that too it was time to go on and either die or be astonished at the new machine which as far as I could determine from the monologue, delivered between and during bites of whatever got in the way of John's fork, had sort of sprung up full blown during the night and jumped into the back of John's newest truck all ready for the morning's adventure.

John's trucks were at least as odd as the rest of his world and his latest was certainly no exception. Whatever it had started life as, was at least as indeterminate as what color it had once been, but whatever it had been it was huge and ugly. I suspected it might have once been an airport emergency recovery vehicle but after John got through with it nobody would ever have been able to know for sure. I do remember one past truck of his that had what looked like Russian information plates on the dash and armor plate and what I always thought looked suspiciously like gun mounts on the cab roof and in the bed.

Nobody ever found out where he got these things, of which this one was certainly no exception, and mounted on the back frame was one of the strangest machines I've ever seen.

It was sort of a combination crane/drilling rig/saw mill all buried in hydraulic lines and electrical cable and things that can only be called "stuff" and in fact I was fairly sure that I saw a 1957 Studebaker grill in there amongst the other bits and pieces.

Right then I knew it was going to be an interesting day!

We climbed into what could politely be called the cab of this beast and John started the engines. Engines, as in more than one. The racket was ear shattering until just though it was normal John reached over and flipped a switch on an odd looking gadget bolted to the dash,that was all loose wires and what looked like kitchen parts and the racket just stopped! Just like turning off the radio, which I was to find out didn't work when the gadget was running and you couldn't hear if the gadget was off.

The radio didn't do much good when it did work anyway. All it would pick up was strange music that sounded a little like Arabian and language broadcasts that could have been Swahili for all I could understand of them. Later that summer when THE TRUCK as we referred to it wasn't running I was playing with the radio and got some REAL strange stuff out of it including some kid with a Citizens Band walkie-talkie radio that was demanding the immediate surrender of every major government on earth! Those were the exact manner in which that kid phrased it too! "All the governments on EARTH!" I thought it was kind of funny because after all there weren't any governments anywhere else, were there? But John just made a note of the channel and said he'd take care of it later. I never did get the hang of that radio so I eventually brought along a little portable I'd bought at K-Mart. That one in the truck had what looked like a computer keyboard hooked to it and a funny little antenna mounted on the cab that sort of swiveled around when John used his one finger pecking method to adjust the stations. He kept a list of stations on bits and pieces of paper that flew around the cab like a whirlwind if you ever opened the windows while driving until I gathered them all up and stuck them in the dash compartment with the beer.

That dash compartment was another strange bit I never understood. I guess he'd been at it just like everything else on THE TRUCK because when you reached over and opened it this cloud of frost smoke would roll out and the temperature in the cab would go right down. Once when he wasn't around I looked under the dash to see if I could locate the cooling coil and there wasn't so much as a wire to that dash box. I sort of casually asked where the cooling coil was later and wasn't the least bit surprised when he said, "Oh it's at home.".

That was about the way these things always ended up in conversations with John. I don't think he ever patented anything because it was all on little bits of paper somewhere and none of those little bits of paper made any sense to anybody in the world except John. He gave me one to show me how the radio worked once and it looked like a page ripped out of an advanced physics text except that it was written in smudged crayon and had little dried up bits of food and grease stains on it.

After a shuttle launch once, I asked if he thought man would ever go to the outer planets and he just said, "Nahh, there ain't nothin' there anyhow,...at least wasn't when I was there.". I never wanted to know if he was joking. There was something in the way he said it that made me tell myself, "Don't ask!". He was that way about explaining stuff. You were better off not asking and maybe better off not knowing.

So, to resume, there we were in THE TRUCK on our way out to an oilfield with this monster machine on the back when it occurred to me that there WEREN'T any oil wells around close and the top speed on THE TRUCK was about 40 miles per hour. It was going to take forever to get anywhere near an oil well driving that monster but it didn't seem to bother John at all because he just turned into town and at the first street took a left and downshifted what I thought was THE TRUCK but must have been the world around us instead because I'd lived around that town for most of my life and I'd never seen that oilfield before.

I sat up straight and looked all around and said," Where the hell is THIS ????". After all the time I'd been around John it still surprised me when he said, "Kansas.", just like that! "Kansas." Didn't even act surprised when he said it. I wasn't sure it was Kansas but it sure wasn't anywhere around home because I knew that town and there weren't any oil wells there!

John stopped the truck and while I was out looking around at the oil rigs and smelling the tang of sulfur and rotten eggs in the air, he was backing up THE TRUCK to a capped wellhead and getting out to mess with that strange looking piece of gear on the rear deck. Pretty soon still another engine started up with that odd moan that was a trademark of John's motors and all that crane, drill rig and saw mill went to work and just hooked on to the hole and yanked it right up out of the earth.

Yep, I said "the hole". I still don't believe it and I stood there and watched it happen! First the crane dropped into place and positioned a big
gadget with electrical cables and hydraulic hoses and what I described as "Stuff" all over it next then it made sort of a hissing noise and a whine like a dental drill and then it just retracted and brought the hole with it as it came up with the saw kicking in every so often to cut it into sections. Like bringing up a cylinder of clear glass. John was on the back pushing levers and buttons and making all this stuff work just like it was all a very common occurrence and there was absolutely nothing at all peculiar about pulling up a hole. Didn't even leave a dent in the ground where it had been.

I walked over and touched one of the sections and it was hard like glass but solid all the way through. It was exactly like a solid cylinder of air except that it had little bits of dirt and stuff stuck to it here and there. I had to sit down for a while. I mean it's not like I was getting old or anything but all of a sudden I just wanted to sit down there in the sand of that oil field and stare at that impossible pile of holes laying there on the soil of Kansas or wherever we were until the world made sense again. I was pretty sure right then that the world might not *ever* make sense again and I was absolutely sure that nobody was going to believe me when I told them what I had just seen.

I guess I must have just sat there staring at those solidified holes for quite a while because I don't remember hearing the machinery shut down or what happened for a while after that until John came over wearing that silly grin and wiping the grease off his hands with a piece of paper out of his hip pocket. I don't really remember much about loading the holes on the truck, except that they were astonishingly light, or the ride home until we turned a corner and were back in town again and John was up shifting the truck and heading back to my place. He dropped me off at my place and drove off in that eerie silence that always surrounded THE TRUCK and I went straight in and got real drunk!

I didn't even want to think about that machine for a while after that but about two days later there was John banging on the door and getting in the kitchen and tossing around pots and pans and making smells that were perfectly normal for breakfast but really revolting for a man with a serious hangover and generally creating havoc with my poor, throbbing head. After making sure I was certain I was dying and sincerely wished it would hurry up and happen he sat down at the table with this enormous plate of food and proceeded to eat and talk and slosh and spray coffee all over the place just to further torment me. After what, I was certain, was a little under a hundred years in Hell he finished mopping his plate, pulled what looked like a flashlight out of his pocket, shined it in my eyes causing a startling explosion of pain in my head and said, "Well are you ready to go to work?". I whimpered something about letting me die in peace and just kept my eyes shut but after he waved a cup of coffee under my nose and I realized how good it smelled I opened my eyes and realized my hangover was gone. The hangover was not only gone but I was ravenous and felt better than I remembered I could feel. I grabbed the cup of coffee and the nearest candy bar and through a mouthful of chocolate and coffee I managed to ask about the flashlight and John just grinned that silly grin and said, "Come on, you can drink your coffee on the way" and with just enough time to grab another candy bar we were off to what we thought would be the greatest adventure of our lives.

In the silence of the truck cab as we traveled out to the oilfield John explained all about his ideas of how we would pull up these unused holes, cut them up into short sections, thread them and then sell them to farmers or people who needed fences and all about a special installation tool he'd invented so that everywhere they needed a hole they would just screw one of the pre-threaded holes into the ground and depolarize it and there the hole would be ready to use.

I didn't understand even half of that discussion but I was willing to take a look and see how it worked and then take it from there. After all, I hadn't believed that he could yank a hole out of the ground either until I saw him do it.

The trip out to the oilfield didn't take long and we were on our way back before the day was half over with a truck full of those strange cylinders. Once back at John's shop, which was a sort of tumble down old barn that leaned a little out of plumb, we pulled the tarps off of another machine that looked like a double motorized band saw with an over sized pipe threader on one end and got ready for the first of the sections of hole to be sawn into lengthwise quarters and threaded. By then I was a lot less skeptical and a lot more interested in what would happen next. Curiosity had a stranglehold on my interest and nothing had blown up and killed us so far so I figured that we had nothing to lose if he was wrong and we might even make some money if he was right.

We set the first section on the guides of the machine,John turned it on and I pushed it through. Now, when I said that this machine was like a double band saw what I meant was that it had two blades set at right angles to each other that neatly quartered the section before spinning them in front of a tool that turned them round like a lathe might do and then fed them into the threader, neatly cutting threads on them like a pipe. We were jumping around like kids and whooping and hollering and banging each other on the back and pouring beer on each other's heads just generally making a hell of a racket celebrating until we just fell down and laughed until we couldn't move or breathe because we were so excited.

IT WORKED! I mean the damn thing not only worked but it worked real well and we were going to be rich !!!!!! Rich beyond our dreams of wealth. This machine could turn out threaded holes ready for installation by the thousands just as fast as we could shove the sections through it.

About then I thought to ask about the installation tool that went with the sections and there we hit the first hitch.

There was only one installation tool.

John only had enough parts to build one and he hadn't been able to make anything else work. We were excited by then though and I decided it didn't make any difference really. After I got a good look at the tractor mounted rig that he'd built and discovered that it could install a hole about every 10 seconds or so, I figured that what with moving the tractor and clearing the fence line we could still do about a half mile of holes a day. Well maybe not a half mile but even so we could make a bunch of money. People would buy the holes, pay for the installation and we could be in and out and off to the next job without even breaking a good sweat. Or at least that's what we thought. There were a few bits that still needed to be worked out but we'd already gotten this far hadn't we ?

Well....some of the problems weren't as easy to deal with as we'd hoped. Like the torsion problem.

Torsion is what happens when you twist something in opposite directions at both ends at the same time. It's also the force that drives threaded objects into another object unless you happen to be like old Charlie back at the shop. I've seen Charlie set more than one screw with a hammer. But that's impact and not torsion and it's not supposed to be done that way.

What happened with the torsion problem was that as we screwed the holes into the ground they'd wind up like a spring and then after you'd depolarized them and dropped in a post all that torsion would pop that post right back out again. John reset the installation tool to drive harder and the poles just flew a little higher when they popped back out of the hole. At that point we'd both had a few to many beers and it was getting dark so I went on home and John went on in to see if he could doodle out an answer and in fact when I got back over there the problems were solved and everything was working perfectly.

Later we found out we had a chip problem. When we were turning the quarter sections round we got chips from the lathe part of the machine that would pile up and get in the way while we were working. After we'd cleaned up a big pile of these chips once we got to thinking that if these chips were all parts of a hole and a hole is a place where nothing is then we ought to be able to just depolarize these chips and not have a clean up problem. Sounds good doesn't it ?

Didn't work out so well though. John aimed the depolarizer at the chip pile and damn near sucked up the whole shop in an implosion created when everything nearby took a running leap at the spot where nothing suddenly appeared and left an empty place where it had been. After that we sanded the holes round instead and the smaller bits just sort of evaporated after a little while. It was harder on our clothes though. We'd think we were clean and had all the dust off us and the next day we'd be wearing rags where all the hole dust had gotten worked into the creases and then evaporated. When there wasn't enough left of our clothes to wear them we'd just use them for rags until they disappeared. We started using a vacuum cleaner after a while and that worked out pretty well. We never had to empty the bag at all. I guess that's why it was called a vacuum cleaner. There's nothing like the right tool for the right job!

After we had everything working just right I put on a good set of clothes and went out selling holes. I learned real quick not to try to explain all about the hole puller, the threader, the saws and such we used. I tried that a couple of times and ended up looking what you might call a little foolish or like what one not too prospective client called, "a gol-danged lunatic!" all the while waving a large bore shotgun and running after my pickup as I drove away in a hurry. But all in all I did all right after I got the pitch right and especially after we finished a couple of jobs real quick and the word got around.

One of the advantages of our system was that because we didn't actually remove any soil when we set a hole, after we dropped in a post and depolarized the hole all the displaced earth shoved back in real tight and the poles were as solid as if they were set in concrete. It may seem like nonsense but it worked real well. It was fast and easy too unless we got into one of those bad jobs where we had to clear a lot of brush and trash before we could get the tractor in.

While I was out doing either sales or installation John was back at the shop turning out post holes and building up a stock for the next job. Having to leave him alone while I wasn't at the shop was to prove to be our undoing.

John liked to tinker with things and he got bored easily as well.

If I'd paid a little more attention we might have gotten rich. In the interest of keeping him healthy I'd gotten a soda machine and put it right next to the machines so he wouldn't be drinking the lubricants and a refrigerator so he wouldn't be tempted to nibble on a hole chip. He did that once and afterwards ate 6 burgers, 10 orders of fries, 5 orders of onion rings, 3 milk shakes each of two flavors and was just getting started good when I ran out of money and had to take him home, open the refrigerator and stand back. Fortunately he finished up before the mold in the back corner of the bottom shelf started to look good. Fortunately, because that was all that was left in there. I guess you could say that he had a hole in his stomach.

Back on the subject of paying attention, If I had been we might have gotten rich. I'll admit that we couldn't have gone on calling ourselves the W.B.T.Y.M. post hole company because sooner or later somebody might have tripped to the notion that it stood for WHAM! BAM! THANK YOU MAM! but that was just a minor problem because we were so fast. The real problem was in John's constant desire to tinker with things. I should have paid attention the first time I noticed the that refrigerator was unplugged. I didn't think much of it until I opened the door and the little light came on. After that I closed the door and stepped back to see if there was another cord I hadn't seen. There wasn't. I still didn't think much about it because I had a lot of contracts and such on my mind and I'd gotten used to things like that around John. But I should have because it was a sign that John was bored and was messing with stuff that already worked just fine. But I missed the signs that were as plain as they could have been and just went on loading THE TRUCK for the next and what turned out to be last job we were to do.

The job went fine and every bit as fast as I'd hoped as I'd gotten adept at going for the jobs that had a lot of straight runs on clear level ground. No Fuss, No Muss, and NO forest to clear to get to the fence line. The trouble was when I got back and found John up on the shop roof singing happily, working on some new machine and extremely drunk! I was real surprised because he never drank when he was alone and even then not much but there he was, drunker than anyone I'd ever known could get, and very happily working on the roof. And when I yelled up at him he gave me a great big silly grin, yelled right back that he'd be right down and stepped off the edge of the barn roof as pretty as you please! I flinched real hard and held my breath and waited for him to hit the ground and waited and waited and finally had to take a breath as he floated gently to earth with that silly grin of his all over his face. I had a premonition that this wasn't to be the last surprise of the day and I was right too.

He'd gotten bored with post holes and been modifying things and inventing new things and messing with things that already worked just fine. Starting with the soda machine. It still wasn't plugged in.

It was working however. It had that sort of hum that said that John had been playing with it. I thought about that while I was getting a soft drink out of it. I thought about it a lot more as I took a sip of the first 150 proof Coca Cola I'd ever had straight out of an unopened can. After thinking about it later I figured out that whatever he'd done to the coke machine changed the soft drinks along with it. The Cokes were 150 proof but the real jewels of the collection were the creme sodas. As smooth and rich as fine liqueur and as potent as snake venom and that information solved the question of how John got so drunk. That much at least was an accident. One of the unpredictable side effects of John's tinkering. Like the torsion effect of the holes had been. The saddest side effect of all though was what he had done to the Marvelous Post Hole Machine. He'd gotten bored with always making right-handed threads on the holes so he'd thrown the threader into reverse and threaded everything we had in stock LEFT-handed. After he was a little more sober I explained gently that I couldn't use left-handed holes because I didn't have a reverse on the installation tool. He smiled his trademark silly grin and said, " Oh that's all right. I can fix that!" and I went on home thinking that everything would be fine in the morning except that it wasn't.

I should have locked the soda machine before I left.

John was still sleeping like a baby when I got out to the shop the next morning and there were coke cans sort of scattered around the Marvelous Post Hole Machine. I felt a cold chill run up my spine and a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach and I knew the dream was over.

Sure enough, instead of installing a reverse on the installation machine, he'd re-threaded all the holes right handed over the top of the left hand threads. I just sat there looking at the wreckage because there was nothing else I could do. Running the threader backwards over the previous threads had totally ruined the threading dies. They looked like they'd been bored smooth with a large diameter drill and as they were John's creation along with the rest of the machine I knew in my heart that I'd never find another set that would work on the polarized hole material. If that had been all I would only have sat and cried, but that wasn't all. With the typical thoroughness that John always had he'd tested the re-threaded holes on the installation machine.

As best as I was able to reconstruct from the stuff laying around and the condition it was in I put it back together like this, drawing on my experience to help. When he set the installer to drive and started the hole into the ground several things happened all at once. The torsion created by the left threads fighting the right threads as the installer began to drive downward caused the hole to wind up in both directions at once, combined with the compression of the downward drive the results were inevitable. Forced into the ground by the installer and wound up like an extremely powerful spring, something had to give and that something was the gearbox on the installer.

Over wound and over compressed, that hole had come out of the ground like a Minuteman Missile from an underground silo, stripping every gear in the gearbox and bending the drive bar like a paperclip. The machinery was completely wrecked and like the dies on the threader totally irreplaceable.

We were out of business.

The soda machine was empty as well. I just sat there in silence and finally when it started to get dusk I went on home after making sure that John was still breathing, comfortable and asleep and before I left I covered him up with a soft old blanket that I knew was his favorite. He looked so happy asleep. He was sucking his thumb like a child and sort of smiling around it. I just didn't have the heart to be mad at him. I don't guess anyone ever did.

When I went on out to his place about two days later there wasn't anybody home. Just a note pinned to the door saying he was sorry that he broke the machine and he hoped I wasn't mad. He had a job offer from some shop in Texas that did space research and so he was going down there for a while. As there wasn't much left behind but machinery that wouldn't ever be repairable and bits and pieces of "stuff" that wasn't identifiable as anything I just sat on the porch for a while and watched the birds and listened to the silence. After walking around for a while looking the place over and remembering the summer I went on home, taking with me the last case of creme soda that John had left as a going away "I'm sorry" gift.

I never did see him again but I hope he's happy wherever he is and if you ever accidentally run across anybody that knows him, tell them to tell him I'm not mad at him, never was. It was my fault, I should have been paying more attention.

Anyway, my friends, that's why I never got rich and what happened during the summer of the Marvelous Post Hole Machine. It was fun while it lasted.