When Your Heart Takes a Picture

There are some moments that bury themselves deeply into our subconscious. Rarely are they the big, eventful, or seemingly significant moments, they are almost always moments that seem unimportant or mundane. I had one of those today.

Through the past 15-20 years, I’ve mastered a small exercise I perform when I find myself in one of these moments. I want to remember everything, forget nothing, and I know that one day I’ll be looking back at that moment, and I’ll grow nostalgic. The room, the temperature, the smell, the person or people—in short, I want a “picture” of that moment. When this happens, I stop, look around me, and allow my heart to take a picture, my eyes acting as the lens.

This afternoon I had to bug bomb the new house because it has sat empty since it was built a year ago. There were beetles, small spiders, and a multitude of crickets that I figured had been living there rent-free for too long. It was time for them to give up their squatters rights and move on to that big garden in the sky. I placed one bomb at the top of the stairs, one at the end of the downstairs hall and one on the living room floor. Then I left. Two hours later it was time to face the massacre I’d so cruelly planned, and air out the house. Nathan, our 12 year-old wanted to go with me to witness the resulting mayhem. You know how boys are.

We went around the house opening up the windows, then we went into the entry where Nathan was delighted to see some poor bugs that lay there, still dying. To put them out of their misery, he decided his job should be to “give them a ride on the porcelain express,” as he called it. He set to work with an impressive dedication while I washed and sanitized the kitchen counters and surfaces.

After about an hour of completing small jobs around the house, we sat back in the patio chairs that are temporarily in the living room, enjoying the air conditioner that I’d had to turn on earlier. Nathan put his Queen’s Greatest Hits CD into the portable player and we relaxed, drinking cokes and conversation. It was a priceless moment, and I let my heart take a picture that I know one day will bring a smile to my wrinkled old face after Nathan is an adult and will no longer be fascinated with bug-bombing a house. I hope that some day, when he has to do his own house, he’ll remember this afternoon and give me a call and say, “Dude, do you remember that day we bug-bombed the house and listened to Queen, and you sang me those word words you’d written to the Bicycle Song? That was so cool.” (We have always called each other 'dude', something I hope never changes.)

Through all the work and stress of this move, this afternoon was like an oasis. A moment of “cool” on a hot July day. It was better than any nap, regardless of how tired I am.

The Dumbing-Down of America

Recently, I met someone who believes America is undergoing a rapid decline in religious morals due to mothers working outside the home, families not sitting at the table every night for dinner with French fries instead of mashed potatoes and gravy (?), modern music, dwindling numbers of regular church-goers and, especially, homosexuality. He also said that the fifties was a “Golden Age” where family life was like “Leave it to Beaver.” All this knowledge and wisdom from a born-again, 20-something young person whose ignorant misuse of the English language was appalling.

First of all, if you really want to convince me that your theory has any validity, learn the basic tool necessary to communication: LANGUAGE. No one, not even I, will listen to you if you speak and write like a hillbilly. Secondly, there has never been a “Golden Age” that matches this guy’s fantasies. I believe he has spent too much time watching Nick At Night — perhaps he should watch The Ghosts of Mississippi instead. Thirdly, I grew up in the Fifties and I can tell you it was nothing like “Leave it to Beaver”, “Father Knows Best”, and “Ozzie and Harriet”. Even I had a difficult time working out the dichotomy these shows created with real life as I knew it. I remember thinking my parents were really strange because they slept in a double bed; Ozzie and Harriet never did. And my mom didn’t vacuum wearing pearls, either, like June Cleaver. Neither did my dad read the newspaper all the time, nor mow the lawn wearing a tie. And my older brother didn’t play the role of a philosophical, well-adjusted teen like Wally. He was too busy going in and out of Juvenile Hall for sexual misconduct. And my mother? I hardly think June Clever carried on a ten-year love affair with one of her church deacons while holding the position of church treasurer.

This country hasn’t been harmed by lack of religious morals as much as it has by the overall dumbing down of society. Seems few people can even form a proper sentence anymore. Everywhere one goes one hears “ain’t,” “don’t got,” “he don’t,” etc. At the supermarket a while back I heard a woman say to her husband, “Them ain’t got no small eggs.” Later, another woman said, “Hey, thems there’re only fifty dollars.” This is inexcusable, especially in a country with so much opportunity for a free education. Few people finish high school with more than an 5th grade equivilency and once they’re out, they quit learning. They shut down their brains, join the Ant Farm and breed more little workers for the system. Does anyone remember Chaplin’s brilliant film, Modern Times?

A few years ago I watched a PBS program about this growing problem. The show included a segment during which an interviewer stood on the campus of UCLA and asked random students basic questions while the camera rolled. I couldn’t believe the answers. Here are only a few:

• Who was Benjamin Franklin?
  “Wasn’t he a president?”
  
  
• When was the American Civil War?
  “During the Forties?”
  
  
• Who invented the light bulb?
  “Benjamin Franklin.”
  
  
• Who was president before President Clinton?
  “I don’t know. Kennedy?”
  

Folks, these were UNIVERSITY students. What we need is not more religion, but to educate ourselves and our children, and instill in them a love of learning and a sense of self-respect (not brute ego) so that we will not continue to recreate our unworthy past. Our 28th president, Woodrow Wilson said, “Those that forget history are bound to repeat it.” That’s what I see happening, even on the most subtle levels. My advice? Crack a damned book!

Here’s an essay some of you might find interesting: The Uneducation of America: Facing the Facts.

As someone said to the fellow in question: I can assure you that my AP History teacher looked up from his work, and paced his room, shaking. Answering his wife’s question of “What’s wrong?” he replied: “It’s as if a million brain cells cried out and were suddenly extinguished.”"

Brit Night

Although technically it’s early Monday morning, I’m writing this as if it’s very late Sunday night because, well, to me, it is.

One of the established traditions here in our home is what we call, “Brit Night.” It’s all about PBS. Joel and I always meet in the den at 10:00 to watch the line-up of British sitcoms that are broadcast by PBS. Last Summer the kids joined us, but during the school term their bedtime is at 10:00, so that counts them out. Lynette joins us until about 11:00, then goes to bed because she has to get up and go to work in the morning.

Tonight, Nettl and I were already in the den this evening and at 8:30 we turned to the PBS station and caught Mystery. That was pretty good. I used to be a die hard Mystery fan when I lived in Denver, back in the early 90s. I remember it was always on Monday night and my youngest son Micah and I used to watch all the mystery programs together. We especially liked "Lovejoy". Many people don’t know that I’m a sucker for British mysteries, my favorite being, of course, Sherlock Holmes. I think I’ve read everything by both Sir Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. In the world of television I’m most fond of "Lovejoy" (as stated above) and "Rumpole of the Baily".

After Mystery, we watched a brilliant performance of Mozart’s 23rd piano concerto by Wang Xiaohan on Concerto. I really like this young pianist.




Are You Being Served is typical British comedy theater and continues that long tradition that peaked in the 18th and 19th centuries. I’m happy to know I can enjoy today what the English have found so funny for centuries. My favorite character: Mr. Humphries. My least favorite character: Mr. Granger.





Keeping Up Appearances is, personally, a show I could live without. Every week I find myself silently wishing Richard would grow some balls and hire a hit man to take out Hyacinth. My favorite character: Onslow. My least favorite character: Hyacinth (although I adore actress Patricia Rutledge)

Next comes my favorite show, As Time Goes By. Why do I like this show? I surprise myself. Because it’s about a middle-aged couple who marry later in life. Like Nettl and I. The dynamics are very similar, except that I’m not sardonic and glum like Lionel and Nettl’s not meddling and cantankerous like Jean. My favorite character: Lionel. My least favorite character: Judith.


Lastly comes the infamous and irreverent The Vicar of Dibley. This is an insane show that often pushes the envelope. Just my style. The real plus, however, is that Dawn French is one half of the brilliant comedy duo, French and Saunders. Her partner in comedy, Jennifer Saunders, is the creator of Absolutely Fabulous (probably the best thing England has produced since the Beatles and Monty Python) and plays the part of Eddie in that show. My favorite character: Owen. My least favorite character: Alice. I just wish I’d composed the theme, which was written by the prolific BBC television composer, Howard Goodall.

We’re now in the midst of a huge thunder storm, so I’m going to end this and go watch the light show.