Mom's Nature Walks
Astronomers peer far out to the depths of the universe so they can see what things looked like in, or near, the beginning of time. The oldest "memories" are out there, if we can retrieve them.
Some years back, I wrote a short story and Mom said, "Your story takes place in exactly the same way as our nature walks. Do you remember them?" Her telescope hit my distant galaxy and, yes, I did start to recall those times. She said they happened more or less out of desperation when she ran out of things for me to do in my very early years. So she would say, "Let's take a nature walk."
As we talked over the phone, I remembered brushing leaves aside to see flowers pushing themselves out of the ground; I saw myself turning rocks over to see what was under them, the bugs running for cover, the wet earth. We looked at trees, at bark, at leaves and birds. I discovered the small.
There is so much big in the world today, with bigger tomorrow and biggest the next day. Things get so big we can't enjoy them; either we enjoy just a small part, or we see it all in a quick blur -- and that's certainly not enjoyment.
When I take my yearly cruise, I spend time each day just looking. I look at the outside lights and think: How many companies were involved in making this light fixture? Someone made the light filament, another the glass bulb around it, the metal base for the bulb, the glass plate over it, the copper wiring, the insulation, the metal covering for the fixture, the screws, nuts and bolts -- we're up to nine companies already and we haven't even touched the shipping container and the printing on it, the labels, the truck that picks it up and all the associated people involved in delivering it to the ship, the people who installed it at the shipyard. How many people are responsible for that light being created and placed where it is! And there are so many devices on this ship with a similar history.
It's my nature walk. It's how I appreciate that it's not just the light, it's not just the showroom piano, nor the buffet line in the Lido restaurant. It's the whole ship in miniature, my appreciation of those who put these huge things together. I think of every person who laid tool to metal, whoever they are. They are not nameless, faceless workers. They are the ship.
Everybody has a story:
A priest friend of mine is a far more religious person than I. He's not nuts about it and is very balanced in all parts of his life, including his spirituality. A gentle, caring guy who is the easiest person to have around you. So it came as very much of a surprise when he told the parishoners at the church where he helped out that it had been revealed to him that he would have a violent death in the month of September. When he went to visit his sister in California on September 11, he chose United 175, the second plane that crashed into the World Trade Center.
Some years back, I wrote a short story and Mom said, "Your story takes place in exactly the same way as our nature walks. Do you remember them?" Her telescope hit my distant galaxy and, yes, I did start to recall those times. She said they happened more or less out of desperation when she ran out of things for me to do in my very early years. So she would say, "Let's take a nature walk."
As we talked over the phone, I remembered brushing leaves aside to see flowers pushing themselves out of the ground; I saw myself turning rocks over to see what was under them, the bugs running for cover, the wet earth. We looked at trees, at bark, at leaves and birds. I discovered the small.
There is so much big in the world today, with bigger tomorrow and biggest the next day. Things get so big we can't enjoy them; either we enjoy just a small part, or we see it all in a quick blur -- and that's certainly not enjoyment.
When I take my yearly cruise, I spend time each day just looking. I look at the outside lights and think: How many companies were involved in making this light fixture? Someone made the light filament, another the glass bulb around it, the metal base for the bulb, the glass plate over it, the copper wiring, the insulation, the metal covering for the fixture, the screws, nuts and bolts -- we're up to nine companies already and we haven't even touched the shipping container and the printing on it, the labels, the truck that picks it up and all the associated people involved in delivering it to the ship, the people who installed it at the shipyard. How many people are responsible for that light being created and placed where it is! And there are so many devices on this ship with a similar history.
It's my nature walk. It's how I appreciate that it's not just the light, it's not just the showroom piano, nor the buffet line in the Lido restaurant. It's the whole ship in miniature, my appreciation of those who put these huge things together. I think of every person who laid tool to metal, whoever they are. They are not nameless, faceless workers. They are the ship.
Everybody has a story:
A priest friend of mine is a far more religious person than I. He's not nuts about it and is very balanced in all parts of his life, including his spirituality. A gentle, caring guy who is the easiest person to have around you. So it came as very much of a surprise when he told the parishoners at the church where he helped out that it had been revealed to him that he would have a violent death in the month of September. When he went to visit his sister in California on September 11, he chose United 175, the second plane that crashed into the World Trade Center.
posted by Tom Carten at 12:02 PM
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