New on Blogroll+

Many ‘how to’ books about writing and getting published say that there’s more to writing than — well, than writing.

Part of that “more” is letting folks know about the writer and what the writer’s been writing. That’s an awkward sentence, and that’s another topic.

Another part, at least for me, is making link lists of writers and resources I’ve found interesting. Maybe you’ll think they are, maybe not.

Either way, there’s a new entry on my Blogroll+. Two, if you count both of the author’s links:

Somewhat related posts:

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Thanksgiving and Being Thankful

Thanksgiving is — complicated.

Pilgrims, Patuxets and Plymouth

Thanksgiving is an American holiday.

We celebrate by gobbling, guzzling and getting together with members of our extended family.

Some of us also express thanks for having all that food. And either enjoy time with kinfolk, or rejoice that we won’t see them again until next year.

It’s a distinctly secular holiday.

Depending on who’s talking, the first North American Thanksgiving was in 1578, 1619, 1621, 1789 or some other year.

Again depending on who’s talking, America’s Thanksgiving started as a profoundly religious celebration. Or a party, celebrating Plymouth Plantation immigrants’ newfound hope that they would survive the coming winter.

Either way, the traditional narrative is that the Pilgrim Fathers came, settled, met kindly Indians and had a good harvest. After which the P.F. praised God.

The story’s true, as far as it goes.

The Plymouth Plantation immigrants learned, the hard way, that European seeds didn’t do well around Cape Cod Bay. Not the way they were trying to grow them.

Samoset, an Abenaki sagamore, made initial contact with the Pilgrims. He called in Tisquantum as an agricultural advisor.

Tisquantum — Squanto in many American accounts — introduced the newcomers to North American agriculture.

And folks living in Plymouth had a harvest party in 1621.

Tisquantum was the last surviving Patuxet. He’d been sold as a slave, which probably saved his life. Patuxets were part of the Wampanoag tribal confederation.

The Pilgrims were Puritans. Their leaders were mostly Brownists, Puritans who wanted out of the Church of England.

Wampanoag lived in what’s now Connecticut, southern Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Their descendants still do. Like I said, it’s complicated.1

Harvest Festivals

Canada’s Thanksgiving looks pretty much like the U.S. version.

That’s not surprising, since both countries have similar cultural roots and histories.

Our Thanksgiving looks a lot like England’s Harvest Home celebration.

Harvest Home in turn looks like other European harvest festivals.

I think all of the above look like Lohri and Vaisakhi, Pongal and Jūng-chāu Jit.

Granted, I’m likely to see similarities and connections, and that’s another topic.

Jūng-chāu Jit (中秋節) is also known as Zhōngqiū Jié (中秋节), Harvest Moon Festival and about a half-dozen other monikers.2

Giving Thanks Anyway

Feeling thankful when times are good should be easy.

Being thankful in bad times? Not so much.

I can be thankful that I’ve got a roof over my head, food in the house and a good family. Or I can kvetch about being born with bad hips, two of our kids dying, and every other rough patch in my life.

Being thankful strikes me as making more sense. Rough patches and current economic issues aside, I have a good life.

But what about folks who don’t have a roof over their head, food in their home and a good family? Or, in some cases, any surviving family.

What could someone living with rough times have to be thankful for?

A key word there is “living.” Remembering that being alive beats the alternative has helped me endure suicidal impulses. (January 22, 2019)

I figure existence itself is cause for giving thanks.

That’s because I think God creates and maintains everything and everyone. And lets created beings, including us, help: each according to its nature. (Genesis 1:1; Psalms 136:19; Catechism of the Catholic Church, 301308)

Our nature being what it is — I’ve talked about that before. (February 2, 2018)

Rough Patches

One of my — and my wife’s — rough patches was when my wife almost died, and Elizabeth did.

I could say that I read Job 1:21 and Psalms 69:3031 while sitting by my wife’s hospital bed: and immediately started thanking God for what was happening.

That’s not what I did.

I tried, briefly, bargaining with God; then got smart and started asking for help while dealing with the unpleasant reality. (February 19, 2017; October 9, 2016)

Maybe I could score points in some circles by claiming Job-like virtue. But with my particular judgment approaching, that seems imprudent. At best. (September 30, 2018)

Equality, Differences and Being Thankful

I don’t see a problem with telling God ‘thank you’ for having a roof over my head and food in the house.

Provided that I don’t start imagining that being in one of life’s smooth(ish) patches is due to my outstanding virtue. Or vice.

Stuff happens: wealth and poverty, sickness and health. None of that’s a sure sign of virtue or sin. What I do with what I’ve got: that’s what matters. (1 Timothy 6:10; Hebrews 13:5; Catechism, 828, 1509, 2211, 22882291, 22922296, 2448, 2540, 2544)

That’s why I see no problem with traditional expressions of thanksgiving for abundance. Or simply for having “galore:” enough.3

I think each of us has equal dignity. And that we’re all different. Some need help. Others can give help. Giving, and getting, is part of what being human is about. (Catechism, 19341938)

I figure that most, maybe all, of us should be giving and getting help. And being thankful when we can give. (Acts 20:35)

I’m pretty sure being thankful when we give others the opportunity to help us make sense, too. And that’s yet another topic.

I think these posts are related. Your experience may vary:


1 America’s Thanksgiving history:

2 Celebrating the harvest:

3 Abundance and galore:

Posted in Being an Artist, Discursive Detours | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Health Care Directive

I’ve been completing a Health Care Directive. It will probably be this week’s least-favorite task. The form’s nine pages let me outline how I see medical decisions. And who I’d like to make those decisions for me if I can’t.

Picking my primary and secondary health care agents was the easy part, thanks to my being part of a close-knit family.

Making choices about organ donation, autopsy and what to do with my body after I’m dead wasn’t difficult.1 But it didn’t brighten my day.


Changing Times: Coffins, Cholera and Care for the Sick

Options of Yesteryear

My options would have been different in the 19th century. Different, but still unsettling.

The era’s health care tech and assorted epidemics encouraged skittishness when examining possibly-contagious corpses.

Waking up in a coffin was a real possibility.

My guess is that odds for waking up in a body bag are lower these days.

I’ve got mixed feelings about death.

Ideally, “…life is Christ, and death is gain.” But I’m not in Paul’s league. There’s also my particular judgment, and I’ve wandered off-topic.2

Where was I? Health care agents. Family. Autopsy. Death. Right.

Reapers and Disease


(From Robert Seymour, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(Robert Seymour’s 1831 impression of a cholera epidemic.)

Folks who figured that old ways are good ways probably didn’t like the 19th century. Or the 20th. Or the 21st to date.

Scything and gathering grain gave way to mechanical reapers.

We lost an ancient tradition, but harvested more food in less time.

I figure that helped folks sidestep famines.

I’ve also read that famines declined because capitalism replaced feudalism. And that bigger bureaucracies led to better food distribution. Then there’s the British Agricultural Revolution and Green Revolution.3

There’s probably a grain of truth in those assertions. And that’s another topic. Topics.

As far as I know, nobody blamed the first cholera epidemic on Fulton’s steamboats or the Louisiana Purchase. Maybe because it didn’t spread beyond China and the Mediterranean.

All of which happened shortly before 1817.

Folks living in Bengal fingered Ola Bibi and Kali as being responsible.

British troops got blamed for the Bundelkhand outbreak.

Seems they slaughtered and ate cattle, which offended Hindu beliefs. On top of that, the incident took place in a grove sacred to Hurdoul La.

My view is that blaming a deity for death, disasters and disease isn’t unique to my culture. (February 23, 2019; September 17, 2018)

John Snow’s 1849 essay showed that tainted water carried cholera. The powers that be promptly ignored the idea. (July 1, 2018; July 21, 2017)

By 1896, we’d had the first through fifth cholera pandemics.

Doctors and scientists eventually learned that humorism and miasma theory didn’t match observable phenomena. That was happening during the late 19th century.

Well-established customs die hard, so bloodletting was an accepted medical practice until the early 20th century. That may help explain why American life expectancy didn’t get much above 70 until well into the 20th century.4

Surgical Successes in the Sixties

Fast-forward to the 1960s.

The ‘old ways are good ways’ set were having conniptions.

No cherished belief or institution seemed safe from scrutiny.

  • European colonies became nations
  • Eugenics laws were repealed
  • Miscegenation was decriminalized
  • Prefrontal lobotomies were becoming unfashionable

It was the end of civilization as we knew it. I’m not happy about every change, but on the whole I think we’re living in a (slightly) better world.

Brouhaha over drug-resistant microbes, genetics and other bioethical issues — I’ll get back to that.

A 1962 accident severed a boy’s arm. Folks got him and his arm to a hospital. Surgeons tried, successfully, to reattach his arm.

Christiaan Barnard’s 1967 heart transplant operation was successful. The patient survived 18 days.

Organ transplants are less lethal these days, which I think is a good thing.5

It’d be nice if everyone was perfectly healthy and weren’t missing any parts.

That’s not the way it is.

We’ve been using artificial limbs for millennia. (February 24, 2017)

Maybe that’s why I haven’t run across someone denouncing “Satanic” wooden legs.

Human-to-human organ transplants aren’t just new. They involve trickier bioethics.

Wanting to extend someone’s life by replacing a defective heart seems like a good idea. Problem is, whoever donates a heart won’t survive.

Here’s where it gets tricky.

Bioethics

Let’s say that one of my kids needs a new heart. I know a surgeon, hospital and suppliers with flexible ethics.6

They can locate and drygulch a suitable donor, extract marketable organs, and save my kid’s life.

And everyone lives happily ever after. Except whoever got broken down for parts.

That doesn’t mean organ transplants are basically wrong.

They’re okay if expected benefits outweigh the risks. Donating organs after death “…is a noble and meritorious act….” But killing someone to help another person is a bad idea. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2296)

Let’s look at another happily-hypothetical situation. What if one of my kids was in constant and unavoidable pain?

Not so hypothetical, now that I think of it. Surgery left my son with an unpleasant mix of numbness and pain.

Let’s up the ante, and say that he’s also crippled: not enjoying a “quality lifestyle,” as some said in my youth. Would administering a lethal dose of painkiller be compassionate?

Maybe, from some viewpoints. But euthanasia is not a good idea. (Catechism, 2277)

The same would apply to self-administered euthanasia. Whatever it’s called, that’s suicide: and a bad idea. (Catechism, 22802283)

On the other hand, I’m not obliged to continue ‘over-zealous’ medical treatment if I’m dying and ready to die. “Ordinary care” is another matter: and is an obligation. (Catechism, 22782279)

That can include painkillers, even if they’ll shorten life. The idea is that the goal is easing the patient’s pain: not killing the patient. “Palliative care is a special form of disinterested charity….” (Catechism, 2279)

I’m over-simplifying the situation.


A Task (Nearly) Done

Death and Signatures

My father died about 10 years ago. My father-in-law died last year.

I’ll die, too, sooner or later. That thought’s been inching its way toward the front of my mind, partly due to last year’s transient ischemic attack.

Contemplating my death isn’t among my favorite pastimes. Putting it mildly.

That’s made filling out my Health Care Directive a less-than-pleasant task.

But now it’s done. Apart from witness signatures and getting the thing notarized.

There’s more to say about life, health and death.7 But that’ll wait for another day.

Somewhat-related posts:


1 Planning and principles:

2 Life, death and safety coffins:

3 Agriculture and technology:

4 Health care and humorism, mostly:

5 New medical options and bioethics

6 Organ trafficking:

7 Background:

Posted in Discursive Detours | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

10 Poems

Perspectives
Fairy wishes and toxic kisses,
We hope and fear and dream.
Life and thought and feeling passes.
Looking back, I see what was.
Ahead? I’ll see that later.
(November 18, 2019)

Quiet Neighborhood
Still water, small lawn, a few trees.
A simple dock for visitors.
House with views on all four sides.
Hazy sky, rippling water.
Time for thoughts and memories.
(November 6, 2019)

Seeking Home
Changing seasons, changing yearnings.
Or perhaps a yearned-for haven,
Glimpsed from a long and winding path.
(October 25, 2019)

Horizon
Glowing fog, green and auburn lawn.
Standing near a well-marked road.
Shadeless trees, sentinels or guides.
They hint at more beyond my sight.
(October 19, 2019)

Companions
I walk the cobbled streets of Doom,
Between between the dunes and downs,
Beneath Dundoom’s dim walls.
The sun has set, the shadows grow,
My footsteps’ echo fades.
An empty town, an empty land,
Apart from me and shades.
(October 10, 2019)

Peering Through Time’s Prism
It is, or was, or will be: the familiar triad of time.
But then there’s the will-be that was.
And the will-be that hasn’t been yet.
Perhaps time’s a diad: done or still doing, will-be or not.
Or a tetrad of done or ongoing, unbegun or repeated.
Perhaps it’s a pentad, a hexad or more.
The past as we see it, the past as it was.
A future we fear, or work toward with hope.
And perhaps it’s more motley, or varied and vast.
If times outside “now” are not future or past.
(September 6, 2019)
(A tip of the hat to Walt Kelley and C. S. Lewis)

Songs
I come, he said, from distant shores.
I sing of wind and wave.
We sing, they said, of snail and seed.
Of pond and stream and fen.
You sail the wind, we ride the wave.
Our paths may cross again.
(July 5, 2019)

Seedy
A seed by any other name
Would grow like weeds.
Or grow like a weed.
Or at least grow.
Ah, well.
Another one for the compost heap of my mind.
(June 6, 2019)

Tomorrow I Will
Tomorrow I will wake up. That’s my plan.
What will happen remains to be seen.
(May 31, 2019)

Essentials
Needful appearance, societal norms.
Indispensable software, umbrellas and scarves.
Necessities vary with places and times,
From the basics of life to our deep social needs.
(March 2, 2019)


Somewhat-related posts:

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The Webcam’s Back

Webcam: Sauk Centre MN is back online. And has been for several days.

I may or may not have uncovered and corrected whatever was keeping you, and me, from seeing my corner of central Minnesota on this page.

Since it’s been working for three days now, I’m hoping that it will stay online.

And now, the inevitable links:

Posted in Discursive Detours | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments