Health and Surfside Condo Collapse: Siloam Scenarios

Posted on June 26, 2021 by Brian H. Gill

Sunday’s rain dampened Sauk Centre’s streets, but delivered under four tenths of an inch.

Ash Street South, Sauk Centre, Minnesota. (June 14, 2021)That’s been good for our weeds, and for grass next to sidewalks. But it’s nowhere near the two or three inches we need to get back to adequate soil moisture in these parts.

Medical issues have been distracting me.

I took one of the kids to an unscheduled clinic checkup with follow-up lab work.

Then another enjoyed, if that’s the word, a day or so in the hospital. Not Sauk Centre’s hospital. One up in North Dakota, near where she lives.

On the ‘up’ side, I’ve been okay this week, which left me free for chauffeur duty.

I’m hoping the next week here will be less eventful.

But, quoting an old Minnesota saying, it could be worse.

I woke up Thursday morning.

A Hallway, a Neighbor and a Balcony

Champlain Towers South condos, old marketing photo.
(From Miami Condo Investments, used w/o permission.)

At least four folks sleeping in a nice Miami/Surfside beachfront condominium didn’t.

Or, maybe, they woke up while being crushed in a collapsing tower.


(From FOX 13 Tampa Bay, via YouTube, used w/o permission.)

Granted, I don’t know that the four known fatalities and maybe 99 missing bodies were asleep when half of Champlain Towers South fell. But since the incident happened at half past one in the morning, give or take, I’d say it’s a reasonable assumption.

Those numbers may have changed by the time you read this.

The last I heard, rescuers have extracted at least 35 survivors from what’s left of Champlain Towers South.

Maybe 11 were injured. All, I’d imagine, were flustered by the incident.

One chap said that he and his wife noticed the commotion, grabbed a few things and scooted out their front door.

Just one problem.

Most of the hallway on their level wasn’t there.

On the other hand, some of it was.

So they looked around, noted an absence of conventional exits, and joined a neighbor on his balcony. Where emergency responders with a crane rescued them.

Distress and DNA

Champlain Towers South condos, website landing page.
(From Champlain Towers South condos, used w/o permission.)

When I saw ‘Miami residence collapse’ headlines in my news feed, my first guess was that the owner of a low-rent building had decided that maintenance and repairs didn’t matter.

Although witless management philosophy may have been a factor, maybe it wasn’t.

All I’m certain of right now is that a few people are definitely dead, and very likely upwards of a hundred and fifty stopped living in the wee hours of Thursday morning.

On the other hand, searchers have heard noises inside the rubble that survivors might be making. Maybe some of the missing folks are alive.

Authorities are getting DNA from relatives of folks who may have been inside. That’ll help sort out who’s who while sifting through rubble and remains.

Names and Loss

Champlain Towers South condos before and after aerial photo.
(From BBC News, used w/o permission.)

I figure it’s bad news when anyone’s squashed in their sleep. Or while awake, for that matter. But I also figure it’s natural that a victim’s status matters. At least to folks connected with the stricken bigwigs.

Paraguayans, for example, have probably lost their First Lady’s sister and her family.

Folks with name recognition in Chile are missing, too.

Champlain Towers South was also home to folks from Argentina, Venezuela, Colombia and Uruguay.

Maybe that’s why Miami search and rescue folks have been getting help. Or maybe city, state and national decision-makers see the incident as a situation where folks need help. I strongly suspect the latter’s closer to the mark.

It’s early days, but I’ve been glad to see no wild accusations or crackpot assertions. Not that I’ve looked for such.

I figure it’s just a matter of time before someone gets attention by blaming the current or former American president. Or by claiming that an Agarthan-Masonic-Colombian cabal collapsed the condos.

Meanwhile, we’ve learned a few names.

Jonah Handler, 15, and his mother lived in Champlain Towers South. He’s alive. His mother is missing.

Stacie Fang, 54, endured blunt-force injuries but died at Aventura Hospital.

Barry Cohen, his wife and a neighbor waited on a balcony until rescuers arrived with a crane.

Some folks lost their homes Thursday morning. Some lost their lives. Others lost friends and family. No pressure, but prayer for all of the above couldn’t hurt.

Expectations

Surfside Condominium: a human and canine search and rescue team.
(From Miami-Dade Fire Rescue Department, via Wikipedia, used w/o permission.)
(Search and rescue in the Champlain Towers South ruins. (June 24, 2021))

There’s more to say about the Champlain Towers South collapse.

Some of it’s being said in the news, although the George Floyd trial’s taken over top billing in my news feed. Possibly because I live in Minnesota.

I expect we’ll see the usual progression: names and mini-biographies of the dead, pronouncements by politicos, speculation by experts; and eventually analysis and discussion of why a high-end residential tower built in 1981 pancaked in 2021.

Memento Mori, Carpe Diem and Me

Pieter Claesz's 'Vanitas Still Life.' (1630)I was going to be writing about prayer this week, but between two family health-related situations and Thursday’s news haven’t got more than a few notes.

Looks like I’m more ruffled that I’d realized. Ruffled? Flustered? You get the idea.

I could try bluffing my way through what I’d planned. But that doesn’t look like a good idea. So instead I’ll repeat — paraphrase? — what I’ve said before.

Life happens.

Death happens.

Breaks in routine are, by definition, unexpected.

Assuming that God smites sinners, and that therefore folks experiencing breaks in routine are naughty, is all too common.

Jesus talked about that.

“Or those eighteen people who were killed when the tower at Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem?
“By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!'”
(Luke 13:4–5)

The old cliche — ‘[verb] in haste, repent at leisure’ — notwithstanding, I can’t be sure how much leisure I’ll have.

I’ve got free will, so I’ve got options. Lots of options.

I could take a page from my culture’s spiritual tradition, writhing in anguish and making life miserable for myself and anyone in earshot.

Or I could be more up-to-date, proclaim that all this religious stuff is a scam, and [verb] like there’s no tomorrow. Which, eventually, there wouldn’t be. For me.

Those options strike me as silly at best. So I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing: trying to avoid my [verbs], and keep trying when I fail in that effort.

And praying. I’ll keep praying. Maybe I’ll get around to writing about that next week.

Then again, maybe not.

In any case, here’s the seemingly-inevitable list of links. And after that, links to resources I used while writing this.

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

Blue Sky, Tan Grass, Second COVID-19 Shot and Fever

Posted on June 19, 2021 by Brian H. Gill

I’ve been enjoying this week’s bright blue skies and sunshine. I’d have been enjoying them more, if I hadn’t been recovering from my second COVID-19 shot.

And if our skies hadn’t been quite so consistently clear.

Sunshine’s fine, but we need rain.

On the ‘up’ side, my body’s response to the mRNA vaccine could have been much worse.

June 2021, Minnesota: Not Nearly Enough Water

Minnesota drought conditions. (June 14, 2021)
(From Drought.gov, used w/o permission.)
(Drought in Minnesota. (June 14, 2021))

A lull in this month’s heat advisories has been nice. But, again — rain, a good steady day-long rain — that’s what we need.

We almost got a few sprinkles around mid-week, and weather forecasts suggest that we’ll have a damp weekend.

So maybe this household’s front yard will green up. Or maybe it won’t. What’s more important: maybe this year’s crops will yield enough, letting area farmers at least break even.

None of this is entirely good news, but I see a few ‘up’ sides.

For one thing, Minnesotans should be used to weather extremes. Like back in 2013, when homeowners — and farmers — coped with spring floods and a drought.

And, judging from the overwhelming majority of parched lawns I see in my neighborhood, most of us don’t mind helping each other by not squandering what someone else needs. Or at least cooperate, whether or not we like it.

Recent Records

Minnesota drought conditions. (2000-2021)
(From Drought.gov, used w/o permission.)
(Minnesota droughts since 2000.)

The first list of droughts I found included one in 1540, another couple from 1875 to 1878; and then dozens after 1900.

Exercising considerable creative license, I could say that 20th century droughts were due to a dyspeptic deity’s snit over the 1-2 ton sailing event’s gold medal in the 1900 Summer Olympics.

Or that they were part of a capitalistic imperialistic warmonger plot to impede the glorious worker’s revolution.

But I won’t. That’d be silly.

So would be weaving a tale around Minnesota weather in 2007 and 2013 — claiming that those drought years were retribution for my state’s 2006 and 2012 elections.1

I was going somewhere with this. But where?

Bright blue skies, parched lawns, weather reports and crackpot ideas. Right.

Not-So-Recent Records

Minnesota monthly precipitation.
(From Drought.gov, used w/o permission.)
(Minnesota monthly precipitation. (1895-2021))

Folks were living here in central North America long before Columbus followed up on Leif Erikson’s none-too-well-documented visit. But detailed and consistent weather records don’t go back much over one and a quarter centuries.

Small wonder that major droughts seem to start around 1900.

One of these days I’ll revisit what we’ve been learning about Earth’s long story, and ours, but not today. Not in detail, at any rate.

Lisiecki and Raymo's five million years of climate change. (2005) used w/o permissionBriefly and very basically, scientists started realizing and accepting that Earth’s climate hadn’t always been the same around the mid-19th century.

Paleoclimatology’s roots arguably go back to Aristotle’s day, at least. But as a science, it’s one of those things that started in the 20th century.

On a geologic scale, events like the Dust Bowl — serious as they were — are statistical hiccups compared to, say, the 4.2 kiloyear event.

Which may or may not have ended Egypt’s Old Kingdom, seriously inconvenienced the Akkadian Empire and generally wreaked havoc in the good old days when folks like me knew their place.

Around the Yangtze River Delta, at least.2

Which is not where my ancestors lived, and that’s another topic.

So, concerned as I am about the front yard and my region’s farms, I’d be mightily surprised if we’re looking at the opening act of “Late Bronze Age Collapse: The Legend Continues.”

And my angst deficit on the climate front relates, I think, to my reasons for getting COVID-19 vaccinations. Even though I was expecting this week’s unpleasantness.

Interlude: Friday’s Red Flag Warning

National Weather Service map. (21:09 UTC June 18, 2021)

Well, that’s interesting. The National Weather Service says that we’re having fire weather Friday: from noon to 7:00 p.m. local time.

It’s a “Red Flag Warning,” which in this case means winds from 15 to 20 miles an hour, gusts to 30 or so; humidity 20 percent, give or take; which means that “outdoor burning is not recommended.”

Weather like this may explain why our neighbors haven’t been having their evening backyard campfires. Good for them, and I hope conditions permit that sort of recreation later in the season

COVID-19 Pandemic: Dealing with Unpleasantness

Michel Serre's 'Vue du Cours pendant la peste de 1720.' (1721)
(From Michel Serre, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(Plague in Marseille. (1720))

There’s an old Minnesota saying: “it could be worse.”

It doesn’t make the COVID-19 pandemic, this summer’s drought, or my discomfort better. But it is, I think, a reminder that what I’m experiencing isn’t the absolute worst that’s ever happened to anyone.

Like folks in the good old days of Marseille, 1720. When the merry rumble of corpse-wagons rang through the streets.

'At the Sign of the UNHOLY THREE' cartoon, warning against fluoridated water, polio serum and mental hygiene. And 'communistic world government.' (1955)Or the halcyon days of my childhood, when some kids got polio vaccines in time.3

And some didn’t.

I was inoculated, and never had polio.

I was, however, at an age where I might have gotten the crippling disease. My limp suggested that I might have. And that’s another topic.

The point is that I’ve had opportunities for learning why vaccinations can make sense.

Even if the vaccines are new. And, in the imaginations of some, part of a “communistic world government” conspiracy.

Or, more recently, an alleged malevolent Manchurian machination manipulated by the dread North Carolina-China axis.

I am not making that up. (December 5, 2020)

Mini Magic Microchips?!

I’m not making this up, either:

It’s nice, sort of, knowing that my country doesn’t have a monopoly on crackpots.

On the other hand….

If the current crop of cuckoo crank conspiracy theories was the first I’d noticed, then I’d have reason for concern. Or might think I have, at any rate.

But I remember when “I saw it online” replaced “I read it in a book” as a catchphrase indicating credulity above and beyond the call of reason.

I don’t know why folks — including some who arguably should know better — fall for wacky claims: but they do, and that’s another topic for another day.

Phizer and Preferences: a Recap

Dr. Francis Collins/NIH infographic: how mRNA vaccines work. (July 16, 2020)
(From NIH Director’s Blog, used w/o permission.)
(Here’s how COVID-19 mRNA vaccines work. (2020))

Recapping what I said last week: I’ve had the Phizer mRNA vaccine. Twice, now.

It wasn’t developed from the cells of someone who’d been killed in the 1970s, but it was tested with the HEK 293 cell line.

I’d prefer living in a world where low-status folks weren’t killed and broken down for parts.

But my preferences won’t change what’s happened, and I’m responsible for what I can do. Or not do, as the case may be.

The Phizer mRNA vaccine, again, isn’t made from repurposed human body parts. It does, however, contain snippets of RNA code from the COVID-19 virus: SARS-CoV-2​.

Just snippets. Not the whole virus: just cellular DIY instructions for making the SARS-CoV-2​ spike protein.4

Side Effects

SPQR10's illustration of a SARSr-CoV virion. (2020)I started running a fever after getting that second COVID-19 shot.

But I don’t have COVID-19.

My body’s immune system has been responding to those spike proteins, making me feel less than perky.

That’s what I expected, so I also figure I’ll have a limited immunity to this particular version of the COVID-19 virus.

It’s not a perfect situation. But as I keep saying, this isn’t a perfect world. I do what I can, and try to avoid fretting over what I can’t.

My fever hasn’t been nearly as impressive as my son’s: no surprise, since I’m considerably older than he is. So far, I’ve scored two out of the seven top unpleasant side effects of the Phizer COVID-19 vaccine:5

  • Pain and swelling at the injection site
  • Tiredness
  • Headache
  • Muscle aches
  • Chills
  • Joint pain
  • Fever

And my fever has been underwhelming, too:

  • Saturday, June 12
    100.0
  • Sunday
    99.8
  • Monday
    99.2
  • Tuesday
    98.7
  • Wednesday
    99.6
  • Thursday
    100.5
  • Friday
    100.6

Then again, I’ve been feeling just blah enough to keep me from focusing on the sort of research-intensive thing I might have written.

One more point, and I’d better wrap this up.

Life, the Universe and Me

CDC: Clinical Resources for Each COVID-19 Vaccine.I haven’t been demanding first place in the COVID-19 vaccination line, mainly because I don’t get out much and figure the odds of my catching the disease are low.

I didn’t mind being told that it’s my turn, because I’d prefer not catching an unpleasant disease which might, given my health issues, be very unpleasant.

And I sure didn’t resist being vaccinated, because I see the procedure as part of an effort to keep other folks from catching the disease.

Life, the universe and everything isn’t all about me.

Acting as if I value the life and health of my neighbors is part of being Catholic. So is working for the common good. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, One/Two/Article 2 Participation in Social Life/II: The Common Good, 2258-2317)

I’ve talked about this before. Rather often:

1 Assorted stuff:

2 A small sampling from humanity’s long story:

3 Disease and not missing the ‘good old days:’

4 New disease, new vaccines:

5 Side effects:

Posted in Being Catholic, Discursive Detours, Journal | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Unmasked Minnesotan’s Second COVID-19 Shot

Posted on June 11, 2021 by Brian H. Gill

I haven’t been wearing a face mask when I go to Mass, the Adoration chapel or Walmart. But I do carry one in my pocket when I go out, just in case the rules have changed. Again.

Most folks I’ve been seeing stopped wearing face masks when pandemic-related restrictions eased up. If I see someone with a face mask in Walmart, the odds are that the person works there.

As a rule, non-employee mask wearers seem to be young, old, somewhere between, and either men or women.

I figure it depends on the individual’s general health and willingness to put up with slightly-used air. And maybe willingness to believe that face masks make sense.

Since I’d only had my first COVID-19 shot, I should probably have kept my mask on — in an abundance of caution, and assuming that somehow I’d become infected. But I haven’t. Kept wearing a face mask, that is. Because I figured that’d be an overabundance of caution.

Except when I went to the clinic or hospital, where the rules say I wear a mask. Which makes sense, because folks who aren’t particularly healthy are more likely to be near me. So I figure, since there’s a very remote chance that I’m infectious, extra caution is a good idea.

If Wishes Were Horses….

Political cartoons. (1896, 1912)

I’d have preferred that the Minnesota Department of Health, CDC and all had been giving completely consistent advice during this pandemic.

And had known exactly how the COVID-19 virus spreads. Since day one.

Certain foreknowledge of COVID-19 vaccine development would have been nice, too.

Along with — you know, while I’m at it, I might as well wish that the COVID-19 coronavirus had never existed.

And I’d be a very happy camper indeed, if politicos stopped acting like politicos and started acting as if our health and lives mattered more than their pet projects, preferences and Washington party life.

But it’s not all bad news from inside the beltway.

I’ve been seeing hints in headlines that my country’s big shots feel like reviewing how the COVID-19 coronavirus started and has been spreading. Maybe they’ll even decide to pay attention to what scientists think. And that’s quite enough snark from me today.

Another ‘up’ side is that a significant fraction of decision-makers may have been using available data, and trying balance our need to keep folks healthy with our need to keep folks employed. And thereby fed.

I can hope so, at any rate.

Reasonably, I suspect, since the mess we’re in could be worse.

Good News, another ‘Up’ Side and Intermittent Frustration

My methylphenidate prescription, with one day left. (June 10, 2021)

More good news.

This month’s authorization for my methylphenidate prescription didn’t disappear into digital limbo. And I was allowed to pick the meds up on Thursday. With one whole day left in the previous month’s bottle.

That’s really good news. I’ve learned that going on half-dose can stretch my supply until a bureaucratic SNAFU gets untangled, or at least make withdrawal less unpleasant.

The issue in play is that methylphenidate is a controlled substance. My body became dependent on the stimulant soon after I began taking it. Which is what I expected.

What I hadn’t expected was that getting monthly authorizations to keep using my brain would be so intermittently frustrating.

Or that as a result I’d experience withdrawal. Several times. Since it’s a prescribed medicine, my withdrawals were called “discontinuation syndrome.” But that’s a euphemism, like saying “passed away” instead of “died.”

Either way, experiencing anxiety, depression, and the like — all cranked up to about 12 on a scale of one to ten — was unpleasant.

But there’s been an ‘up’ side. I now know what withdrawal feels like, which gives me a glimmer at least of what other folks have experienced. And the experiences gave me incentive to find ways to minimize the odds of going through that unpleasantness again.

A major step in minimizing the odds was getting the authorization process handled in this town, and that’s another topic.

Memories and Preference

'Reefer Madness' (1936, released 1938-1939) theatrical release poster. (1972)My youth and the Sixties overlap, so I remember why my country’s government puts barriers between me and medications I need.

That doesn’t keep me from feeling annoyed each time I request permission to use my brain for another month. That’s not quite accurate, but that’s what it feels like.

I also acknowledge that folks can misuse methylphenidate. Or pretty much anything else.

And I’d prefer that depression and an extensive list of other psychiatric issues not be part of my life. But they are. And I’ve talked about that before.

Weather and Taking It Easy

Continental U.S. Weather. From National Weather Service, used w/o permission. (1600 UTC, June 10, 2021)

Thursday was hot here in central Minnesota. We had a heat advisory going until 8:00 p.m. local time.

That’s why I went out for the meds in the morning, and took it easy the rest of the day. Along with drinking water, which I do anyway.

Taking it easy, but doing arm exercises that dropped off my habitual radar some years back. That was, in 20-20 hindsight, a mistake. And probably helps explain why my right shoulder has been giving me fits lately.

The good news there — another ‘up’ side — is that my right shoulder hasn’t been nearly as exasperating as it has been. Or is that exacerbating? Never mind.

Another point on the plus side is that the irregular cycle I talked about a couple weeks back is heading away from its low end.

That’s nice. I haven’t exactly been feeling perky, and won’t be but like I said: that’s nice. Nice having my feelings on a generally upward trend, that is.

Between being barely into the start of an upswing in my blah-mediocre cycle, and uncertainty about outcomes from my second COVID-19 shot, I’ve been focusing more on how I feel than what I think and what I’ve learned.

The Phizer mRNA Vaccine and Me: Doing What I Can

COVID-19 Vaccination Record Card. (June 11, 2021)

I’m wrapping this up Friday afternoon, June 11.

I got my second COVID-19 shot Friday morning, chatted with one of the nurses while waiting the obligatory 15 minutes, and have been waiting to see what happens next.

Everybody’s different, but I gather that the bell curve for when folks start feeling effects is about eight hours after the injection.

Like I said, everybody’s different. My son’s fever shot up, which resulted in a trip to the emergency room and a long chat. That was back in May.

I’m considerably older than my son, so — if my experience is typical — my immune system may not react so vigorously. I’m not sure about that being good news. But I’d also prefer not going through what he did.

Let’s see, what else?

Right! My first and second COVID-19 shot was the Phizer mRNA vaccine.

An ‘up’ side there is that the Phizer vaccine was not developed using cells from someone who had been killed in the early 1970s.

But researchers did use the HEK 293 cell line in Phizer testing. (December 16, 2020)

I don’t like that. But I also don’t like risking lives — directly or indirectly — by refusing vaccination for this disease.

I don’t live in a perfect world. So I do what I can, try not to fret about what I can’t, and pay attention to what my bishops say:

Taking Precautions


(Just in case, a bed near my desk. (June 11, 2021))

My family had a surprise for me when I came home this morning.

They’d set up a bed a dozen feet or so from my desk. Just in case I start feeling a preference for horizontal posture later today. I greatly appreciate that.

There’s more to say. Like why I’d prefer being perfectly healthy but don’t have a problem with taking reasonably good care of my health, why I still think taking methylphenidate makes sense, and a mess of other vaguely-related ideas.

But I’ve said most of it before:

One more thing, from Minnesota Department of Health:

Posted in Journal | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Hubris, Stories, and That Which Might Exist

Posted on June 5, 2021 by Brian H. Gill

I’m intrigued by that which:

  • Exists within this universe
  • Exists beyond
  • Might exist

I’ve talked about “that which exists within this universe,” what we’ve been learning about it, and why science doesn’t upset me. I’ve talked about it a lot.

Basically, I’m a Christian and a Catholic. I think truth matters.

Faith is in part a pursuit of truth. Science is a pursuit of truth. As Pope Leo XIII said, “truth cannot contradict truth.” Sometimes we learn something new, but I really don’t see that as a problem.

I’ve talked about what the Nicene Creed calls ‘invisible,’ too. Which isn’t church-speak for electromagnetic phenomena outside visible spectrum. And that’s not quite another topic.

John Tenniel's Cheshire Cat illustration for Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.' (1865)But I’ve written precious little about stuff that might exist. And why I don’t see a problem with being a Christian and enjoying stories. Or writing them.

So that’s what I’ll be talking about today: along with hubris, Homer, a hurricane and whatever else comes to mind.

Aiming High

A commonplace book. From the James Marshall and Marie-Louise Osborn Collection, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. (17th century)
(From Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(Someone’s notebook, containing poems. (Mid-17th century))

I was probably 11 or 12 years old when I thought about what I should do with my life. Or maybe 13 or 14.

I’d be more certain about when that was if I’d kept a diary. But I didn’t, apart from a brief attempt several years later.

After writing a few entries, I read a bit of what I’d written; and noticed that I’d been feeling very, very angry at the time.

That was an unpleasant experience, one that didn’t seem worth repeating, so I filed keeping a diary under ideas that sound good but don’t work. Not for me, at any rate. And that’s another topic.

I’m not sure when that ‘what do I want to do’ moment happened, but I know where it was. I was in 818 10th Street South’s back yard, near the house, facing east. That’s the house I grew up in. The neighborhood’s a parking lot for Minnesota State University Moorhead these days.

Anyway, I knew that I wanted to do something that would be noteworthy and remembered. Hubris? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. I’ll get back to that.

Legacies

Walls of Troy VII's acropolis. (ca. 1200 BC)There were the culturally-normative things, of course: become a star athlete, set a record of some sort; start a highly-successful business; get elected President of the United States.

I don’t remember even thinking about the first option.

I’m a cripple, handicapped, or whatever the current euphemism is. I could and can walk well enough. Running was possible, although none too effective or graceful.

And jumping — there was the time a high school gym instructor insisted that I could and must jump a hurdle. Which I did, and that’s a story for another day.

In any case, I realized that world-famous record holders don’t stay famous for long. Either someone sets a new record, or the sport fades from fashion.

So much for sports.

Storytellers

Quintano Media's photo of New York City's Times Square New Year's Eve celebration. (2020)What about commercial or political success? Best-case scenario, I could become the next Henry Ford or Andrew Jackson.

But again, the fame wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, my industry or country would be filed away in humanity’s archives.

So much for culturally-normative things.

I started going through achievements that folks remembered over significant spans of time: and that still mattered. It’s a short list.

I finally picked Homer’s two famous stories: the Iliad and the Odyssey.

Granted, very few folks understand ancient Greek these days. And the epic poem’s pretty much off my culture’s radar.

But the stories? Even folks who hadn’t read translations of Homer’s epics had read or seen adaptations of them. Or knew about the Iliad and Odyssey.

So I decided that I wanted to be the next Homer.

A few years later I read J. R. R. Tolkien’s ‘ring’ trilogy, and realized that my era’s great work had already been written. My opinion. But I think I’m right.

Still later, I started running across academic assertions that Homer hadn’t composed the Iliad and Odyssey. And that Homer wasn’t a real person.1

My favorite, and I’m still not sure whether it’s a joke or if someone really said it, is that Homer didn’t compose those epic poems. They’d been made up by someone living in Homer’s day — who just happened to be named Homer.

Smudged Footnotes

Me, Brian H. Gill, on St. Patrick's Day. (2021)Wondering ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ is, I gather, normal for someone who’s around 12 years old.

I don’t know how many kids think about lasting legacies, and go back a couple three millennia before finding a role model.

But as I said last week, I’m not normal.

As for thinking that a legacy isn’t “lasting” unless it outlives its civilization of origin: both my parents were librarians, among other things. My father, at least, was no more prone to silent reserve than I am.

Their awareness extended beyond current fads, fears and foibles.

I didn’t know all that much about humanity’s long story at the time, but I had some notion as to the ease with which the most illustrious personages became smudged footnotes in the annals of antiquity.

Hubris and Mount St. Helens

Rocky Kolberg's view of the Mount St. Helens mushroom cloud, taken 35 miles from the eruption. (May 18, 1980)
(From Rocky Kolberg, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)

Make no mistake. Humanity is hot stuff.

“Then God said: Let us make human beings in our image, after our likeness….”
(Genesis 1:26)

“What is man that you are mindful of him,
and a son of man that you care for him?
“Yet you have made him little less than a god,
crowned him with glory and honor.
“You have given him rule over the works of your hands,
put all things at his feet….”
(Psalms 8:5–7)

We’re still made in God’s image, with the authority and power that comes with our nature.

The writer who said ‘now that we control the forces of nature’ wasn’t entirely wrong.

We really do rule the things of this world.

But “little less than a god” isn’t “God.”

Although we’ve been learning to control previously-unknown forces of nature, when Mount St. Helens exploded, the best we could do was try staying out of the way. And collect data.

Weather Control: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

1947 Hurricane Eight's storm track.Weather control looked like a practical possibility in my youth.

Meteorology was changing from a study of yesterday’s weather into a reliable predictive science. Researchers had even been testing weather control technology.

But a modified hurricane made a U-turn in 1947, and the Black Hills Flood of 1972 started with a storm that had been seeded.

The last I heard, at least one analysis says that energy released by the 1947 experiment couldn’t have turned Hurricane Eight. And courts ruled that there wasn’t enough evidence to connect cloud seeding and the Black Hills disaster.2

Even so, I think an apparent moratorium on weather control field testing was prudent.

So what, if anything, does a wayward hurricane and an exploding mountain have to do with hubris?

Not much, actually. What I had in mind was our attitude.

Cautionary Tales

Paul Manship's Prometheus sculpture for Rockefeller Center (New York City) lower plaza. (1934) Photo by Balon Greyjoy. (2013)
(From Balon Greyjoy, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(Prometheus sculpture for Rockefeller Center’s lower plaza. (Paul Manship, 1934))

Science fiction movie poster collage: 'The Man with the X-Ray Eyes,' 'The Fly' (1958), 'The Brain That Wouldn't Die,' 'Cosmic Monsters.'Hubris is dignity on steroids, self-confidence above and beyond the call of reason.

Ancient Greeks saw hubris as an offense against the natural order, and told stories, cautionary tales, showing why it was a bad idea.

Oedipus tried sidestepping the Delphic oracle’s prediction: that he’d kill his father and sleep with his mother. And ended up doing both, blinding himself in the process.

Prometheus crossed the line by stealing fire from the gods and giving it to humans.

Then there’s Icarus, who not only tried to fly, but flew too close to the sun.

It’s been a long time since I heard variations on the ‘if God had meant man to fly’ joke, and I’m drifting off topic.

Or maybe not so much.

Prometheus, Zeus and a Preacher-Man

Studio Foglio's Mr. Squibbs, used w/o permission.Although dramatic conventions have changed as millennia rolled by, cautionary tales still warn against “tampering with things man was not supposed to know.”

Or, in the “Prometheus Bound” scenario, smuggling contraband technology to mortals.

Prometheus “…I sought the fount of fire in hollow reed
Hid privily, a measureless resource
For man, and mighty teacher of all arts.
This is the crime that I must expiate
Hung here in chains, nailed ‘neath the open sky. Ha! Ha!…”
(“Prometheus Bound,” Aeschylus (ca. 430 BC) via The Internet Classics Archive, MIT)

“Dr. James Xavier: “I’m blind to all but a tenth of the universe.”
Dr. Sam Brant: “My dear friend, only the gods see everything.”
Dr. James Xavier: “My dear doctor, I’m closing in on the gods.”
(“X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes” (1963), via IMDB.com)

As I see it, there’s a moral to both stories.

Since “Prometheus Bound” begins and ends with humanity’s benefactor enduring the wrath of Zeus, I figure Aeschylus was saying either ‘don’t mess with Zeus,’ or maybe ‘don’t play with fire.’ but that doesn’t make sense. Not to me.

“X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes,” in contrast, doesn’t depict direct divine vengeance.

Dr. James Xavier, it seems, tells a revivalist evangelical — evangelical revivalist? Never mind — that he’s starting to see things at the edge of the universe. The preacher-man quotes Matthew 5:29, whereupon Dr. Xavier gouges his own eyes out.3

So, what does this all mean?

If I thought “Prometheus Bound” and “X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes” were all there is to Western culture and Christian philosophy, then I might write off both as bad ideas.

I don’t, so I won’t; And now I’ve definitely drifted off-topic.

Homer, Pride and Me

Gustave Dore's illustration for Poe's 'The Raven.' (1884))I’ve decided to have something new ready each Saturday morning and I lost track of time this week, so I’ll slap down a few ideas and call it a day.

Hubris, feeling that I’m the biggest thing since sliced bread, is a bad idea.

Assuming that I’m not the biggest thing since whatever, that is.

That’s pride, and that’s a sin. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1866)

But note that the sort of pride that’s sinful is the “hubris” variety.

Pretending that I’m a miserable wretch, fit only for eternity’s ashcan, is also a bad idea.

Like everyone else, I’m made “in the image of God.” And, like all of God’s creation, and like each of us, I am basically “very good.” Very basically. The first of us put personal preference above God’s will, a monumentally bad idea. But God didn’t change our nature. We’re wounded, but not corrupted. (Genesis 1:27, 31, 3:1-19; Catechism, 31, 299, 355-361, 374-379, 398, 400-–406, 405, 1701-1707, 1949)

If all that sounds familiar, it should. I’ve said pretty much the same thing rather often.

Let’s see, what else? Hubris. Pride. Sin. Right!

Sin is something that offends reason, truth, “right conscience” — and God. (Catechism, 1849-1851)

Now, about wanting to be the next Homer.

If I felt that I deserved it, then I’d have problems. I didn’t, and don’t, so I’m not overly concerned about emulating Icarus.

As to whether or not telling stories is okay, I’m quite sure that it is. But discussing why I think so, and what Tolkien said about fairy stories — that will wait for another day.

And so will my explanation for why I’m shifting focus onto “that which might exist.”

Meanwhile, here are the usual links to what I’ve already written:

1 Some guy who’s more famous than me, and poems some scholars say he didn’t write:

2 I’ve talked about weather control before, and probably will again:

3 Cautionary tales and/or making sense:

Posted in Being a Writer, Being Catholic, Creativity, Discursive Detours, Series | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

In Praise of Lilacs, Blue Sky and Rain

Posted on May 29, 2021 by Brian H. Gill

“…Blue skies
Smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see…”
(“Blue Skies,” Irving Berlin (1926) via Lyrics.com)

But that’s not literally true.

We had blue skies with clouds Monday through Wednesday.

Then it rained part of Wednesday night, pretty much all Thursday and part of Thursday night.

So maybe this is more appropriate. Or was, until Friday’s bright blue skies and sunshine.

“I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain
What a glorious feeling I’m happy again…”
(“Singin’ in the Rain,” Arthur Freed, Nacio Herb Brown (1928 or 1929))

Even so, the first bit of “Blue Skies” has been on my mind’s ‘top 20’ hit parade this week.

Good news, Not-So-Good News

Sauk Centre's Our Lady of the Angels church on Ash Street South.
(Looking north from my driveway on Sauk Centre’s Ash Street South. (May 22, 2021))

I’ve been hearing “blue skies” in my mind’s ear — if that wasn’t an expression before, it is now — most of this week. So how come I’ve been feeling less than perky?

Backing up a bit, I’ve been living with clinical/major depression at least since I was 12.

Then, in 2006 or thereabouts, my wife told me that maybe I should see a psychiatrist.

I agreed, and that’s when I learned that I’d been dealing with recurrent major depressive disorder. Clinical depression. Depression.

Whatever it’s called, it’s a mood disorder. Which is emphatically not just experiencing a blue mood or having a down day. It’s not fun. At all.

The good news is that my “recurrent major depressive disorder” is “in partial remission.”

No-so-good news? It isn’t something I’ll get over. But on the ‘up’ side, industrial-strength antidepressants let me think without fighting my mental machinery.

Controlling Destiny With My Mind

Sauk Centre's Ash Street South.
(Looking south from my driveway (May 22, 2021))

Whether depression led to my other psychiatric issues, or they helped launch depression is a good question. An unanswered one.

In any case, when I learned why light and color had subjectively drained from the universe, back in 1963, I began learning of my other oddities.

Seems that I’ve been dealing with generalized anxiety disorder, cluster A personality disorder and persistent depressive disorder. That last, I gather, is a sort of variation on the recurrent major depressive disorder theme.

Let’s face it. I’m a mess.

But I’ve been a more-or-less functional mess. Having an internal playlist of songs like “Singin’ in the Rain” helps.

“Life is a Song Worth Singing” has helped, too, although my mind’s disk jockey hadn’t selected it for this week’s playlist.

“…Life is a song worth singing
Why don’t you?
Sing It!
“You hold the key in the palm of your hand
Use it!
Don’t blame your life on a master plan
Change it!
Only you generate the power
To decide what to do with your life
Your a fool if you think you’re helpless
You control what you do with your life…
“…Don’t like the way you’re living
Too bad!
Can’t change your life because it’s out of your hand
So sad!
So you sit on your pants and holler
Cause the world ain’t been treating you right
Don’t you know you contain the power
To control destiny with your mind….”
(“Life is a Song Worth Singing;” written by Thom Bell, Linda Creed; first performed by Johnny Mathis (1973))

(Limited) Control


(Saturday afternoon lilacs and sunshine. (May 22, 2021))

I haven’t seen “Life is a Song Worth Singing” billed as a “Christian” song.

But I think it makes a good point or two. Like this:

“…Don’t you know you contain the power
To control destiny with your mind….”

Let’s take that one thing at a time. Starting with a definition:

  • Destiny (Cambridge Dictionary)
    1. the things that will happen in the future
    2. the force that some people think controls what happens in the future, and is outside human control

If I believed I could control all future events, my psychiatric inventory might include narcissistic personality disorder. A psychiatrist and I looked at the possibility.

It made sense, since I’ve had trouble regulating emotions, and can be impatient or angry when I don’t get special treatment. But emotional control problems come with many psychiatric glitches, and I can get impatient or angry over pretty much anything.

If I believed I had no control over my future, and was saved or damned simply because God says so, then maybe I’d get along with Christians of the Holy Willie persuasion.

Provided that I thought I was “saved.”

If I believed I was damned, no matter what I do, then the way I feel sometimes would fit my faith. But I couldn’t be a Catholic. Not a Catholic who understands our faith, at any rate.

Basically, I have free will. I can decide to act, or not act. Believe, or not believe. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1730-1784, 1989, pp. 430–432, 482)

My salvation depends on Jesus and God’s grace, but I can say ‘thanks but no thanks.’ (Catechism, 1020-1041, 1987-2005; pp. 266–272, 481–266–486)

That’d be a daft decision, but it’s an option.

Feelings and Free Will, Presumption and Despair

Vincent van Gogh's Sorrowing Old Man' or 'At Eternity's Gate.' (1890)Feelings happen. They’re part of being human. So is thinking, or should be. (Catechism, 154-159, 1763-1764; pp. 42-43, 436)

I can decide that I’ll act on whatever impulse pops up — I’ve got free will, so not thinking is an option. But forming and using my conscience involves thinking. So that’s what I’d better do.

I think predestination is real. (Catechism, 2012, p. 488)

I also think despair and presumption — abandoning hope or assuming that either I’m sufficiently Saintly on my own or that God will drag me into Heaven no matter what —

What was I saying? Right. I think despair and presumption are bad ideas, so I shouldn’t do either. (Catechism, 2091-2092; p. 507)

About predestination, Catholic style, that’s a can of worms I haven’t opened in some time.

Predestination and Viewpoints

Thomas Cole's 'The Voyage of Life, Youth;' detail. (1840)Predestination, in 25 words or less, is what free will looks like from God’s viewpoint.

I’d show the Catechism’s “predestination” glossary entry, but there isn’t one.

So I’ll pull together what the Catechism does say about where I’m going.

I’ve got free will, so I decide what I do. So I can, when I have my particular judgment, tell Jesus that I prefer Hell to Heaven. It’s a daft option, but it’s an option. I talked about that before.

“God predestines no one to go to hell….” Seriously. If I’m going to be damned, it’s up to me to commit a mortal sin; then avoid both repentance and God’s mercy. (Catechism, 1037, p. 270-271)

Again, that doesn’t makes sense. Not to me.

So what’s “predestined” about where I spend eternity? The Catholic view, basically, is that I’m “predestined” because God knows what I’ll decide.

That’s because God is there, at the moment of my death, and therefore knows what I decide. Will decide. But I don’t, because I’m not there yet.

God is immediately present in every place and every time. (Catechism, 600, p. 155)

I’d explain how that works, and how it looks from God’s perspective. But God’s God and I’m not. For which we should all be grateful, and that’s another topic. Topics.

Filling Out Forms

Lilacs in Sauk Centre's south side.
(Saturday afternoon sunshine at ‘the big yellow house on the corner.’ (May 22, 2021))

I had a medical checkup May 18. As usual, for me, it included filling out a PHQ-9 and a GAD-7. That’s medicalese for Patient Health Questionnaire and Generalized Anxiety Disorder Screening.

I could — free will, remember? — decide that the alphabet-soup forms are a violation of privacy, a tool of the medical-industrial establishment, or maybe even part of a conspiracy.

I could, but I won’t.

I’m not nearly on the same page as contemporary “privacy” enthusiasts.

As for believing that ‘they’ are out to get me: I’m crazy, by some reasonable definitions. But I’m not that crazy. Certainly not crazy in that way. Or is it “in those ways?” Never mind.

I’ll get back to that. Sort of.

Pew Cushions: Finally!

Pew cushions in Our Lady of the Angels, Sauk Centre. (May 23, 2021)
(Another Sunday morning at Our Lady of the Angels. (May 23, 2021))

Sunday, March 7, I noticed pew cushions in Our Lady of the Angels church. At least, that’s when I jotted a note to myself that I’d seen them. And learned that they were supposed to have been in place for Thanksgiving, 2020.

That didn’t happen. Thanks, I gather, to the COVID-19 pandemic. I’m not sure whether we had health concerns regarding the fabric, or if there had been a supply SNAFU. Another pandemic-related supply SNAFU. There’s been a bunch of them, and that’s yet another topic.

I’d have mentioned the pews before. Not because they’re important, but because they’re something new at the parish church. And I rather like them. They’re comfortable and aren’t particularly slippery.

Like I said, I’d have mentioned them before, but I also wanted to have a photo of them. And didn’t remember to bring a camera until last Sunday. The picture’s a bit fuzzy, but it’ll do.

Now, back to whatever it was I was talking about. Writing about. You know what I mean.

Life, Disorders, Hope — and Flowers

Lilacs. Sauk Centre.
(Sunday afternoon: more lilacs. (May 23, 2021))

Where was I?

“Blue Skies.”

“Singin’ in the Rain.”

Depression, cluster A personality disorder, generalized anxiety disorder.

There’s more, including “alcohol use disorder, mild, in sustained remission” — so it’s not all bad news.

On the other hand, it’s not exactly good news. But we’re learning more about how our minds and brains work, so again — it’s not all bad news either.

One of these days maybe I’ll talk about personality disorders and all that. But not today.

Other than responding to this subsection of cluster A personality disorders, from Personality Disorders/Overview, Mayo Clinic:

  • Schizotypal personality disorder
    • Peculiar dress, thinking, beliefs, speech or behavior
    • Odd perceptual experiences, such as hearing a voice whisper your name
    • Flat emotions or inappropriate emotional responses
    • Social anxiety and a lack of or discomfort with close relationships
    • Indifferent, inappropriate or suspicious response to others
    • “Magical thinking” — believing you can influence people and events with your thoughts
    • Belief that certain casual incidents or events have hidden messages meant only for you

Growing up where and when I did, I balk at words like “schizotypal” being applied to me.

After all, I don’t hear voices whispering in my ear. Or think that I can change reality with my thoughts: no more than anyone else, at any rate. And that’s yet again another topic.

That first point, though — “peculiar dress, thinking, beliefs, speech or behavior?”

Waving My Freak Flag — and Loving It

Lilacs. Blue Sky. Sauk Centre.
(A bright and sunny Sunday afternoon: blue sky and lilacs. (May 23, 2021))

Me, Brian H. Gill, on St. Patrick's Day. (2021)The other day, my oldest daughter noted that I wave my freak flag enthusiastically.

I’ll grant that it looks like that sometimes. Often, maybe.

But that’s not how it seems to me.

I’m not trying to exhibit “peculiar … speech or behavior.”

That’s just what happens when I relax.

Which I can when I’m with family: virtually or otherwise.

And for that I count myself greatly blessed.

So I may feel a twinge from my cultural roots, a mangled metaphor but never mind, thinking that I match some points of schizotypal personality disorder.

But I can’t reasonably argue against it.

I think there’s nothing wrong with “normal” and the 50th percentile. I also realize that I’m not all there. That didn’t come out right. Or maybe it did.

Perfect, No; And That’s Okay


(Marigolds from my granddaughter. (May 25, 2021))

There’s more, much more, to say about all of the above. I’d planned on saying some of it.

But I’m running out of time. So most of it will wait. Except for a few points.

First, how come I’m not either wracked with guilt over having disorders, or saying that faith is stupid because I’m a Catholic and my life isn’t all peaches and cream?

Questions like that are good for at least a couple books. Basically, it’s the Silaom thing. And nobody said this was going to be easy.

Second, why have I shared photos of flowers and blue sky? And at least tacitly admitted that I like both? Isn’t that “worldly?”

If I believed that flowers mattered more than anything or anyone else, then I’d have problems. I don’t, so I don’t see a problem with appreciating the beauty and wonders of God’s world.

Third, what about my PHQ-9 and GAD-7 scores? This time around they were both higher than they’d ever been. Which isn’t good news.

I wasn’t surprised.

Feeling bad about myself — down, depressed or hopeless — comes and goes.

Every time I’d filled out those forms before, I was near the top of my irregular cycle. This time I was near the bottom.

More than a year of experiencing the COVID-19 pandemic hadn’t helped. But I don’t need dreadful news to feel awful. It’s something that happens anyway.

And it’s something that doesn’t last.

Experiencing Emotion, Remembering Hope

Reid Wiseman's photo of sunrise, seen from the International Space Station. (October 29, 2014) via NASA, used w/o permissionNow, about hope.

Sometimes I don’t feel hopeful.

But even then, I can be hopeful: remembering that feelings, emotions, aren’t all there is to reality. And that I have very good reason to think that hope makes sense.

Remembering flowers and blue skies helps, too.

I’ve talked about most of this before:

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