He who thoughtfully and with a searching eye investigates the laws of Nature in all their immense variety is stricken with astonishment when he stumbles upon a wisdom he was not aware of.
Immanuel Kant
****************************
Hello Ernie
****************************
When I was a lad I loved reading the novels of Jules Verne. He was a Science Fiction writer but as with many such writers he was also a prophet. Many of his stories were about events that literally happened years later. He wrote "20 Thousand Leagues Under The Sea" before there were submarines, "Around The World In 80 days" before there was air travel and "From Earth To the Moon" before there was NASA. One book I remember well, "Trip To The Center Of The Earth" has yet to happen. It seems totally improbable. But when and if geologists discover more about what is under the Earth's surface, who knows what may occur?
Now George Church, a geneticist from the Harvard Medical School, is cautiously discussing the idea of cloning a Neanderthal baby from DNA extracted from fossils. He claims that he's not ready to do it right away, if at all, and the he's not looking for a surrogate mother.
The child would be one that was not born over 40,000 years ago before the Neanderthals were overcame by the early Humans. There are social, ethical. scientific and philosophical questions involved in such an enterprise and many opinions pro and con. There is no question that a successful result would be of enormous benefit to science. So far all the argument I've read against the idea are pitifully silly.
A surrogate mother would have be a very adventurous woman. But considering the "immense variety" of Human Nature such a person may appear. It would need to be someone who was experienced in child bearing and the gestation period would have to be carefully observed. But the possibilities have set my imagination and my memory to spinning.
My imagination because I wonder if the child is healthy and survives, is taught to learn and to communicate, what vestigial wisdom might exist in the collective consciousness of the individual, what lost knowledge may be lodging there and what might we learn about the evolution of ourselves? If the babe survives, is healthy, grows into a ripe age, male or female, and wants to mate, what then? If the Neanderthal girl or boy mares with a Human what will be the result. Sound preposterous? I have read that the Neanderthals mated with the Cro Magnons before they disappeared. They must have mated with the Humans of 40,000 years ago. Who knows, we may be carrying Neanderthal genes around with us right now. The Neanderthal kid might feel right at home with some of us.
It stirs my memory because a few years ao I was working on a novel about the same subject, a Human man mating with a Neanderthal woman and having a child. I never got to finish it because the computer gobbled it up one day. Maybe in the sense it was being prophetic in the Vernesian sense I should try to reconstruct it.
The cloning of a Neanderthal baby will probably happen some day. If we don't do it, China or some other scientifically advance nation will.
If a thing can be done, it will e done.
******************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*********************************
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Places
One way or another I already know everything, and yet, I find this life beautiful and rich in meaning. At every moment.
Etty Hillesum
******************
Hello Jon
******************
If I ever became inexcusably arrogant enough to write my autobiography I would entitle it "Places." The few friends and acquaintances who have heard me say that have expressed the opinion that it isn't a good title. But I disagree (naturally).
The alternative titles others have come with for me display, I think, a gross misunderstanding and in some cases an unpleasant underestimation of me.
It has been suggested that I use the title of this blog, "Vagabond Journeys" but that title implies a life of adventures and discoveries still being lived, windmills still needing to be attacked.
Someone suggested "My Life In Art" but Constantine Stanislavski did a very good job with that title and I don't think I could match up.
One person even suggested as a title "The Actor Who Escaped Broadway." Now if that doesn't sound like a lolly-pop title I don't know what does.
No "Places" is the word. In the theatre "Places" is the last call you get from the Stage Manager after you've been given "Half Hour," "Fifteen" and "Five." "Places" means the performance is about to begin and if you're on at the beginning you'd better get your talented and highly gifted self to your place or the curtain will go up without you. When the show closes you don't hear that word again, until the next time. I don't know how many hundreds perhaps a thousand or so times I've heard that word in the 50 years of my career. In a very big way it has defined my lite.
When I was 4 years old my father died. 2 years later the family began a slow slide from a reasonable middle class life into poverty. From the age of 6 until I graduated from high school we moved 26 times and I don't even remember some of the places we lived. As a result of that itinerant childhood I never got into the habit of settling down somewhere and calling it home, or the opportunity. I also don't remember some of the places I've lived as an adult. I had a small meager hotel room in New York for 20 years but I seldom lived there. I lived with someone else or a theatre I was working for put me up in an apartment somewhere. But I do remember that some of those places hold ghosts of a former life, a record of events that formed and shaped me for good or not. An autobiography would have to name names, events and places.
I've been where I am now for almost a year having moved from a very uncomfortable environment of 10 years duration. This is by no means a home or a permanent situation. It's more like a clearing in the woods. But over the past decade or so I've discovered a different journey facing me with different places to explore. I awake from dreams and visions in the night to find a mind which has been used as a tea kettle, something in which to boil ideas. The mind is powerful, of course, to imagine, plan, create and make things happen. But released from such menial obligations it leads me to mountains that must be climbed, seas to be crossed, jewels to be dug out of its own ground and stars to be observed shining in its own night sky. I listen for the rhythms of things that exist in space and wait to see the bubbling source of agelessness. Those are the Places my heart sings to know.
Let another write of me if they choose. My life is written in the disappearing parchments of time.
***************************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
**********************
Etty Hillesum
******************
Hello Jon
******************
If I ever became inexcusably arrogant enough to write my autobiography I would entitle it "Places." The few friends and acquaintances who have heard me say that have expressed the opinion that it isn't a good title. But I disagree (naturally).
The alternative titles others have come with for me display, I think, a gross misunderstanding and in some cases an unpleasant underestimation of me.
It has been suggested that I use the title of this blog, "Vagabond Journeys" but that title implies a life of adventures and discoveries still being lived, windmills still needing to be attacked.
Someone suggested "My Life In Art" but Constantine Stanislavski did a very good job with that title and I don't think I could match up.
One person even suggested as a title "The Actor Who Escaped Broadway." Now if that doesn't sound like a lolly-pop title I don't know what does.
No "Places" is the word. In the theatre "Places" is the last call you get from the Stage Manager after you've been given "Half Hour," "Fifteen" and "Five." "Places" means the performance is about to begin and if you're on at the beginning you'd better get your talented and highly gifted self to your place or the curtain will go up without you. When the show closes you don't hear that word again, until the next time. I don't know how many hundreds perhaps a thousand or so times I've heard that word in the 50 years of my career. In a very big way it has defined my lite.
When I was 4 years old my father died. 2 years later the family began a slow slide from a reasonable middle class life into poverty. From the age of 6 until I graduated from high school we moved 26 times and I don't even remember some of the places we lived. As a result of that itinerant childhood I never got into the habit of settling down somewhere and calling it home, or the opportunity. I also don't remember some of the places I've lived as an adult. I had a small meager hotel room in New York for 20 years but I seldom lived there. I lived with someone else or a theatre I was working for put me up in an apartment somewhere. But I do remember that some of those places hold ghosts of a former life, a record of events that formed and shaped me for good or not. An autobiography would have to name names, events and places.
I've been where I am now for almost a year having moved from a very uncomfortable environment of 10 years duration. This is by no means a home or a permanent situation. It's more like a clearing in the woods. But over the past decade or so I've discovered a different journey facing me with different places to explore. I awake from dreams and visions in the night to find a mind which has been used as a tea kettle, something in which to boil ideas. The mind is powerful, of course, to imagine, plan, create and make things happen. But released from such menial obligations it leads me to mountains that must be climbed, seas to be crossed, jewels to be dug out of its own ground and stars to be observed shining in its own night sky. I listen for the rhythms of things that exist in space and wait to see the bubbling source of agelessness. Those are the Places my heart sings to know.
Let another write of me if they choose. My life is written in the disappearing parchments of time.
***************************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
**********************
Thursday, January 24, 2013
When You Grow Up
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
*****************************************************
Hello Val
******************
I have written in this journal before about the elementary school science teacher who ridiculed me for wanting to be the first man on the moon by telling me man could never go to the moon. I wonder where Neil Armstrong went to school.
I won't visit that story again today. Instead I'll tell you about an 18 year old boy I got to talk to one day about his future. He was about to graduate from high school and go on to college, but he said he didn't know what to study, he didn't know what he wanted to do with his liofe. I gave him the usual adult-type advice about not needing to know at 18 years. I assured him that at some point in his life he will probably have a bright moment of realization about himself which would lead him into a life's work that would be satisfying and endlessly interesting to him.
I told him not to try to force the issue. I said it may happen in the next five days, or the next five months or the next fice years or even longer. I told him about two businessmen I knew who both in their fifties completely changed their lives. One became an ob/gyn and the other a baritone, the first because he wanted to deliver babies and the other because he wanted to sing opera.
I told the boy to do the things that interest him and whatever comes along and then measure the relative importance of them. and gradually something will emerge from all the rest and when the bell rings you'll know it's what you want to do for the rest of your life and there will be no question about it.
The answer to the quest is not This is what I want to be, nor This is what I want to do. The answer is This is what I am. 55 years ago, while struggling and stumbling with the same problem confronting this boy, I awoke from a dream one day with a flash of light that said "You're an actor." I accepted that fact because I suddenly knew in my heart it was true and I never looked back.
On the basis of that realization and following thorugh on it my life has expanded into painting and writing. And I hope someone day it will expand into composing music. But the greatest step of all from the school of self fulfillment is into the real world of understanding ourselves, the realization that whatever you have done or are doing in life is a master blueprint for getting to know who you really are.
What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be a man who knows himself.
******************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
*****************************************************
Hello Val
******************
I have written in this journal before about the elementary school science teacher who ridiculed me for wanting to be the first man on the moon by telling me man could never go to the moon. I wonder where Neil Armstrong went to school.
I won't visit that story again today. Instead I'll tell you about an 18 year old boy I got to talk to one day about his future. He was about to graduate from high school and go on to college, but he said he didn't know what to study, he didn't know what he wanted to do with his liofe. I gave him the usual adult-type advice about not needing to know at 18 years. I assured him that at some point in his life he will probably have a bright moment of realization about himself which would lead him into a life's work that would be satisfying and endlessly interesting to him.
I told him not to try to force the issue. I said it may happen in the next five days, or the next five months or the next fice years or even longer. I told him about two businessmen I knew who both in their fifties completely changed their lives. One became an ob/gyn and the other a baritone, the first because he wanted to deliver babies and the other because he wanted to sing opera.
I told the boy to do the things that interest him and whatever comes along and then measure the relative importance of them. and gradually something will emerge from all the rest and when the bell rings you'll know it's what you want to do for the rest of your life and there will be no question about it.
The answer to the quest is not This is what I want to be, nor This is what I want to do. The answer is This is what I am. 55 years ago, while struggling and stumbling with the same problem confronting this boy, I awoke from a dream one day with a flash of light that said "You're an actor." I accepted that fact because I suddenly knew in my heart it was true and I never looked back.
On the basis of that realization and following thorugh on it my life has expanded into painting and writing. And I hope someone day it will expand into composing music. But the greatest step of all from the school of self fulfillment is into the real world of understanding ourselves, the realization that whatever you have done or are doing in life is a master blueprint for getting to know who you really are.
What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be a man who knows himself.
******************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
More Craziness
CRAZY CHRISTIANS
****************************
Hello Lily
****************
So Wes Breedwell showed up for work wearing a T shirt that read "I Support Same-Sex Marriage" His Christian employers fired him for it because IN THEIR OPINION it was anti-Christian behavior.
So they fired him, thus depriving him of his right to Freedom of Speech without interference, which was a very anti-Christian thing to do and anti-American at the same time. When are the crazy Christians going to get it?
People like that who are locked up in a mental box need to be set free. In short, they need more Christ in their lives.
***************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*****************************
****************************
Hello Lily
****************
So Wes Breedwell showed up for work wearing a T shirt that read "I Support Same-Sex Marriage" His Christian employers fired him for it because IN THEIR OPINION it was anti-Christian behavior.
So they fired him, thus depriving him of his right to Freedom of Speech without interference, which was a very anti-Christian thing to do and anti-American at the same time. When are the crazy Christians going to get it?
People like that who are locked up in a mental box need to be set free. In short, they need more Christ in their lives.
***************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*****************************
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Morality
THE NEW MORALITY
*********************
Hello Kate
*********************
These days it's OK to lie, cheat, steal, bully kids, shoot people who get in your way, be cruel to animals, get drunk, take drugs, be unfaithful to your spouse, molest children and brag about all of the above. Other people do those things, don't they? I heard an interview with a sociologist who claimed that in today's freer more libertine society things which would have been considered reprehensible 100 years ago are more acceptable. So what happened to the moral high ground some hypocrites are fond of talking about?
The sad fact is that one has to be as compassionate with the perpetrators as much as with the victims. Those thoughts and urges that reside in our minds and emotions are only potent when they are believed. I don't have enough money so I have to steal. I will play my music as loud as I need to and to hell with the neighbors. Seeing pain and suffering is a catharsis that cleans out my system. I have strong sexual desires and need to find outlets for them. I will trash the son of a bitch next time I see him.
Those thughts are from the proverbial biblical serpent: snake talk. It worms its way into our thinking, moves in and takes residence. It finds the vulnerable places in our inefficient understanding of ourselves and starts talking. It creates lies. It convinces us of needs and how to supply them. It convinces us of lack, loss, lust, addiction, injustice and superiority over other people. And it convinces us that all those thoughts are our own thoughts.
If we try to pull ourselves together morally we begin by struggling against the results of the snake talk. That takes will power, something the snake talker says we don't have enough of. So then we start struggling against the false talk itself which we are convinced is our own thinking.. But ultimately the only way to gain the moral ground is to rid our minds of the snake talker itself. That takes courage and alertness.
A wise person once said "Think before you think." The thoughts, urges, impressions, plans, intensions, intuitions and needs should be examined to determine if they come from our own true hearts or from some reptilian influence. It isn't easy, but it is essential.
I am enough of an idealist to believe in the natural nobility of the human being. I want to know less from the immoralists and more from the noble.
************************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*********************
*********************
Hello Kate
*********************
These days it's OK to lie, cheat, steal, bully kids, shoot people who get in your way, be cruel to animals, get drunk, take drugs, be unfaithful to your spouse, molest children and brag about all of the above. Other people do those things, don't they? I heard an interview with a sociologist who claimed that in today's freer more libertine society things which would have been considered reprehensible 100 years ago are more acceptable. So what happened to the moral high ground some hypocrites are fond of talking about?
The sad fact is that one has to be as compassionate with the perpetrators as much as with the victims. Those thoughts and urges that reside in our minds and emotions are only potent when they are believed. I don't have enough money so I have to steal. I will play my music as loud as I need to and to hell with the neighbors. Seeing pain and suffering is a catharsis that cleans out my system. I have strong sexual desires and need to find outlets for them. I will trash the son of a bitch next time I see him.
Those thughts are from the proverbial biblical serpent: snake talk. It worms its way into our thinking, moves in and takes residence. It finds the vulnerable places in our inefficient understanding of ourselves and starts talking. It creates lies. It convinces us of needs and how to supply them. It convinces us of lack, loss, lust, addiction, injustice and superiority over other people. And it convinces us that all those thoughts are our own thoughts.
If we try to pull ourselves together morally we begin by struggling against the results of the snake talk. That takes will power, something the snake talker says we don't have enough of. So then we start struggling against the false talk itself which we are convinced is our own thinking.. But ultimately the only way to gain the moral ground is to rid our minds of the snake talker itself. That takes courage and alertness.
A wise person once said "Think before you think." The thoughts, urges, impressions, plans, intensions, intuitions and needs should be examined to determine if they come from our own true hearts or from some reptilian influence. It isn't easy, but it is essential.
I am enough of an idealist to believe in the natural nobility of the human being. I want to know less from the immoralists and more from the noble.
************************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*********************
Sunday, January 20, 2013
News
Where's the news?
**************************
Hello Jen
**************************
I am not a compassionless man. I care very deeply about a lot of things. And I believe in the freedom of the press. Is it therefor a flaw in my character that I don't care to watch some athlete confess to using drugs to win races. Athletes have been doping up for a long time. They are still doing it.
And I don't care about the so-called death of some other athlete's phantom girl friend. I don't care who the father was of Michael Jackson's children. I don't care to listen to the NRA's juvenile propaganda. I'm tired of reading about the adolescent wrangling among the members of Congress. I don't care where or when President Obama is inaugurated, just so long as he is. And I don't care what movie star won't talk to another one or why.
What I mean is this. One group of people were taken hostage by another group of people in Mali and some of those people died. It was just one tick on the time line of extreme danger for the world. The danger is not going away by bombs, guns raids and arrasts. It's not going away because the reasons for it are embedded in the hearts and minds of a large group of very angry people. The entire world, all legitimate governments, and the free press of every nation should be focused on this problem and looking for a solution
No, first we have to wade with rubber boots through all the scandalous mud pits of the world before we get to the battle fields. In my youth I remember when on the front page of the daily paper there was a map showing the positions of the Americans and the North Koreans during the Korean war. We were bottled off into a small area until the invasion happened and we gradually gained ground. It was news, big news, and everyone followed those maps. How many people today even know where Mali is? Exactly, not somewhere in Africa? Does your congressman know? Do you know?
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*****************************
**************************
Hello Jen
**************************
I am not a compassionless man. I care very deeply about a lot of things. And I believe in the freedom of the press. Is it therefor a flaw in my character that I don't care to watch some athlete confess to using drugs to win races. Athletes have been doping up for a long time. They are still doing it.
And I don't care about the so-called death of some other athlete's phantom girl friend. I don't care who the father was of Michael Jackson's children. I don't care to listen to the NRA's juvenile propaganda. I'm tired of reading about the adolescent wrangling among the members of Congress. I don't care where or when President Obama is inaugurated, just so long as he is. And I don't care what movie star won't talk to another one or why.
What I mean is this. One group of people were taken hostage by another group of people in Mali and some of those people died. It was just one tick on the time line of extreme danger for the world. The danger is not going away by bombs, guns raids and arrasts. It's not going away because the reasons for it are embedded in the hearts and minds of a large group of very angry people. The entire world, all legitimate governments, and the free press of every nation should be focused on this problem and looking for a solution
No, first we have to wade with rubber boots through all the scandalous mud pits of the world before we get to the battle fields. In my youth I remember when on the front page of the daily paper there was a map showing the positions of the Americans and the North Koreans during the Korean war. We were bottled off into a small area until the invasion happened and we gradually gained ground. It was news, big news, and everyone followed those maps. How many people today even know where Mali is? Exactly, not somewhere in Africa? Does your congressman know? Do you know?
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
*****************************
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
New Contest Results
NEW CONTEST RESULTS
To what do the following numbers refer?
5, 8, 17, 33, 69, 2010, 2300.
------------------------------------------
On the 5th of August. 2010, 33 Chilean miners were trapped 2300 feet underground. They were there for 69 days and for the first 17 days there was no communication from the outside world.
I consider the story of their rescue one of the most remarkable stories of all time for the courage, fortitude and ingenuity of the miners and their rescuers.
The first correct answer came from George Lord Millenbach of the Alphabet City Miilenbachs. So he wins the grand prize of a bag of genuine South American desert sand. Good going Sir George.
DB
*****************************
To what do the following numbers refer?
5, 8, 17, 33, 69, 2010, 2300.
------------------------------------------
On the 5th of August. 2010, 33 Chilean miners were trapped 2300 feet underground. They were there for 69 days and for the first 17 days there was no communication from the outside world.
I consider the story of their rescue one of the most remarkable stories of all time for the courage, fortitude and ingenuity of the miners and their rescuers.
The first correct answer came from George Lord Millenbach of the Alphabet City Miilenbachs. So he wins the grand prize of a bag of genuine South American desert sand. Good going Sir George.
DB
*****************************
Monday, January 14, 2013
Contest
Only one contestant showed up. Shame on the rset of you
I know which side my bed is buttered on.
or
You've buttered your bread now lie in it.
(?)
*************************************
Messy Mixed Up Metaphors
-------------------------------
How many twisted old sayings such as one of the examples above can you come up with?
Geo from the Wild Wild West entered with this:
"Buttered bread always falls butter-side down, unless you tape it to a cat before you drop it."
So he wins the genuine imitation Calvin Coolidge button. Good going Geo.
DB
**************************
I know which side my bed is buttered on.
or
You've buttered your bread now lie in it.
(?)
*************************************
Messy Mixed Up Metaphors
-------------------------------
How many twisted old sayings such as one of the examples above can you come up with?
Geo from the Wild Wild West entered with this:
"Buttered bread always falls butter-side down, unless you tape it to a cat before you drop it."
So he wins the genuine imitation Calvin Coolidge button. Good going Geo.
DB
**************************
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Weekend Contest
I know which side my bed is buttered on.
or
You've buttered your bread now lie in it.
(?)
*************************************
Messy Mixed Up Metaphors
-------------------------------
How many twisted old sayings such as one of the examples above can you come up with?
Send answers to dbdacoba@aol.com. All will be printed at the end of the contest. Prizes will be awarded. The decision of the weird, wacko judge is final.
Good luck.
DB
**************************
or
You've buttered your bread now lie in it.
(?)
*************************************
Messy Mixed Up Metaphors
-------------------------------
How many twisted old sayings such as one of the examples above can you come up with?
Send answers to dbdacoba@aol.com. All will be printed at the end of the contest. Prizes will be awarded. The decision of the weird, wacko judge is final.
Good luck.
DB
**************************
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Stop ! Thief !
A Gang Of Art Thieves Apprehended
**********************
Hello Kate
**********************
The local artists group, Artists of Bristol on the Delaware, of which I am a member, used to have a gallery on the main street. But there is very little pedestrian traffic on that street and so almost no potential customers entered the gallery.
It was decided to close the gallery since we were paying rent on it but not realizing any sales. We informed the landlord and set aside one evening when we would all go down and remove our paintings. Night had fallen when we got there and we found to our surprise and frustration that the electricity had already been turned off.
Some of us were asked to pick up the pieces belonging to other artists who couldn't be there. No one had brought a flashlight. So the group of us began groping around in the dark trying to find our paintings. I found one of mine but I wasn't sure where the other one was. To help me find it I struck a match. Then I got the giggles.
At the front of the gallery there was a wide window that looked out on the street. Near by there is a sharp turn in the street where drivers would automatically slow down. I envisioned the following scenario.
A driver going by notices the light in an otherwise dark store front. Then the driver notices dark figures milling around inside, some with bags, coming in and out of the door. The driver calls 911 to report a burglary.
The police soon arrive. We and our art works are taken into custody. We are fingerprinted and photographed. Those who can post bond do so, the rest of us are put in jail pending an investigation. The art works are being held for evidence and therefore not claimable by their owners.
The local papers have been monitoring the police radio as they always do and arrive to get the scoop. The driver who spotted us is interviewed as is the officer on duty. The next morning the papers' headlines read "ALERT DRIVER FOILS ROBBERY ATTEMPT" and "GANG OF ART THIEVES APPREHENDED."
Soon lawyers arrive to bail us out, the culprits are identified as the actual owners, the investigation is successfully concluded, the paper work is finally done, the pieces are eventually returned to their rightful owners and we walk out with the insulting words "petty theft" permanently inscribed on our records Thank goodness no one was armed.
No. It didn't happen. But it could have.
**************************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
************************
**********************
Hello Kate
**********************
The local artists group, Artists of Bristol on the Delaware, of which I am a member, used to have a gallery on the main street. But there is very little pedestrian traffic on that street and so almost no potential customers entered the gallery.
It was decided to close the gallery since we were paying rent on it but not realizing any sales. We informed the landlord and set aside one evening when we would all go down and remove our paintings. Night had fallen when we got there and we found to our surprise and frustration that the electricity had already been turned off.
Some of us were asked to pick up the pieces belonging to other artists who couldn't be there. No one had brought a flashlight. So the group of us began groping around in the dark trying to find our paintings. I found one of mine but I wasn't sure where the other one was. To help me find it I struck a match. Then I got the giggles.
At the front of the gallery there was a wide window that looked out on the street. Near by there is a sharp turn in the street where drivers would automatically slow down. I envisioned the following scenario.
A driver going by notices the light in an otherwise dark store front. Then the driver notices dark figures milling around inside, some with bags, coming in and out of the door. The driver calls 911 to report a burglary.
The police soon arrive. We and our art works are taken into custody. We are fingerprinted and photographed. Those who can post bond do so, the rest of us are put in jail pending an investigation. The art works are being held for evidence and therefore not claimable by their owners.
The local papers have been monitoring the police radio as they always do and arrive to get the scoop. The driver who spotted us is interviewed as is the officer on duty. The next morning the papers' headlines read "ALERT DRIVER FOILS ROBBERY ATTEMPT" and "GANG OF ART THIEVES APPREHENDED."
Soon lawyers arrive to bail us out, the culprits are identified as the actual owners, the investigation is successfully concluded, the paper work is finally done, the pieces are eventually returned to their rightful owners and we walk out with the insulting words "petty theft" permanently inscribed on our records Thank goodness no one was armed.
No. It didn't happen. But it could have.
**************************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
************************
Stop ! Thief !
A Gang Of Art Thieves Apprehanded
**********************
Hello Kate
**********************
The local artists group, Artists of Bristol on the Delaware, of which I am a member, used to have a gallery on the main street. But there is very little pedestrian traffic on that street and so almost no potential customers entered the gallery.
It was decided to close the gallery since we were paying rent on it but not realizing any sales. We informed the landlord and set aside one evening when we would all go down and remove our paintings. Night had fallen when we got there and we found to our surprise and frustration that the electricity had already been turned off.
Some of us were asked to pick up the pieces belonging to other artists who couldn't be there. No one had brought a flashlight. So the group of us began groping around in the dark trying to find our paintings. I found one of mine but I wasn't sure where the other one was. To help me find it I struck a match. Then I got the giggles.
At the front of the gallery there was a wide window that looked out on the street. Near by there is a sharp turn in the street where drivers would automatically slow down. I envisioned the following scenario.
A driver going by notices the light in an otherwise dark store front. Then the driver notices dark figures milling around inside, some with bags, coming in and out of the door. The driver calls 911 to report a burglary.
The police soon arrive. We and our art works are taken into custody. We are fingerprinted and photographed. Those who can post bond do so, the rest of us are put in jail pending an investigation. The art works are being held for evidence and therefore not claimable by their owners.
The local papers have been monitoring the police radio as they always do and arrive to get the scoop. The driver who spotted us is interviewed as is the officer on duty. The next morning the papers' headlines read "ALERT DRIVER FOILS ROBBERY ATTEMPT" and "GANG OF ART THIEVES APPREHANDED."
Soon lawyers arrive to bail us out, the culprits are identified as the actual owners, the investigation is successfully concluded, the paper work is finally done, the pieces are eventually returned to their rightful owners and we walk out with the insulting words "petty theft" permanently inscribed on our records Thank goodness no one was armed.
No. It didn't happen. But it could have.
**************************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
************************
**********************
Hello Kate
**********************
The local artists group, Artists of Bristol on the Delaware, of which I am a member, used to have a gallery on the main street. But there is very little pedestrian traffic on that street and so almost no potential customers entered the gallery.
It was decided to close the gallery since we were paying rent on it but not realizing any sales. We informed the landlord and set aside one evening when we would all go down and remove our paintings. Night had fallen when we got there and we found to our surprise and frustration that the electricity had already been turned off.
Some of us were asked to pick up the pieces belonging to other artists who couldn't be there. No one had brought a flashlight. So the group of us began groping around in the dark trying to find our paintings. I found one of mine but I wasn't sure where the other one was. To help me find it I struck a match. Then I got the giggles.
At the front of the gallery there was a wide window that looked out on the street. Near by there is a sharp turn in the street where drivers would automatically slow down. I envisioned the following scenario.
A driver going by notices the light in an otherwise dark store front. Then the driver notices dark figures milling around inside, some with bags, coming in and out of the door. The driver calls 911 to report a burglary.
The police soon arrive. We and our art works are taken into custody. We are fingerprinted and photographed. Those who can post bond do so, the rest of us are put in jail pending an investigation. The art works are being held for evidence and therefore not claimable by their owners.
The local papers have been monitoring the police radio as they always do and arrive to get the scoop. The driver who spotted us is interviewed as is the officer on duty. The next morning the papers' headlines read "ALERT DRIVER FOILS ROBBERY ATTEMPT" and "GANG OF ART THIEVES APPREHANDED."
Soon lawyers arrive to bail us out, the culprits are identified as the actual owners, the investigation is successfully concluded, the paper work is finally done, the pieces are eventually returned to their rightful owners and we walk out with the insulting words "petty theft" permanently inscribed on our records Thank goodness no one was armed.
No. It didn't happen. But it could have.
**************************************
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
************************
Monday, January 7, 2013
A Member Of The Wedding
Pura Vida
(traditional)
*****************
Hello Beth
*****************
I am trying to learn Spanish. After several hints I finally got someone, Barbara, to agree to send me a Spanish/English dictionary. (I live in a town with no book stores.) I want to know Spanish in preparation to what I hope is my return to New York City. New York is a tri-lingual city, As for Chinese, I may get around to that some day.
New York is also a city of parks. There are hundreds of parks. I don't know if anyone really knows how many there are. Perhaps a clerk down the long hall, buried behind a desk of papers, in the Parks and Recreation Building, knows, or has it written down somewhere.
Some of the parks are very small, not much bigger than a car. They may have a bench, a small tree, a few bushes and a trash can. But some are large, a few contain lakes, some have zoos, one has a golf course. Central Park is the most famous one, of course. But here and there around the city are interesting parks that almost no one knows about.
For years I lived across the street from one of those. Inwood Hill Park, in northern Manhattan. The park spreads from the northern most tip of Manhattan Island west to the Hudson River. It has tennis courts, softball fields, a dirt bike track, hiking trails and caves. A highway, the Henry Hudson Parkway, goes through the middle of it. There are two passages under the Parkway so one can go to the other side of the park without danger. For years I knew only one of those passages. Then one day I discovered the other one.
I loved walking thorugh that park. It was mostly on a hill and it was wild. The Park Rangers rarely went into it, it was kept wild on purpose. Hence there was a lot of foliage, rocky ledges and trees. Many types of birds, wild hare and pheasants roamed around in there.
One day as I was walking in the park I heard Mariachi music. That wasn't unusual. People would often bring their radios up there with them. But I soon realized it wasn't a radio because the music kept playing and it sounded like a live band.
Curious as to where the music was coming from I wandered along an area of the park I wasn't used to. I came upon a strange marble and granite structure that once had been a staging place for some event, but was now all overgrown with trees and bushes. I stood on it and down below to my left I saw a paved walkway that seemed to disappear into the trees. I went down to investigate still hearing the music coming from somewhere. Down below, on that trail, I found a pedestrian tunnel under the highway.
I walked through .it. On the other side was a grassy area right next to the Hudson River. Stepping out on it I came upon a Mexican wedding reception in full fling. There were tables set up. People were eating, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking and, indeed, there was a live Mariachi band, guitars, violins and trumpets playing with heart and joy. When I was seen I was motioned to join in the celebration. Someone handed me a taco, someone handed me a beer. No one questioned me or wondered what I was doing there. I was Chico, Caballero, Hombre and Senor. I was a member of the wedding. I knew just enough Spanish from living in New York to say hello and thank you, but that seemed to be enough. I hung around for a while enjoying the fun. I found the bride and groom and wished them good luck, in English, and headed back home. When I did a couple of the men wished me "pura vida" whatever that means.
I wish I had known how to speak their language. Next time, if there is one, I will.
***********************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*******************
(traditional)
*****************
Hello Beth
*****************
I am trying to learn Spanish. After several hints I finally got someone, Barbara, to agree to send me a Spanish/English dictionary. (I live in a town with no book stores.) I want to know Spanish in preparation to what I hope is my return to New York City. New York is a tri-lingual city, As for Chinese, I may get around to that some day.
New York is also a city of parks. There are hundreds of parks. I don't know if anyone really knows how many there are. Perhaps a clerk down the long hall, buried behind a desk of papers, in the Parks and Recreation Building, knows, or has it written down somewhere.
Some of the parks are very small, not much bigger than a car. They may have a bench, a small tree, a few bushes and a trash can. But some are large, a few contain lakes, some have zoos, one has a golf course. Central Park is the most famous one, of course. But here and there around the city are interesting parks that almost no one knows about.
For years I lived across the street from one of those. Inwood Hill Park, in northern Manhattan. The park spreads from the northern most tip of Manhattan Island west to the Hudson River. It has tennis courts, softball fields, a dirt bike track, hiking trails and caves. A highway, the Henry Hudson Parkway, goes through the middle of it. There are two passages under the Parkway so one can go to the other side of the park without danger. For years I knew only one of those passages. Then one day I discovered the other one.
I loved walking thorugh that park. It was mostly on a hill and it was wild. The Park Rangers rarely went into it, it was kept wild on purpose. Hence there was a lot of foliage, rocky ledges and trees. Many types of birds, wild hare and pheasants roamed around in there.
One day as I was walking in the park I heard Mariachi music. That wasn't unusual. People would often bring their radios up there with them. But I soon realized it wasn't a radio because the music kept playing and it sounded like a live band.
Curious as to where the music was coming from I wandered along an area of the park I wasn't used to. I came upon a strange marble and granite structure that once had been a staging place for some event, but was now all overgrown with trees and bushes. I stood on it and down below to my left I saw a paved walkway that seemed to disappear into the trees. I went down to investigate still hearing the music coming from somewhere. Down below, on that trail, I found a pedestrian tunnel under the highway.
I walked through .it. On the other side was a grassy area right next to the Hudson River. Stepping out on it I came upon a Mexican wedding reception in full fling. There were tables set up. People were eating, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking and, indeed, there was a live Mariachi band, guitars, violins and trumpets playing with heart and joy. When I was seen I was motioned to join in the celebration. Someone handed me a taco, someone handed me a beer. No one questioned me or wondered what I was doing there. I was Chico, Caballero, Hombre and Senor. I was a member of the wedding. I knew just enough Spanish from living in New York to say hello and thank you, but that seemed to be enough. I hung around for a while enjoying the fun. I found the bride and groom and wished them good luck, in English, and headed back home. When I did a couple of the men wished me "pura vida" whatever that means.
I wish I had known how to speak their language. Next time, if there is one, I will.
***********************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*******************
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Where do you dwell?
Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back.
Katherine Mansfield
************************
Hello Marty
************************
I moved to my present location last March and when I did I took with me a lot of books and papers, some of the papers were in envelopes that hadn't been opened in years. In one of them I found my Selective Service Registration card, better known as the Draft Card. Don't ask me why I still have it, there hasn't been a draft in this country in many years, and even if there was I doubt the government would send this old loon out to Fort Dix for basic training. The Drill Sergeant would take one look at me, laugh and send me home. I wish the government would try it though, it might make a good story.
I note that the address on my Draft Card is wrong. It wasn't wrong at the time. When the time came for me to register we, my mother and I, were homeless. That was before the days of shelters and other services so we put in wherever we could for a night, a week or more. Since I needed a fixed address on the Draft Card I used a family friend's. Since then that whole neighborhood has been torn down, rebuilt and that address doesn't even exist anymore.
And so it is with most things in the past. They disappear. What remains is mostly in the gossamer world of memory Even if we can hold a hard piece of evidence like my Draft Card it can't tell me anything about who I was or what my life was like to me back then. The past changes. That's why I don't dwell in it. It deprives me of something.
The future is the same. It perpetually and irritatingly doesn't turn out the way we expect it to. We may project a tomorrow, an out come, a destiny and it is certain to be not what we projected at all. As Yogi Berra so eloquently put it "The future ain't what it used to be." I don't dwell in the future. It deprives me of something.
To live in the past or the future deprives me of the here and now, the present, the only time that can be measured as life living. The exciting thing about the here and now is that it is filled with ideas. We are surrounded by ideas, we live in a universe of ideas. Ideas flow through our present lives like sub atomic particles dashing through our bodies. If we are closed up in the past or the future we can't be alert to those ideas and see the manifestations of them in our lives. Those manifestations may be simple or complex, ideas of technology, engineering, design, science, art, government, ethics. Look at the winter tree. At the end of each of those barren branches is an idea, a bud waiting to manifest itself and become a leaf or a blossom. We are surrounded by a world of invisible ideas wailing to be seen I dwell in the lively, exhilarating, interesting, sometimes frightening, but always abundant present. Where do you dwell?
*************************
Dana Bate
The 1,950 edition of Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*************************************
Katherine Mansfield
************************
Hello Marty
************************
I moved to my present location last March and when I did I took with me a lot of books and papers, some of the papers were in envelopes that hadn't been opened in years. In one of them I found my Selective Service Registration card, better known as the Draft Card. Don't ask me why I still have it, there hasn't been a draft in this country in many years, and even if there was I doubt the government would send this old loon out to Fort Dix for basic training. The Drill Sergeant would take one look at me, laugh and send me home. I wish the government would try it though, it might make a good story.
I note that the address on my Draft Card is wrong. It wasn't wrong at the time. When the time came for me to register we, my mother and I, were homeless. That was before the days of shelters and other services so we put in wherever we could for a night, a week or more. Since I needed a fixed address on the Draft Card I used a family friend's. Since then that whole neighborhood has been torn down, rebuilt and that address doesn't even exist anymore.
And so it is with most things in the past. They disappear. What remains is mostly in the gossamer world of memory Even if we can hold a hard piece of evidence like my Draft Card it can't tell me anything about who I was or what my life was like to me back then. The past changes. That's why I don't dwell in it. It deprives me of something.
The future is the same. It perpetually and irritatingly doesn't turn out the way we expect it to. We may project a tomorrow, an out come, a destiny and it is certain to be not what we projected at all. As Yogi Berra so eloquently put it "The future ain't what it used to be." I don't dwell in the future. It deprives me of something.
To live in the past or the future deprives me of the here and now, the present, the only time that can be measured as life living. The exciting thing about the here and now is that it is filled with ideas. We are surrounded by ideas, we live in a universe of ideas. Ideas flow through our present lives like sub atomic particles dashing through our bodies. If we are closed up in the past or the future we can't be alert to those ideas and see the manifestations of them in our lives. Those manifestations may be simple or complex, ideas of technology, engineering, design, science, art, government, ethics. Look at the winter tree. At the end of each of those barren branches is an idea, a bud waiting to manifest itself and become a leaf or a blossom. We are surrounded by a world of invisible ideas wailing to be seen I dwell in the lively, exhilarating, interesting, sometimes frightening, but always abundant present. Where do you dwell?
*************************
Dana Bate
The 1,950 edition of Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*************************************
Saturday, January 5, 2013
The Right Choice
Freedom is the right to choose, the right to create for oneself the alternatives of choice.
Archibald MacLeish
**********************
Hello Jen
**********************
Choices. Choices. Should I have the baked clams or the crab cake? Should I wear the red dress with the black sash or the blue one with the green scarf? Should I shop at Walmart or Home Depot? Those are simple choices.
Then there are the more complicated ones. Who should I vote for? I know of a woman who only votes the way her husband tells her to. Should I go to the college my brother went to because he went there? Wrong choice. Should I get married? Another wrong choice.
Some choices are hard and take time, patience and, perhaps, advice. But seeking advice is also a matter of choice. Are you going to get the best advice, do you know and respect the person you are asking, is the advice you want worthy of the mind and experience of the person you are asking? Remembering that the choice is yours so long as you exercise your right to make a choice you are only seeking advice and not asking that a choice be made for you. If the person you ask is wild about baked clams you may be pushed in that direction and not because you choose to be.
I vividly recall two incidents when it was necessary to focus on the creation of the alternative of choice. The first involves a college Philosophy professor. He was a man whose knowledge and opinions I respected, but he made some statements in one of his lectures that did not seem to correspond to my own reading on the same issues. I got an appointment with him to discuss the matter. After a few minutes of conversation I ventured my own thoughts to hear his reaction and, maybe, to be corrected. But his response was simply "Well, fortunately it doesn't matter what you think." I was stunned by that answer and still am. If it doesn't matter what I think, why think? I rejected his opinion and got on with life.
The second evens happened years later and involved a junior high school student. I was working for a theatre company that toured schools and other institutions with short plays followed by discussions. For one of the plays I had composed some complex music. Someone always asked what the music meant and we always turned the question back to get students' opinions. As we were packing up to leave one particular school the young fellow came up to me and told me what he thought the music meant. Then he said he was probably wrong because he had been graded by the state as being unable to understand certain ideas. I jumped off the stage and went up to him. I told him he had just given me the best explanation I had heard yet about the music. Then I told him to never let anyone ever tell him that he was incapable of understanding something, anything. In his case the right to choose the alternative of choice had been taken away from him. Choices had already been made for him. But it did matter what he thought. And I hope my advice had a lasting effect on him.
Someone else's opinion may be the best but don't choose it just on that basis. Don't be told it doesn't matter what yu choose and don't be fooled into thinking you're not smart enough to make the right choice. We think for ourselves, that's what we do. I choose the crab cakes.
***************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************
Archibald MacLeish
**********************
Hello Jen
**********************
Choices. Choices. Should I have the baked clams or the crab cake? Should I wear the red dress with the black sash or the blue one with the green scarf? Should I shop at Walmart or Home Depot? Those are simple choices.
Then there are the more complicated ones. Who should I vote for? I know of a woman who only votes the way her husband tells her to. Should I go to the college my brother went to because he went there? Wrong choice. Should I get married? Another wrong choice.
Some choices are hard and take time, patience and, perhaps, advice. But seeking advice is also a matter of choice. Are you going to get the best advice, do you know and respect the person you are asking, is the advice you want worthy of the mind and experience of the person you are asking? Remembering that the choice is yours so long as you exercise your right to make a choice you are only seeking advice and not asking that a choice be made for you. If the person you ask is wild about baked clams you may be pushed in that direction and not because you choose to be.
I vividly recall two incidents when it was necessary to focus on the creation of the alternative of choice. The first involves a college Philosophy professor. He was a man whose knowledge and opinions I respected, but he made some statements in one of his lectures that did not seem to correspond to my own reading on the same issues. I got an appointment with him to discuss the matter. After a few minutes of conversation I ventured my own thoughts to hear his reaction and, maybe, to be corrected. But his response was simply "Well, fortunately it doesn't matter what you think." I was stunned by that answer and still am. If it doesn't matter what I think, why think? I rejected his opinion and got on with life.
The second evens happened years later and involved a junior high school student. I was working for a theatre company that toured schools and other institutions with short plays followed by discussions. For one of the plays I had composed some complex music. Someone always asked what the music meant and we always turned the question back to get students' opinions. As we were packing up to leave one particular school the young fellow came up to me and told me what he thought the music meant. Then he said he was probably wrong because he had been graded by the state as being unable to understand certain ideas. I jumped off the stage and went up to him. I told him he had just given me the best explanation I had heard yet about the music. Then I told him to never let anyone ever tell him that he was incapable of understanding something, anything. In his case the right to choose the alternative of choice had been taken away from him. Choices had already been made for him. But it did matter what he thought. And I hope my advice had a lasting effect on him.
Someone else's opinion may be the best but don't choose it just on that basis. Don't be told it doesn't matter what yu choose and don't be fooled into thinking you're not smart enough to make the right choice. We think for ourselves, that's what we do. I choose the crab cakes.
***************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************
Friday, January 4, 2013
Vital Steps
No man remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself.
Thomas Mann
****************
Hello George
****************
Some people may reach the moment of self understanding with one big bang of realization, but I doubt it. To understand ourselves, as important as it is, requires steps, slips and recoveries, falls and rises, failures and successes. It is important to accept ourselves for who we are, but acquiescence is a crime against our essential being.
On my Face book page yesterday Anne Allen has written "Take another step.....no matter how small, just keep moving!" I often say What's the next step in life? It's the one right in front of you. My motto in life is "Never give up" because I know there are a thousand things out there to depress, discourage defeat, deflect, delay, obstruct, block, fool and destroy us. That's why we need a thousand and one things to deploy to defend the honor of our survival.
I wrote recently about the young actress who announced that she knew what her limitations were. I told her she had no limitations except the ones she is willing to impose on herself. It is more accurate to say there are limitations she allows to be imposed on her..
The gracious thing about growing and getting life experiences is that we are allowed to acept ourselves as we are at any time but learn that we will change and present a newer version of ourselves to understand and approve of.
Patience is an important thing among the thousand and one. Being patient with ourselves is a part of the approval process. The growth of a few inches may take a long time but the growth of a year may happen in an instant.
Of all the things you will experience your life is the most interesting. Even someone who selflessly dedicates their lives to feeding the hungry and healing the hurt is taking the step by step journey to the destination of recognizing who they really are.
I'm grateful to be on that journey. Make the journey, take the next step "no matter how small" and don't be surprised if you come out being someone you didn't recognize.
*************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Thomas Mann
****************
Hello George
****************
Some people may reach the moment of self understanding with one big bang of realization, but I doubt it. To understand ourselves, as important as it is, requires steps, slips and recoveries, falls and rises, failures and successes. It is important to accept ourselves for who we are, but acquiescence is a crime against our essential being.
On my Face book page yesterday Anne Allen has written "Take another step.....no matter how small, just keep moving!" I often say What's the next step in life? It's the one right in front of you. My motto in life is "Never give up" because I know there are a thousand things out there to depress, discourage defeat, deflect, delay, obstruct, block, fool and destroy us. That's why we need a thousand and one things to deploy to defend the honor of our survival.
I wrote recently about the young actress who announced that she knew what her limitations were. I told her she had no limitations except the ones she is willing to impose on herself. It is more accurate to say there are limitations she allows to be imposed on her..
The gracious thing about growing and getting life experiences is that we are allowed to acept ourselves as we are at any time but learn that we will change and present a newer version of ourselves to understand and approve of.
Patience is an important thing among the thousand and one. Being patient with ourselves is a part of the approval process. The growth of a few inches may take a long time but the growth of a year may happen in an instant.
Of all the things you will experience your life is the most interesting. Even someone who selflessly dedicates their lives to feeding the hungry and healing the hurt is taking the step by step journey to the destination of recognizing who they really are.
I'm grateful to be on that journey. Make the journey, take the next step "no matter how small" and don't be surprised if you come out being someone you didn't recognize.
*************************
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year
My New Year's Resolutions.
I will be grateful for all the blessings I received last year.
I will give my blessings to all my false, lost, former and current friendships.
I will carefully watch my thoughts and actions so I won't make the same mistakes I made last year.
I will try to love more.
----------------------------------
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
I will be grateful for all the blessings I received last year.
I will give my blessings to all my false, lost, former and current friendships.
I will carefully watch my thoughts and actions so I won't make the same mistakes I made last year.
I will try to love more.
----------------------------------
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
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