Mind Snatchers?

Dave Coverly has a comic--sorry, I can't copy it--of a mother and two kids. The mother says, "When I was your age, I had to write in a style called 'cursive'." The two kids standing before her text messages to each other. The boy's text reads: WTH is mom saying? The girl texts back: IDK.

This comic strikes terror in my teacher's heart on so many levels I can hardly type fast enough.

First of all, my grandmother was a penmanship teacher. Cursive writing was her specialty. She lived to be ninety-six, and her handwriting was as beautiful at the end as you can imagine. Even strokes, lovely curves, not a wobble or hesitation in any letter. It was a work of art--something that is going to be lost, if not already, in the next decade--maybe forever. Even when people do not express themselves well in words, their penmanship can demand respect. Words are precious. A beautiful hand shows how each word is labored over.

Let's look at the male dumbhead in the comic next. He is so slovenly, that he expects his reader to know what he means by WTH. Sure, we can guess quickly enough, and some of these acronyms, BTW, are so well-known that they hardly need a second thought. But then again, what the heck/hell is a writer doing making his readers guess at his meaning! Wash ten hippos. Welcome thy highness. Where's the happiness? Wish to hiccup. Why try, hothead?

His sister is even worse. She can only manage the first letter of each word she wants to say, and she can't spell, so the reader is even more challenged.

Beyond these first reactions come deeper ones. They are in the same room, but they are not conversing. Texting is not conversation, it is flash messages. They don't respond to their mother. They don't even look at her or each other. They are incapable of any communication that is harder than a twitch of their fingers. They are conversational couch potatoes.

Their communication style, which is anemic, is nothing to their lack of cerebral activity. They are almost intellectually dead. They don't know what "cursive" is. They don't have enough curiosity to ask their mother to explain herself. They don't even have the intelligence to figure out that she is the one they should ask the question to. The boy at least has listened to his mother's statement enough to arouse some uneasiness, but the sister is a rock.

I hear statistics of how much time people are spending on these handheld weapons of mass social destruction. It is frightening. Will they get over the fad and reenter real human interaction? It is too soon to say, but it feels like an invasion of the mind snatchers?

Bread and Birds

Kneading bread while watching birds,
I see them hop and flit and pick and fly,
Leaving tracks in fresh fallen snow.
They feed since fast the day goes by.

Punched down, the bread is left to rest
To breathe and grow and stretch and sleep,
Like the living loam of earth beneath
The snow that blankets it so deep.

Dough surges up to peek above the bowl,
The darkness deepens early in the winter skies.
The birds have gone to roost till morn,
And like my bread, so slow the moon will rise.

An Ugly Poem by Someone Who Can't Sing

Singing off key
With a voice that cracks,
Croaking not warbling,
Grasping for breath,
Losing the melody
(Pretending it's harmony),
Gravelly notes,
And a beat that falters.
In spite of all this
To sing with my soul
Pleases my Father.
That's enough for me
To endure listening to myself.

Blueberries and Serenity

I just read an article about a billboard in Michigan. It says, "I'm concerned about the blueberries." See this. The man basically was encouraging people to be sensitive to others' troubles and help them out if possible. In other words: do good deeds--pay it forward. It comes across as very feel-good-about-yourself-by-being-nice. I really don't have any problem with the concept, except that it still bothers me. Why? It's a new godless version of the golden rule. It is basically saying that lots of real problems could be solved if we are just selfless. This is true, but the deception is that the solution is too simple. It forgets that we are sinful. It also forgets that helping people out there is much easier than fixing up the messes we've made with people right here--in our own circle of friends, in our own home, in our own bedroom. It's like the Serenity Prayer without the first word and the second stanza.

Under Observation

A break in the foliage,
A fluttering weed,
Shadows and darkness
And rustling speed--
Something has passed
Like a flighty thought
That escapes my attention
Before it is sought.
A turkey, a chipmunk,
Or maybe a deer--
It shot into the bush
Before I knew it was near.
Safe now and still
In the coolness and shade,
It watches my movements
From its gloomy glade.
The tables are turned--
I wanted to see
To admire and thrill!
But the "it" watches me.

Let the Party Begin

There is not a breath of wind. The trees stand perfectly still, silent and thoughtful. The dogwood, ever impatient, has shed its green gown for a red one. They are all like brides, awaiting the celebration--not ready to sport their wedding finery. But that glorious day is coming, and they will parade their colors in heady celebration. The party begins, the wind picks up, and the leaves begin to dance and swirl and fall, till the trees stand naked and exposed for a long and dark wedding night.

Cosmos for all Times

Jack and I embarked on a quest a few years ago to get to every Major League Baseball park--there are thirty. With a little effort and a few years gone by, we have made it to ten now. Looking back, and then looking forward to what we have yet to get to, I realize that it has not been the experience I had been expecting. My original thought was that if we did this, I'd get to see all these cities. The ballpark would be a bonus. It has been the opposite, and I am surprised at how satisfying that seems to me.

Each ballpark has its own personality, and the city wraps around it, embracing that personality with its people. Pittsburgh has a stunning skyline view from its park, while Wrigley's Field is like a step back in history. Cincinnati, right on the wide Ohio River, has a Southern flavor with its paddle boat theme. Minneapolis was sleek and modern in a big city with a small town feel--or was it a small city with a big town feel? Each stadium seems familiar with its similarities, and yet unique because of its location, its people, its club history, and its tradition.

Woven through all these parks is a common culture. The shirts and hats. The hotdogs and nachos. The National Anthem and the flag. The seventh inning stretch and singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". I feel so American at a ballpark. I feel so united with everyone there. I feel like there can be world peace and healthy rivalry at the same time. Fads come and go at the ballpark--the wave being one on the way out. And hopefully YMCA. But some have a clinging power that will last for decades. Who can't help wanting to holler "Hey-O" like Harry Belafonte? Or anticipate the bugle and call to charge?

Have I mentioned they play baseball there? Known to be a slow-paced game, the ballpark provides distractions and entertainment aplenty. There's the "Fan Cam" panning across the stands putting shots of people on screen for their five seconds of fame. If you dance really well you can stretch that fame into half a minute! Some stadiums now have the "Kiss Cam" which could be embarrassing if that cute guy you're with is your brother! There's the mascots cavorting around the field and varying amounts of organ music. And while you're waiting for the club to change pitchers, you can buy peanuts, beer, cotton candy, pizza, sushi or pretzels. Foot-tall florescent cocktails with foot-long straws to match are consumed along with ice cream sandwiches and fresh squeezed frozen lemonade.

And they play baseball there! We love the players. We love the fans. We love the game. Oh beautiful, for spacious fields, for enthusiastic waves of fans, for purple pennants, and green and blue and yellow, above and about the rim. Baseball, O Baseball. God bless you for all the forgetfulness of troubles you give us, for all the fanhood that unites us, for all the excitement that you thrill us with. Impart to us brotherhood that goes beyond your walls, joy that lifts our spirits, and contentment with your simple pleasures. You are the American pastime, presentime and futuretime--a little cosmos of what is best about us as Americans. Thank you.