Leap day

Ooops! missed a day ... jumped right past it. Hey, that's why they call it Leap Day, don't they. I mean, that is what they call this extra day in February that comes around every four years, isn't it? And if it isn't, well, it should be.

I personally think the day should be a holiday. After all, it only comes every four years. It's only there to make the counting right (after all, we've already done the time the day represents), so it only seems fair that we shouldn't have to work because we've already done everything we needed to do up till now.

Once again, it's the little people who are getting screwed. Oh, it's not that the big folks, the rich and famous, have the day off and we don't. No, that's not it at all. Truth be told, though, all of those folks don't have to work anymore, so if they do, it's for the pure fun of it, so every day is, in a sense, a holiday for them.

The rest of us, though? Well, I don't know about you, but as for me, this working thing gets me down sometimes. Same old grind, same old same-old. Considering what comes out of it all in the end, I also think that most of us work way too much as it is. I read recently that if we had plowed our productivity gains over the past 50 years into working time instead of into profit (which only a few have benefitted from, I might add), we'd only have to be working about one day a week. OK, in that case, we wouldn't have a debate about February 29 at all. As it is, though, I think it should be a holiday. After all, we've already got a name for it.

Outta

This last trip "home" was very short: a mere sixteen days, but time enough for at least one impression every 24 hours:

Out of sight, out of mind.
Out of place, out of time.
Out of rhythm, out of tune.
Out of bounds and not too soon.
Out of power, out of gas.
Out of hope that couldn't last.
Out of money, out of funds.
Out of luck that never comes.
Out of give, out of take.
Out of sleep but not awake.
Out of up, out of down.
Out of square, out of round.
Out of happy, out of sad.
Out of angry, not out of mad.
Out of thinking, out of thoughts.
But with ideals that can't be bought.

OK, it's not a travelogue, but it's not supposed to be.

Legacy of the Enlightenment

For most of my adult life, I firmly believed that reason would prevail. Now, I'm not so sure. Oh, I wouldn't mind being wrong, but doubts are starting to rise. Why? Well, just chalk it up to experience.

My recent trip abroad did little to resolve those doubts. How can reason even stand a chance if there's no dialog? I'm not talking about the friendly, idle chit-chat and small talk that occurs at the cash register in the store. I'm not talking about the let's-get-caught-up-on-the-time-apart of family get-togethers. And, I'm not talking about what passes for discussion when it broadcast after or around the news. No, I'm talking about real people discussing real issues with each other in real time.

Maybe I just missed it, but politeness and political correctness seem to have moved so far into the foreground that honest expression of a position on an issue makes too many people feel uncomfortable. When the semblance of a dialogue takes place, it is more like a statement and re-statement of positions, not a back-and-forth of ideas and facts supporting contentions and arguments. Whatever you do, don't confuse the issue with facts.

It's too bad, really. Though the US seems to be stuck in the times of its founding, it has lost much of that Spirit of the Enlightenment which drove much of the discussion of the time: in the Enlightenment, the unstated ideal was that the best argument would prevail. What I'm seeing though is the position that carries the day is the one whose proponents simply persevere in presenting.

Home again

After two weeks around where I was born, I know just how right Mr. Wolfe was ... or is. He might have said it a while ago, but it's as valid a statement as ever. Truths, should there be such a thing, are eternal, or so I'm told.

It makes you wonder about concepts like "home". What is that, anyway? Home is where you hang your hat, say some. Home is where the heart is, maintain others. I did notice in my conversations with the family that no one buys a house anymore. They only buy homes. But didn't someone else live there before? It makes me wonder: is "home" a place or a feeling?

I think I'm going to go with the latter. Home is, to my mind, simply where you feel "at home". That sounds more like a tautology than a truth, but how else could it be, really? My kids, for example, were born one place, grew up in another, and are living entirely somewhere else. If you ask them where "home" is, what are they going to say? My guess is that home to them is where they feel most at home. In today's overly mobile society, they are more the norm than those who, like my father, are born and grow up somewhere (that is, within a limited radius of miles) and who will die there as well.

It may seem trivial, but if you go back to where you were born and visit family and old friends, the question comes up more than once; namely, "How does it feel to be home again?" But am I? Am I home or am I simply there where I was born? I can't answer for anyone else, but for me, the answer is home is where I'll be when the vacation is over.