Bamboo

I woke this morning from riding a Harley through my old home town, friend Phil on the back. "Where is that old restaurant-bar, Phil, where our parents would always eat white-man tacos every Wednesday night?
"The Poor House"?
(Laugh), yea, that's it...where is it?
It's dead.  It no longer exists.

I looked at the clock: 4:30 AM.  I remembered Quinton, E.M's character in "The Sound and the Fury", who woke up every morning staring at the clock. He was obsessed with time...and impermanence.  He committed suicide.

Got up. Closed the kids door. Made some coffee. And then went outside for a moment to watch my bamboo. It's almost 30 ft tall and just beautiful against the deep-blue morning sky. I didn't realize a breeze had blown through the yard until the bamboo began to dance.

I was sad...almost crying.
Time was moving too fast. Twice as fast as I felt it was. My son will be ten years old in May...half way through his childhood.

My daughter still clings to me.

My wife and I went through our expenses last night...putting reality to the math test.  We are applying for food stamps for the first time in our lives--it's actually a debit card now. I guess that helps with the shame.  We're missing our monthly nut by $130/month--and have been for a long time.  "The State" will give us $80/month to help out.  The math saddened  us.

Time is running, and I am walking...old age.  Last night I came across a bill for the roof. I would have bet my life that we did that work and paid that bill only a year ago. It was two years ago. Time is running, and I am walking.

I've been on the edge of poor for most of my life--I guess I'm too comfortable here. Ten years ago, at age 47, I had my first good paying job--after struggling for over 20 years to find a full time job teaching philosophy and religious studies. I had given up and was now doing internet graphic design--really more production than design for eBay--and made almost 50k/year. A CEO friend twisted some arms to get me the job. My manager never wanted me there.."He was a Beatles guy, and I was a Stones guy". I "lost" that job after two years. I still haven't figured out whether I walked away or I was fired. It's hard to tell these days. What exactly does "restructuring" mean? I was restructured.

I wasn't happy...chronic depression, a rust that sets in on rainy days. The long battle. And so I moved my young family to gray (and green) Portland. That was smart.

There is no urgency in my disposition. Maybe that's because deep down inside I feel, as a youth would feel, as if I'm immortal. A grand illusion...it dogs me.

Maybe philosophy makes me feel immortal. The constant searching, constant dogged pursuit of "the truth, the good, the beautiful"--to use the dominant cliche. Cultural history, religious history, anthropology, economic history, political philosophy--the questions--too many questions--and not enough money.  And now the "chickens have come home to roost"--I've never had childens, why does this cliche mean anything". Have I really sufficiently answered any of them. Am I anything other than questions and cliches? The questions must be immortal...no, they are not.  That bamboo doesn't ask questions.

Or does it. Ha...sad.

Perfectly "useless" question. The Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living.  The examined life is not worth living?  So what? Why did I have children? When I have no answers to hand them. Or when the answers I hand them simply pretend. Sad.

Life is a tale,
full of sound and fury,
...

Maybe the questions are the rust. Scary thought.

There's no urgency to my disposition. Today I apply for food stamps. Can I stop the questions, and find a job? I wish I were bamboo. I'm not.