Walk Down Memory Lane

Thought you all might like this.

I was playing with old Super 8 movies of my childhood and came across this visit to a place called Storybook Forest in Ligonier, Pennsylvania. We just took our own kids there. It's very little changed after these, um, bunch of years.

Check out 3-year-old Jason running around and catching the sights! :)

(If it's pixelated, you can double click to jump over to YouTube and select high definition to clean it up a bit.)

Prisons

The smell of blood where horizons lie
Reflections carved in tongue and knife
            Deliver spines
            and icicle corpuscles
            Despise them
            icicle illness corpuscles
So thankful to line up and lick the knife
In prisons where we're born to lie

Ventilation, Part 13 (fictionalized history)

(In 1952, polio reached its peak in the United States with 21,000 cases of paralytic polio. The first polio vaccine was introduced in 1955. By 1965, the total paralytic cases had fallen to 61. In this fictionalized history series, we will be experiencing the aftermath of polio, before the dramatic triumph of a vaccine. If you're just joining us, go back to Part 1.)

Twenty-Four Years and One Month Since Hospital Admission
August 1976 (31 years old)


Blistering heat from the engine seeped into the passenger compartment. The smell of oil. Burning plastic and rubber.

The twilight forest blurred into rainbows of indigo and blue. So much speed.

Far behind, the clattering colors of police lights flashed at the early moon. A helicopter probed the horizon.

"Here," he said, pointing.

She yanked the wheel and stomped the brakes.

Their bodies lurched against the curve.

The car thundered onto the path and bottomed with a shower of sparks.

"Go!" he said. "Through there!"

She ducked off the trail.

Bushes ripped under the bumper. Their fender clipped a decayed tree and sent it tipping.

Her eyes widened. "There's a--"

"Go!"

The suspension bounced into the air, then plummeted into a hollow. Wheels locked and scored the leaf litter. Still, they hit a boulder at the bottom with speed.

Blood trickled down her face where she must have hit the steering wheel. She shook away the fog

"Cut the engine!" He already scrambled out the door.

They ran.

Fast as the pain her side and the raw panting allowed her.

Still, he pulled her on. Until she crashed over a fallen limb and didn't get back up.

"Not here!" he hissed, dragging her feet in a wavy line back to the shadows. A place where rocks closed around a clump of trees.

She grasped his chest and closed her eyes as the rhythmic thumping of helicopter approached.

"Julia?"

She jumped. The real world crashed back down. The typing stick dangled in her mouth. Damn, her writing was really rolling this morning.

"Julia?" the nurse said again.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I have something for you."

"Oh, a slice of Boston creme pie?"

"No," the woman said, grinning. She brought a square package from behind her back. "The mail came today."

Julia dropped the typing stick. "Oh my God."

"Here it is."

"I didn't dare to expect it this soon."

"Well...," the nurse said, holding it higher.

"Well open it!"

Julia watched her hands work. Tearing the cardboard and pulling out the beautiful cover and neatly cut pages.

"I'm so proud of you," the nurse said.

"Put it against my face," Julia said.

She drank in the novel's glossy surface. The smell of glue and wonderful paper. The smell of her lifeline. The smell of where she lived.

Tears blurred the vision of her name printed on the cover.

"Sorry," she whispered.

But the emotion only lasted so long. After she touched it from every angle and understood it was really real, her mind drifted to the forest and being crouched next to her man.

She picked up the typing stick and began to tap the keys.

"We're going to get out of here," he said.

"God, I love you," she whispered back.

Bucks

"Get in there!"

"No. You get in there."

"Jesus, you're pathetic. Come on! Stand up, look them in the eye, and claim what's yours."

"After the day I had, I don't think I have the strength to stand up."

"You know what the trick is? Eye contact. You don't break eye contact. Keep the intensity. Smolder, man."

"I'll leave the smoldering to you."

"I'm seriously horny."

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

"Like, on a scale from 0 to 10, I'm a huge ten."

"I see your point."

"How about you? How are you feeling? Ready to lock horns?"

"I'm an eight on the horny scale. Maybe a small seven."

"A seven's not going to do it tonight, man. Look at them out there. One talking to her friend. A little group over there sipping their drinks. Another pair glancing around the room. I'm ready to feel the call of wild!"

"Go for it. I'll be over here. Trying not to laugh."


(Pictures from an infrared StealthCam in Starlight, Wayne County, Pennsylvania.)

City from the Hip

Walking the streets of Philadelphia. Camera at the hip. Taking blind shots no one notices.

I set the lens. Cock my wrist. Then, *click*.



Come along to the organic city.



Walk the lunch-crowded streets.



Philadephia.



From the hip.

Ventilation, Part 12 (fictionalized history)

(In 1952, polio reached its peak in the United States with 21,000 cases of paralytic polio. The first polio vaccine was introduced in 1955. By 1965, the total paralytic cases had fallen to 61. In this fictionalized history series, we will be experiencing the aftermath of polio, before the dramatic triumph of a vaccine. If you're just joining us, go back to Part 1.)




Thirteen Years and 10 Months After Hospital Admission
May 1966 (21 years old)


Julia rested her head and spoke into the telephone receiver. Her voice almost sounded too loud for the empty room. Her mind drifted as she listened.

So many flowers. All white flowers glowing brighter than the sun.

"I wish I had seen it. But I can picture it in my mind. Especially how you describe it. Beautiful."

Recurrent respiratory infections. Choking in the night. My whistling gags bringing the nurses running.

"I just couldn't chance it. I seem to always pay for it when I go out on the portable respirator. Believe me, you're not nearly as disappointed as me."

Missing summer for the first time. Mom screaming at him because he shot me in the face with a squirt gun. But I got him back. Doused him with my straw. I loved him for that. Driving me crazy despite polio.

"I know I'm gaining a sister-in-law and all, and Samatha's great, truly wonderful, really, but you'll always be my little brother. I'm telling you that right now. Sorry, you just have to live with it."

Crying at his graduation. Flopped in a pathetic chair. Respirator chugging on a black extension cord. Nobody giving me a tissue because they're bawling themselves.

"I expect to see all the pictures! That goes without saying."

Watching them hold hands. Kissing each other with their eyes every time their glances met. So uncomfortable. But intoxicating at the same time.

"You have a wonderful honeymoon. I know you will. In fact, I expect you to hang up and be out on the beach in five minutes!"

What skin must feel like under fingertips. Ten miraculous fingertips. And the hard crush of desire. What it feels like on you.

"Well, then again, maybe not the beach. It is your honeymoon, after all. Wink wink."

Mysterious places that no longer exist. Mysterious places some part of me still thinks are there.

"No, I'm not crying. But you better go. Give my love to Samantha. Again, I'm so, so happy for you!"

Can't even feel the cold of this machine.

"Goodbye."


Back to Part 11.

Fear, Pain, and Wisdom

The Reading Terminal Market is a charming farmers market and lunch joint in the heart of Philadelphia. An entire section of the Market is run by Amish for half of the week. In a way, I feel like I'm visiting Lancaster again when I eat at one of the Amish lunch places.

Up above the cash register, they have this sign:

The fear of the Lord is the first step on the path to wisdom.
~Proverbs 9:10.

It really struck me.

Fear leads to wisdom?

Interesting concept. It got me thinking about how many ways fear is an organizing principle for humans. An engine for behavior control. Here are some examples:

• Children's fear of parents and teachers.


• The fear of being ostracized/being different.


• Fear of government/rules/punishment.

These societal fears have something in common. First, each one is a conscious decision to use fear as a pressure to change actions. It is purposeful fear.

Second, humanity expressly or implicitly consents to be afraid. Take the fear of God, for instance. For the Amish, the fear of God's punishment dissuades them from doing or not doing certain things. The Amish then consent to this fear by believing that it's for their own good. They encourage each other to be afraid.

For the sake of clarity, we should distinguish societal fear from personal fear. Personal fear is born from individual pain. Once a person experiences pain, he or she wants to avoid its sting again. For example, the fear of intimacy is created by ripping away safe and healthy relationships, often by substituting harmful ones. Positive relationships are desired, but as soon as one comes along, the fear of losing it ignites. Emotions conflict. The person says, come closer, get away from me. The line between the desire and fear is razor thin and unstable. Personal fear can become poison.

Societal fear is different. It's not merely a reaction. It's a choice.

So what do you think? How pervasive is fear as a societal force? Does fear serve an essential purpose, or is it shortsighted? Or how about the deeper question? Is societal fear really personal fear in disguise? Does it all boil down to the fear of pain?

If so, maybe avoiding pain is the path to wisdom.

Interesting.

But first, we should make sure the pain is real. And right.

Life is Beautiful

All of you have had the pleasure of getting to know Aine, my wife and fellow night owl. She has been an anchoring presence here at The Clarity of Night.

After all of the inspiration you have generously given and the sharing of your thoughts and intimate selves, Aine is now ready to take the big plunge! I invite you stop over and visit Life is Beautiful, where Aine paints her reflective and hopeful view of our inner health and our meaningful place in the world.

Please give a warm welcome to a new, old friend! See you there.

Ventilation, Part 11 (fictionalized history)

(In 1952, polio reached its peak in the United States with 21,000 cases of paralytic polio. The first polio vaccine was introduced in 1955. By 1965, the total paralytic cases had fallen to 61. In this fictionalized history series, we will be experiencing the aftermath of polio, before the dramatic triumph of a vaccine. If you're just joining us, go back to Part 1.)

Eight Years and Two Months After Hospital Admission
September 1960 (16 years old)


Julia watched the overhead mirror. The nurse wheeled the small child into the room. An IV swung on the pole and painted the walls with rainbows of morning light.

The girl leaned heavily in the chair. She tucked behind the nurse's skirt.

"Hi Maria, how are you?" Julia said.

The child leaned farther.

"I've been waiting to meet you! My name is Julia."

Very bashful.

"I was hoping I could read you a story."

The nurse spoke up. "Maria's feeling a little shy this morning."

Julia smiled. "That's okay. I'm shy too. Is it okay if Nurse Betty Ann stays with us for a few minutes? I might feel a little better."

Dark eyes peered out at Julia. The child eventually nodded.

"Great!" Julia said. "They told me all about your favorite books. I have one here. It's all set up for me. See? I have a stand for the book, and I use this stick to turn the pages."

Julia demonstrated.

The child perked.

"I love reading, don't you?" Julia said. "It always makes me feel better. Even when I'm having a bad day, or I don't feel so good. Can I read Peter Rabbit to you?"

Maria tugged the nurse's skirt. She whispered something when the nurse bent down.

"Ask her yourself," the nurse said, prodding.

The child cringed.

The nurse gave up. "Maria wants to know why you're in that machine."

Julia smiled. "This is called an iron lung. It helps me breathe. Have you seen one before?"

Maria shook her head.

"There aren't many left. People don't need them so much anymore. Do you know what polio is?"

Maria shook her head.

"It's a disease that people don't get so much anymore. When you go to the doctor, they give you medicine to protect you. A vaccine. When I was your age, lots of kids got polio. It stops your legs from working. Your arms too. This machine helps me because my body doesn't work right anymore."

The child wheeled herself forward a few feet. She looked at the machine. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Julia said. "I can't feel a thing."

The nurse eased backwards toward the doorway.

"Can I read to you?" Julia said. "Peter Rabbit is one of my favorites."

"I can help you," Maria said. "If you want."

"Yes! That would be perfect. I think I'll need some help." Julia turned the page and set the stick aside. "Aren't the pictures lovely? I used to dream about having a garden like that. What a wonderful place to live!"


On to Part 12.
Back to Part 10

The Killers

Sphecius speciosus
Eastern Cicada Killer
(with prey)

They came last year. Claiming a patch of lawn. Spinning and banging in the air. Digging burrows and leaving piles of soil.

Some massive frigging wasps. Whoa!

This year, more arrived. Well, actually, it was probably their babies. Meet the Eastern Cicada Killer. Females sting cicadas, drag them into their burrows, and lay their eggs on the paralyzed victims. The males circle around constantly searching for emerging females to mate with. They patrol their territory and bump into anything that moves. However, unless you're another male Cicada Killer, don't worry. The males have no stingers.

I'll admit that I'm a bit belligerent toward these beasties. Cicadas sing my favorite summer song (the "locusts" buzzing in the trees). I didn't let this poor fellow in the picture be eaten alive by the wasp's maggot.

Sure, they may control the cicada population, but just to be sure I'll, um, control a few of them.

Whisper an Old Tune

September cuts the cicada haze
Deep breathing life into dying days
I yearn for me and things I've done
As the summer cools with the rising sun

(The picture was taken in the side mirror of our truck on the way home from the Chesapeake Bay. It was the day we photographed the Cypress Pass.)

Ventilation, Part 10 (fictionalized history)

(In 1952, polio reached its peak in the United States with 21,000 cases of paralytic polio. The first polio vaccine was introduced in 1955. By 1965, the total paralytic cases had fallen to 61. In this fictionalized history series, we will be experiencing the aftermath of polio, before the dramatic triumph of a vaccine. If you're just joining us, go back to Part 1.)

Three Years and Eight Months After Hospital Admission
February 1956 (11 Years Old)


Julia clenched the pencil in her mouth and scratched on the paper. Pretty neat handwriting, considering. Better than the boys, probably.

A magnet held the pencil when she finished.

"How's that?" Julia said. "Two hydrogen molecules plus one oxygen molecule equals two water molecules."

"Very good!" the tutor said. "You're picking up on this really fast."

"It's easy."

"No. It's not," the tutor said. "Most kids don't study balanced equations until high school."

"Can we keep going?"

"Sure. Tell me why two hydrogen atoms bond with one oxygen atom to form water."

Julia referred to the Periodic Table of Elements on the work boards near her head. They hovered so close to her face that they blocked out most of the room and most reminders of the hospital. Once in a while, they tricked her into forgetting about the iron lung.

Until she tried to point.

"Oxygen atoms have two empty spaces in their outer orbit," Julia said. "The single electrons of two hydrogen atoms are needed to complete it."

"Excellent!" the tutor said.

"I love chemistry. I wish I could do it all day."

The tutor flipped through her materials for the next set of problems. "You might want to be a chemist someday. Keep at it."

Magnets clicked the new paper into place.

Julia didn't wait for the tutor to explain it. Her mouth reached for the pencil, but lost the grip. The pencil clinked onto the floor.

"Hold on a second," the tutor said.

Julia's mind churned through the atomic structures. They shifted and turned and fell into place.

"The point's broken," the tutor said. "Let me go sharpen it."

Julia heard sound of rising and quick footsteps across the room.

She stared at the page.

The sharpener whined.

She couldn't wait to write.


On to Part 11.
Go back to Part 9.

Our Babe

My fascination with cemeteries began when I was 13 years old, I think. The reason is probably more bizarre than the fascination itself. Back then, I lived in East Aurora, New York. An idyllic village only a handful of minutes southeast of Buffalo. The rural roads and quiet town streets accommodated bicycles very well.

I was branching out on my new ten speed. Driveway to neighborhood. Neighborhood to railroad tracks. Finally, miles down to East Aurora itself.

Another person hatched in me that summer. Actually, you see him here oftentimes. I was driven to experience a lot more alone. Quiet places and late afternoon sunlight. One of the places I found myself visiting was a cemetery in town. In 1983 I stood under the huge oaks unsure why I was there, but somehow compelled to be nonetheless.

One particular gravestone called me back time and time again.

A baby's grave.

I could almost see the couple standing along the forest edge overlooking the creek below. The nameless stone somehow drenched the shadows in sadness.

Maybe it never occurred to me before that a baby could even die.

A little over a week ago, I stood there again.

If I thought I would brush by my old self in the cooling sunlight of East Aurora, I was mistaken.

He was standing quite comfortably in my shoes.

Twenty-five years later.