Walden Cabin: Observations typed on an old Underwood

Tuesday, July 09, 2002

The sky is orange.
I'd like to wake someone who died in the 1970s, maybe Grandpa Eldon. Just for one day. I'd be willing to pick him up at the cemetery there by the pig barn. He'd recognize that. And I look pretty much the same, just older, so we could skip the small talk -- like "Wow, you've grown!". I'm not sure if we'd hug, and I don't really care as long as he doesn't pinch my ear lobe like that again or call me Snodgrass. Then we'd set off and the fun would start. The road is wider now than it was in 1976. And then there are the imports with FM and bucket seats. The old Fredericton church needs paint; I'm sure he'd notice that as we went into town. Grandpa would probably want to go the other way, to see the Home Place in Glen Valley. But that would just disappoint him. It's someone else's home now, and we'd have to drive by where Dad is buried.

Sure, I'd have lots of questions for him, but I'd rather just tell him stuff. Like about the Space Shuttle, the fall of the Wall, and palm pilots. That would be cool. And I think he'd be happy to be back, if somewhat shocked by Oprah and air bags. I'd flirt with the center line due to frequent speed limit looks to see that he was still there. Giddiness. He'd be mine for the day. Selfish me -- my time to share the world. "Here's what has happened, Gramps." OK, maybe I'd take him to Gram. She deserves a happy day. Or I could have her call my cell phone. I'd also give in to the inevitable questions about his kids, but it's kinda wierd 'cause I really don't have a lot of news.

Somehow I think Grandpa (or Grandad - I can't really remember what I called him) would be mostly quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Space and sights and consolidated farms; it would be a lot to take in on top of my rambling: divorces, grandchildren, Joe Clark still Tory leader, how Alan died of AIDS but that we're OK with that now -- 15 years later. I wouldn't stop talking, my foot on the pedal, mile-a-minute. But I know how it would end.

"Why is the sky orange?"

"Quebec is burning," I'd say, cut short, braking, and perturbed at being interrupted.

"And Trudeau?"

"Gone."

"That's enough, Snodgrass. Take me back."

posted by Stuart Hickox | 9:52 PM

Monday, July 08, 2002

Back
Thanks for checking in so often. I've been busy. There is a lot going on, all good stuff, but I don't have time to share it tonight. And then there are the wandering thoughts that I'm just starting to be able to articulate. Delicious. There's stuff blooming at the cabin, green grass where grubs once ate, and food on my plate. So I'm happy. Or at least, working on it. More tomorrow. Promise.

Speaking of plate, if anyone has a good BBQ recipe to share, please send it to me and I'll post it. Here's your chance to have a roast chicken or kebob named after you. Send grilling greats to stuart@accolade.ca.

posted by Stuart Hickox | 7:50 PM

Friday, June 07, 2002

Crisis of consciousness
"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep."

- Henry David Thoreau, in Walden

* * *

A book I read recently links religious tradition to a human "crisis of consciousness". We are the only species that knows that its existence is finite. So the common theory goes, to cope with this inevitability, we have traditionally sought an external answer, a hope, a reason. The ultimate relief and release from uncertainty has been the Will of God. This accounting for religion is not new, of course, but what is interesting is its two-part extension. Put simply, jet travel has undone God. Science, multiculturalism and exposure to other beliefs are helping us to let go of our regional manifestations of the search for the big answers. But as we give up these traditions, other ways of coping with the human crisis of consciousness seem to be on the rise. How many coffee shops are on an average city block these days? I would be interested in a study that tracked the statistics on gambling, alcoholism and and coffee consumption against the decline in the traditional belief in God. Think about this next time you're idling in the drive-thru at Tim's. And then look around: Is there a funeral chapel close by?

posted by Stuart Hickox | 1:32 PM

Wednesday, June 05, 2002

Gobble Gobble Oink
A coin fell and clanked loudly on the polished marble floor next to the X-ray machine. Sounded heavy like a toony. Despite the line-up of eyes queued for QP, nobody saw where the money went. Figures. Parliament Hill has a way of making money disappear, but usually there's no sound.

>> Reports of the Auditor General of Canada.
>> A compilation: Top ten Liberal broken promises (from the Red Book).

posted by Stuart Hickox | 7:41 PM



	Tuesday, July 09, 2002 The sky is orange. I'd like to wake someone who died in the 1970s, maybe Grandpa Eldon. Just for one day. I'd be willing to pick him up at the cemetery there by the pig barn. He'd recognize that. And I look pretty much the same, just older, so we could skip the small talk -- like "Wow, you've grown!". I'm not sure if we'd hug, and I don't really care as long as he doesn't pinch my ear lobe like that again or call me Snodgrass. Then we'd set off and the fun would start. The road is wider now than it was in 1976. And then there are the imports with FM and bucket seats. The old Fredericton church needs paint; I'm sure he'd notice that as we went into town. Grandpa would probably want to go the other way, to see the Home Place in Glen Valley. But that would just disappoint him. It's someone else's home now, and we'd have to drive by where Dad is buried. Sure, I'd have lots of questions for him, but I'd rather just tell him stuff. Like about the Space Shuttle, the fall of the Wall, and palm pilots. That would be cool. And I think he'd be happy to be back, if somewhat shocked by Oprah and air bags. I'd flirt with the center line due to frequent speed limit looks to see that he was still there. Giddiness. He'd be mine for the day. Selfish me -- my time to share the world. "Here's what has happened, Gramps." OK, maybe I'd take him to Gram. She deserves a happy day. Or I could have her call my cell phone. I'd also give in to the inevitable questions about his kids, but it's kinda wierd 'cause I really don't have a lot of news. Somehow I think Grandpa (or Grandad - I can't really remember what I called him) would be mostly quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Space and sights and consolidated farms; it would be a lot to take in on top of my rambling: divorces, grandchildren, Joe Clark still Tory leader, how Alan died of AIDS but that we're OK with that now -- 15 years later. I wouldn't stop talking, my foot on the pedal, mile-a-minute. But I know how it would end. "Why is the sky orange?" "Quebec is burning," I'd say, cut short, braking, and perturbed at being interrupted. "And Trudeau?" "Gone." "That's enough, Snodgrass. Take me back." posted by Stuart Hickox \| 9:52 PM Monday, July 08, 2002 Back Thanks for checking in so often. I've been busy. There is a lot going on, all good stuff, but I don't have time to share it tonight. And then there are the wandering thoughts that I'm just starting to be able to articulate. Delicious. There's stuff blooming at the cabin, green grass where grubs once ate, and food on my plate. So I'm happy. Or at least, working on it. More tomorrow. Promise. Speaking of plate, if anyone has a good BBQ recipe to share, please send it to me and I'll post it. Here's your chance to have a roast chicken or kebob named after you. Send grilling greats to stuart@accolade.ca. posted by Stuart Hickox \| 7:50 PM Friday, June 07, 2002 Crisis of consciousness "We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep." - Henry David Thoreau, in Walden * * * A book I read recently links religious tradition to a human "crisis of consciousness". We are the only species that knows that its existence is finite. So the common theory goes, to cope with this inevitability, we have traditionally sought an external answer, a hope, a reason. The ultimate relief and release from uncertainty has been the Will of God. This accounting for religion is not new, of course, but what is interesting is its two-part extension. Put simply, jet travel has undone God. Science, multiculturalism and exposure to other beliefs are helping us to let go of our regional manifestations of the search for the big answers. But as we give up these traditions, other ways of coping with the human crisis of consciousness seem to be on the rise. How many coffee shops are on an average city block these days? I would be interested in a study that tracked the statistics on gambling, alcoholism and and coffee consumption against the decline in the traditional belief in God. Think about this next time you're idling in the drive-thru at Tim's. And then look around: Is there a funeral chapel close by? posted by Stuart Hickox \| 1:32 PM Wednesday, June 05, 2002 Gobble Gobble Oink A coin fell and clanked loudly on the polished marble floor next to the X-ray machine. Sounded heavy like a toony. Despite the line-up of eyes queued for QP, nobody saw where the money went. Figures. Parliament Hill has a way of making money disappear, but usually there's no sound. >> Reports of the Auditor General of Canada. >> A compilation: Top ten Liberal broken promises (from the Red Book). posted by Stuart Hickox \| 7:41 PM				Road not travelled. (07.09.2002) Click through photos from in and around the cabin. Find how to rent Walden Cabin. (04.09.2002) I'd ask again today, hon. Someone found this old link on-line. I didn't know it was still live. Great memories of an exciting day. See photos of Engagement Day 1998. See she said Yes. Find out more about renting Walden Cabin. (02.26.2002) Mohamad Mohamad: Ready for winter. >> See the photos from our Mid-East dinner party. >> Read the article. >> Have a Middle East dinner party: Recipes here. (01.07.2002) Jasper: Don't label me. None required, son. Critical observations of early '02. (11.19.2001) Walden Cabin 1996 See the photos. Updated - September 12, 2001 Head for the Hills of Prince Edward Island Walden Cabin >> "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, to front the essential facts of life and to see if I could learn what they had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) Walden; Or Life in the Woods (08.21) Walden Cabin is a publishing creation of Accolade Intermedia, an Ottawa-based communications company that specializes in content-rich Web products. www.accolade.ca >>
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