Time for Odysseus, critical mass & turn signs

Another photograph by an unknown photographer, this time of the ruins of Troy in modern-day Turkey, across the Aegean Sea from Greece. The site is estimated to have been occupied from around 4000 BCE until it was devastated by the Greeks about 1200 BCE. Odysseus walked here, among the Greek army, at least according to Homer in his "Odyssey."

It is time ....

I think it is time for me.
Time for me to know,
Time to walk the paths of Odysseus,
Time to search for his presence,
Time to discover if he was real,
Time to meet his goddess of the flashing eyes,
Time to stand before his rosy-fingered dawn,
Time to watch Achilles die,
Time to witness Troy in flames,
Time to swim his wine dark sea,
Time to dance with his Calypso,
Time to blind his Cyclops,
Time to walk his Ithaca,
Time to greet his Telemachus,
Time to string his bow,
Time to kiss his Penelope,
Time to know if he was there,
Time to learn if the words were true.

There can be no tomorrow,
Until yesterday has been lived.

The invention of a natural-born critic ....

My journalistic responsibilities, once upon a time, included putting together a weekly outdoor page and a weekly arts and entertainment page. (That might actually be a conflict of interests.) Define an arts and entertainment critic. Are they born? Do they descend from a mountaintop? In this case, it was an English major who walked in through the door, had opinions on just about everything and said, “Sure, I'll do it.”

Having a broad background in literature through reading countless books in the course of obtaining a degree and simply because I enjoy doing it, there was a certain amount of logic for accepting this task. Most of the work was coordinating coverage by reporters and freelancers, but I did a certain amount of writing myself. I did book reviews, and expressed my viewpoint about a few plays and motion pictures. So far, so good. But, I also was a critic of music, art shows, photography displays and a few other events associated with arts and entertainment. That was a stretch. It involved reciting my approval or disapproval based on personal taste, without any real training to back up my verdicts.

So much criticism is just that -- personal opinion based on personal taste without credentials upon which to base it. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that, but I wonder how many people have given up on writing poetry or short stories, or painting or singing or playing an instrument, because they received no comments or only negative comments from people who had no real background to provide legitimate criticism.

Back at the newspaper: I think I at least tried to be fair and innovative. For example, there were occasions I would assign three writers to attend a play or a concert, and run their pieces side by side so as to present a multi-opinion review. Instead of two reporters arguing who would review a particular book (and get to keep it), I would stretch the budget to buy a second copy and run the reviews of both.

This came into my mind because I made a comment yesterday that, re-reading it later, sounded more like a critical analysis than a simple remark expressing pleasure. It was in regard to a particular post at another website. I suppose this might demonstrate why I win awards for writing editorials, but fall short at writing love letters. My initial reaction always is to charge, even at times when I should tread softly.

Regrets, no way; new exploration, yes ....

There has been brief discussion (mostly by me) about being able to go back in time and doing things differently. When I consider it, I am not thinking about regrets or mistakes I have made. I am wondering where I would be, what would I be doing and who would I be doing it with had I turned right at the last intersection instead of turning left.

My illustration is this: When I decide it is time to change jobs, I might send out 50 resumes, not to specific job openings, but to newspapers in geographic areas where I would like to live and to explore. I might get five or six interviews and be offered three or four jobs. One time, for instance, I had my choice between work in Arizona, Michigan and Nebraska. I took Michigan. If I were to return to that time period, whatever the method, I would choose one of the other locations simply to have new and different experiences.

I know everyone has had experiences like this: A young lady might have had to decide between Clint and Brad (or neither). She went for Clint. Had she the opportunity to relive this episode, would she choose Clint again or would she go with Brad to discover what her life would have been like if she made this selection? Forget about how life was with Clint; simply think of it as repeating history vs. creating new history.

Had I this option of reliving an episode of my life choosing between a pair of similarly matched young ladies, I would not choose the one I actually did the first time around. I would choose the other. Good times, bad times, mistakes, happiness, sadness, whatever, my choice would be to experience the new.

The more I think about it, the more I believe most people would stay with the known quantity even in this hypothetical experiment. Perhaps, that is why I have doubts about the existence of the proverbial "soul mate."

Music Note: Listening to Uriah Heep ....
Specifically, "Look at Yourself" ....
Some lines from: "July Morning:"

There I was on a July morning
Looking for love
With the strength
Of a new day dawning
And the beautiful sun

I was looking for love
In the strangest places
Wasn't a stone
That I left unturned
Must have tried more
Than a thousand faces
But not one was aware
Of the fire that burned

There's always next time, so they tell me ....

Ava Gardner

December 24, 1922 – January 25, 1990 / three marriages

Mickey Rooney

September 23, 1920 – still with us / eight marriages

Mickey, Ava -- I've enjoyed the visit with you (especially with you, Ava)

Here we end this particular train of thought where we began it 19 days ago with the inauguration of this blog -- thinking about Mickey and Ava -- in California, and the vicinity of San Francisco.

Happiness lasted a year or thereabouts for them as a couple. Just look at their faces. Have your eyes ever been those eyes? Ever? That was during 1942-1943. That is a long time ago in terms of an individual's life. In as much as I know, they never appeared together in a movie before, during or after their marriage. Too bad there wasn't a movie during each. It would be "fascinating" to be able to watch them work together during each of those three stages of their relationship. The more I think about you, it is very possible I'll revive the two of you, Mickey, Ava, here again ....

Happiness is momentary, a wise, old man told me

As has been amply evident, I no longer care for a prolonged winter. The problem is what to do about it. I once owned a home I named "Sanctuary." It was a house on a hilltop, with a seven-acre barrier between me and the nearest neighbor, surrounded by woodlands. In not much more than a year, I learned there was no such thing as sanctuary. I suppose I knew that all along, but sometimes we try to fool ourselves. So, I renamed the home "Refuge," as representing more-or-less the half-way point between the actual world and sanctuary. That worked for a few years.

Circumstances change, and probably people, too. (I think I've said that before.) This, I suppose, is the simple answer as to why I have a tendency to keep looking for some sort of hidden, mystical, (almost certainly non-existent) Holy Grail. The searches are enjoyable. It is the time spent between each jump off that becomes a tad tedious.

Journalism for me has ranged from country weekly to metropolitan daily. I like to take what I call "mock sabbaticals" from journalism. When I am in a more taunting mood, I refer to these episodes as what I did in "another life." That is closer to the truth than most people recognize. As example, I've also taught journalism at a university (I did not say a BA was the only degree); I've done paid, partisan, political public relations; I've been a policy-management analyst/writer; plus I've taken a couple of jaunts outside the field of writing. All these things have been fun (really), but I tend to get restless after a year or two and begin yearning for different scenery (lakes, rivers to canoe, mostly) and new challenges. During this time, I have lived in four states and have visited several others, as well as a few other countries.

I have unforgivably disappointed at least two women during my relatively brief existence. While wandering the sea of blogs, I noted several instances where writers (mostly women) stated that they are living with their "soul mate." Frankly, I doubt there is such a thing and wonder if these writers are a bit delusional. To me, such a statement carries the believability of a pitch from a used car salesman. But, the beauty of it is that I might be wrong. There might be such a thing as a "soul mate" for some individuals. Still, I wonder how often this arrangement actually is a two-way street. I suppose I am pretty much a nihilist in this regard.

I have spent a great deal of time in a canoe, and generally drive my companions to the brink of anger because I never want to stop. I want to see what is around the next bend; I am impatient to traverse the distance from one point to the next. I have lived out of a canoe for as long as a month at a time. Possibly, that is where I am the happiest (at least temporarily), drifting in a canoe with the wind behind me and the sun in my face.

I think I am ready for another change. Maybe travel for a year or two until I run out of money. Maybe buy another "refuge" in some (warmer) back country and sort of live off the land for a while (but only for a while); many people do. Maybe jump off to another country altogether. If I cannot read or understand the language spoken there, life would revert to simplistic basics, which frequently seems like a good way to live. Maybe even become the proverbial beach bum. No, I guess no, not that. I need to have too, too many books around me.

Now, the new loop begins. There is birth; there is death. Between them there is life. With all the possible things within our own lifetimes to do, with all the possible places to see, with all the possible people to meet, how can anyone be content to spend 25 or 30 years living in the same city, maybe in the same house, maybe at the same job? Why does anyone do that? Why?

There is so much wonder in the world, to see and to know. My choice would be to have experienced 1,000 jobs in 1,000 different locations before I "cash in." Maybe I might make it if I quit talking and start moving once again. How about you?

Music Note: Currently listening to Johnny Cash ....
Specifically, "Solitary Man" ....
(A couple of really super songs here, such as "One")

(Not all country music is country)