The Bourne Veracity

Posted on March 7, 2015 by ivanbenson

Matt Damon may once again breathe life into his alter ego, Jason Bourne. A 2016 release date has been mentioned, but it is still unclear if production will happen at all, so don’t get too excited just yet. Nevertheless, if you are a Bourne fan it’s hard not to get at least a tiny thrill out of the idea of this proposed sequel.

This is due, in part, to the excellent acting of Matt Damon who seems to grace every movie he is in with a unique flair that is his and his alone. But the Robert Ludlum stories are classic in their own right, so the two go hand-in-hand to produce an unbeatable package.

Some think the name “Bourne” is a reference to 19th century Ansel Bourne whose “dissociative fugue” (loss of identity and memory) became famous in psychological circles, but it is hard to establish this with any certainty, although it sounds quite plausible to me.

I must admit that when I woke up this morning and lay quietly in bed the word “bourne” came to mind. But I was not thinking of the movie; rather, the phrase from Hamlet, i.e. “from whose bourn no traveler returns . . . .”

That is, I was thinking about my mother and father, both departed from this world.

“Bourne” means boundary, limit, goal, or destination [evidently, bourne and bourn are the same word with a variant spelling]. And Shakespeare’s reference in Hamlet’s soliloquy is clearly describing death, that “undiscovered country” from which visitors never return. And I woke up this morning thinking, “where are they?”

The thought is not a new one for me, of course. It visits me regularly.

Religious faith offers some answers to this question, of course. But it is devoid of the kind of detail I seek. Well meaning persons can sometimes pontificate on the subject, but in the final analysis their words often lack credibility.

So, what assurances are we left with? Can our departed loved ones see us? Do they care about what happens on earth? Can they offer assistance to us in difficult situations? [The questions are endless].

Friends and relatives of mine who are of the atheistic persuasion believe that when you die you are “like Rover, dead all over” (as the preachers used to say when I was a boy). And my intention in writing this today is not to argue that point. It is merely to make some observations about which I’ve been thinking.

When life departs from a person, I mean the moment the last breath is drawn . . . the soberness of the moment is astounding; the silence is deafening. The moment is sacred even if the departed one is not someone you know.

But if you know the man or woman, or if you are a close friend or family member, the moment of his/her passing has a gravity that rivals Jupiter; you may gasp for air or even grow faint. And if you are not affected in this kind of way you will, no doubt, find that your emotions are arrested, held captive by the momentous event you have just witnessed.

Something monumental has occurred. Of that, there is no doubt.

Is it simply because every person is important to someone else? And so we instinctively and naturally respond with compassion when someone departs this earth, even if we don’t know him/her?

Or is it that the gift of life itself is so unbelievably valuable to us that we agonize over its passing whenever we see it go?

My father crossed a boundary almost 6 years ago, a bourne from which he has not returned. My mother reached that same destination 2 1/2 years ago, and I have not seen her since. Others relatives and close friends have made that same journey. Either they have gone nowhere and have simply ceased to exist, or they have passed into an alternate state and will eventually reappear in another form in the circle of life, or . . . they have indeed reached a destination, crossed a boundary, entered a realm with a one-way door – and they are there now.

[BTW, Christian people find it all-important that Jesus crossed this same boundary and yet returned; this is the bedrock of their faith. My parents shared this faith, as do I.]

Life is so sacred. Relationships so precious. Living is an invaluable gift. Existence such a privilege. Awareness is priceless.

I cannot conceive of it just ending. Everything in me finds sonority, enjoys resonance, when I entertain thoughts of a life after this one. Does that prove anything about where my parents currently reside? Of course not.

But it is consonant.

After all, if Jason Bourne can be resurrected for another episode . . . anything is possible. In fact, it would seem inconceivable . . . if he did not return.

Posted in Aging Parents, Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Waiting . . . for Snowfall

Posted on February 25, 2015 by ivanbenson

Many businesses are closed today. Schools are playing it safe, too. After all, just one year ago Atlanta was inundated with a winter storm that snarled traffic literally for “days” and the Governor (and other officials) were given a sound verbal thrashing by stranded citizens and parents of school children who had to spend untold hours on their school buses.

So today, they are playing it close to the chest (so to speak). “It’s coming,” they say. But the forecast is changing slightly. Now it looks like more rain than anything else. And it may come later than expected.

And I am home, too; the job I was supposed to go to today was canceled late last night. Of course, there are always things to do. But . . . I am still left in somewhat of a holding pattern – like a jet airplane waiting its turn to land or on a runway waiting in a long line of planes for take off.

Waiting disrupts everything.

And in the end you want the waiting to have been worth something, don’t you? Almost to the extent that even if you are waiting on another Snowmageddon or Snowpocalypse (as some termed it last year) you find yourself disappointed if it does not occur. Then we accost the meteorologists, deriding their computerized weather models, and vowing never to trust them again. At least . . . until the next time a weather disaster is predicted.

Instead of being glad we were made safe, and no weather disaster occurred, we are angry that our normal way of life was disrupted “for nothing” (as we put it).

We cannot be pleased, can we? We border on insufferable with our attitudes sometimes.

Nevertheless, it is interesting to me how life patterns become so ingrained in us that change to them leaves us in a state of confusion. It becomes hard to order the day because our normal routine has been upset; the things we normally do as a matter of course are not done, and it is as if the absence of those habitual procedures leave us stranded and without a compass.

We manufacture our own personal Snowmageddon sans the snow. We leave our vehicles in the middle of the interstate highway of our lives, and begin to walk . . . rather, trudge through unfamiliar terrain. It is cold, bleak, and disturbing to us.

Give me routine.

I know some folks seem to thrive on the unpredictable, and for them the more uncharted the day – the better! I am not one of those persons.

And I am not ashamed of that!

I dare say that waiting is not in anyone’s hip pocket. As I mentioned in the previous blog article, it is hard for all of us. Clearly, there are lessons to be learned as we wait (if only we will learn them), and we can train ourselves to be more adaptable to altered life situations. And I promise to work on this skill if only . . . if only you would go ahead and give me back my routine (for goodness sake)!

So, here I sit. Here I wait. I thought I could at least write about it as the time passes.

In another hour or two the cold rain will likely begin, followed in the wee hours of the morning by some snowfall (or so they say). Temperatures will hover around freezing in the early morning, then give way to milder temperatures that should melt anything that has accumulated up to that time. So, tomorrow promises to be a bit closer to normal.

But today’s apple cart has been upset. No doubt, the news tonight will be filled with comments of disgruntled persons who will say that officials should have better predicted the weather and given us another normal day of commerce. No matter! Remember, we can’t be pleased.

Soon, my routine will return. And I will probably find that I long for something . . . (you guessed it) . . . unpredictable to occur!

Posted in Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Did You Get the Virus Yet?

Posted on February 8, 2015 by ivanbenson

Intercostal muscle strain. That’s what they call it.

It happens when a 61 year old man tackles a fallen tree with a hand saw, subdues it, cuts it mostly in half, then attempts to military press it over a fence and send it crashing to the earth beneath.

I’m in pretty reasonable shape for my age; I lift weights and walk on the elliptical on a regular basis, am only about 20 pounds overweight, and eat relatively well. But . . . that did not exempt me from the consequences of straining to cut that tree down.

Actually, it had been there for months. And I had put it on my “to do” list. One night during a storm the tree had fallen and I found it the next morning straddling our backyard wooden fence. In short order I went out and shifted its position slightly so that it was resting on one of the wooden support beams concreted into the ground (rather than resting on the flimsy slats). “There! That should hold it until a later date,” I said to myself.

Months went by . . . . Finally, I decided (the fact that my wife kept asking me to deal with it had nothing to do with it) it was time to cut this tree down to size. So, after trimming the other bushes in the backyard I headed for the unwelcome intruder. And . . . you know the rest of that story.

So, about 8 days ago I began to feel a strong pain in my right rib cage. It was in a very definite area, but I could not get to it, could not touch it in a way that identified the exact spot of assault. Ice couldn’t seem to deaden it, and ibuprofen didn’t seem to phase it. If I was sitting I could not usually feel it. But rising from a chair, or with legs extended in bed it was clearly present.

I went to the gym (as was my usual course) and tried to do exercises (much lighter, of course) in an attempt to identify the exact motion that would aggravate the pain. But to no avail. Nothing seemed to reach it. I spoke with several trainers about it, googled it online. Hernia didn’t seem to be the culprit, but intercostal muscle strain sure fit the bill. And there you have it.

With a repair time of anywhere from 3 weeks to 6 months I’ll be good as new. What?

Then to add insult to injury my eldest daughter came down with a nasty virus, then my youngest daughter, and then . . . me. Thankfully, I didn’t suffer with it as violently as they, but it has zapped me, nonetheless. In fact, I am still not over it.

I have been relatively impervious to illness for a number of years now. Oh, on occasion something would put me below par for a bit, but not for long. I have been rather healthy. But embarrassing as it is, I must admit there is a sense of great pride that goes along with not getting sick “right along with everyone else.” [NOTE: The fact that my wife began to have a twinge of it last night, but seems to be fine now, exacerbates that deflation to my pride.]

Then . . . this happens. And I am . . . just like everyone else. Isn’t it amazing how a slight change in a person’s temperature – even just a degree or so – makes them listless and incapacitated? We are delicate beings whose quality of life is maintained within a relatively small spectrum.

“To heck” with schedules, plans, goals and objectives. When you get hurt, or sick, all your best agendizing must be laid aside. It must wait. And you . . . must wait.

I am not a good waiter. No . . . I am not talking about waiting tables (although, that is one job I’ve never done in my life). You know very well what I’m talking about, because you have the same problem, don’t you? None of us is very good at waiting.

And yet . . . some things can only be arrived at by waiting. In those cases no amount of “by hook or crook” can advance us toward our desired destination. Healing comes gradually, and in its own time.

So, there has been lots of Netflix, napping, and trudging to the bathroom and back; a few pieces of toast, boiled eggs, and broth with soda crackers; Gatorade and Sprite, etc. But I am confident that one day we will emerge triumphant into a life that is a bit more fun to live. And, frankly, that’s how it has always worked.

So, have you gotten the virus yet? If not, I hope you don’t! I hope you continue to feel strong, impervious to disease, and unable to identify with the foibles and weaknesses of us lesser beings.

But if you do indeed find yourself flat on your back . . . embrace it as best you can, and remember that “this, too, shall pass.” Oh . . . and be careful using muscles you are not accustomed to using. Hire some professionals like I’m about to hire (to finish the job). It may hurt your pride (and wallet), but . . . your ribs muscles will thank you!

Posted in Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The State of the Onion Message

Posted on January 22, 2015 by ivanbenson

Two nights ago President Obama presented the annual State of the Union message. To say that it “made history” is an understatement! Whether or not you agreed with all the President had to say, or whether you think our country is or is not headed for better days ahead, one thing is certain: we are headed somewhere.

And it behooves us all to take stock from time to time as to where we are headed personally, as families, and as a nation.

This analysis can be called (for lack of a better name) “the State of the Onion.” [NOTE: the unfolding and gradual revelation of various aspects of personal life have been described as something akin to peeling an onion, layer by layer exposing deeper, more private, and more fundamental building blocks of a person’s life]

I usually find State of the Union messages to be very uplifting, encouraging, inspiring, and challenging. I suppose, of course, that is their intended purpose.

But when I look at my own life, the progress (or lack of progress) I have made in my own personal endeavors, and the areas where I need improvement, I sometimes come away a little discouraged. That is, the State of the Onion is not always as inspiring as the State of the Union.

And yet . . . I must assert that improvements and insights into my own personal life have an eventual effect on the State of the Union as well. Unruly citizens make for an unruly nation. There is carryover from my personal life that influences the public policy of the nation of which I am a part.

So, as the New Year has begun, and the State of the Union presented, as religious organizations point followers to renewed dedication, as businesses gear up for the challenges of 2015, and as investors examine and prognosticate about our financial future – I would like to suggest that we not fail to focus on our own personal onion.

The truth is, you are the only person who can peel your onionskin. You can choose to delve deeper into an understanding of yourself, or you can refuse to do so and “go about your days.” You can peel the onion, layer by layer; or you an choose to let it be.

Trouble is, unless you eat like Jim Carrey in The Grinch, onions are not really good unless they have been peeled. Neither are human beings. We all develop a protective skin on the outside; there are no exceptions. But we are of little use until that skin is peeled.

Can it be discouraging to peel your onion? Definitely!

Will personal change be made mandatory by what is revealed? No question about it!

But the benefits, to you and to others, will outweigh all the pain – hands-down.

So, let me encourage you to get out your peeler and start to work. Better days are in your future if you peel the onion. That is a guarantee.

No matter what the true state of the union is in any given year, or in any given administration, you will have control over the state of the onion.

And having that . . . your life, and the lives of those around you, will flourish.

Posted in Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Happy New Year!

Posted on January 2, 2015 by ivanbenson

A New Year! Once again we have embarked on the journey into a brand new year, and the excitement is all around us, isn’t it?

I watched on the television as people on the other side of the world celebrated exuberantly with fireworks, etc. hours ahead of our own festivities. And when the clock tolled midnight here in the Eastern Time Zone the champagne flowed, the tears fell, kisses were shared, and numberless voices welcomed the coming of the New Year!

It’s just another day, isn’t it? I mean, nothing has really changed except the way we write the date on our checks, right?

But something about it engages the hearts and minds of people all around the world, at least in the developed countries. We celebrate. We dream of new adventures. We embark on journeys that we hope will be fulfilling and (truthfully) satisfying beyond our wildest dreams.

We lay aside the sadnesses and disappointments of the previous 365 days, and hope for better days ahead. Interestingly enough, we celebrate this new beginning with a fervor that rivals the piety and religiosity of the most dedicated spiritualists, whether we be men or women of faith, or not. For at least one moment in time . . . as the clock strikes 12 . . . we are unified in our hope, and expectant both as individuals and as a people.

And it is almost magical. At least for a while.

As I pondered this phenomenon I was struck with the realization that every day holds the same promise. Does it not?

Doesn’t each new sunrise provide us with the exquisite opportunity to right our wrongs, change our ways, and revitalize our relationships?

What if we somehow were able to harness that New Year’s Eve excitement? What if, as individuals, and as a people, we learned to see each New Day in that same light? Wow!

And why not?

Isn’t that what the saints and thinkers we most admire are known for? Living in the moment? Making each new day the most special day yet? Perfecting the art of valuing other persons in a way that empowers them and revives them? Fully actualized and present in every possible moment?

Well? What’s the secret? What’s the magic mantra that makes it all happen? How do I receive this monumental realization that is bypassed by so many? [One must ponder that for one’s self].

“The future isn’t what it used to be. Only today is all that’s promised me,” sang the Judds many years ago.

The fascinating and incomprehensibly beautiful thing about life is that we receive a daily reprieve with each sunrise, a brand new chance to change our world, an opportunity to better ourselves and others that happens so regularly (like clockwork) that we fail to sense its awesome quality.

That’s why the only New Year’s Resolution that makes any real sense to me comes from Ebenezer Scrooge: “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!” May we follow his example.

So . . . Happy New Year!

Today. And . . . every day.

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Gift

Posted on December 20, 2014 by ivanbenson

This spring I will complete my 12th year as an entertainer at Stone Mountain Park. It has been a wonderful experience in countless ways.

About 10 years ago I was privileged to work with master story teller, Tom Marquart, as he told the story of the birth of Jesus . And not long after that my friend Scott Rousseau wrote a version of the Christmas story that we began to use every year at the park. It was called “The Gift.”

“The Gift” has been through several revisions over the years, and it has become a staple at Stone Mountain Park during the Christmas season. If you ride the train around the mountain after 6:00 PM at night you will hear Grandpa Lacey (or one of his relatives) telling the story of the birth of Christ; it is a homespun conflation of the celebrated tale, mixed with country humor and charm.

The point is obvious, of course. The gift is Jesus; the gift is the offer of eternal life. And, as Grandpa Lacey says, “There just ain’t no price tag you can put on that one.”

As I sit in my den this morning, surrounded by beautiful Christmas tree lights and decorations, I am reminded that my life is (and has been) one massive conglomeration (for lack of a better term) of gifts.

It is simply astounding!

The places I’ve lived, the people I’ve known, the opportunities I’ve had, the sunrises and sunsets I’ve witnessed, the literally countless enjoyments I’ve savored for 61 years . . . the GIFTS of my life have been amazing.

We talk of gift giving and receiving especially at this time of year, and we have created the term re-gifting (for those not-so-special presents we pass on to others); we gift-wrap and we speak of a person’s giftedness (when looking for talent). Clearly, a gift is something the recipient does not earn; it is not payment for services rendered.

Thus, the beauty of the term. It has not been sullied over the years – at least not yet. Non-profit organizations continue to engage patrons by asking them to make a “gift” (as opposed to a donation), and fundraisers are careful to employ the word “gift” when helping persons to draw up a will that includes their organization.

We love gifts!

Grandpa Lacey asks the crowd on the train, “What’s your very favorite thing about the holidays?” And he knows that at some point (often right away) someone will say, “gifts” or “presents.”

And at that juncture the Par-cans dim, and he shares with them his gift, the gift of a story.

And quite a story it is! Whether or not you believe it to be true in every detail (I know some of my readers do not) there is an engaging charm about it, and the traditions surrounding it are enrapturing. As the character played by James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams says, “the memories will be so thick” you will have to “brush them away from your face.”

The “gift” is life.

It is shared by believers and unbelievers alike. For believers it is a gift that extends from here to beyond the grave; for unbelievers it is a gift only during his/her life on this earth. Nevertheless, it is a gift: unearned and undeserved. And it is LIFE.

As I have shared “The Gift” at Stone Mountain Park for these many years I have paid attention to the fact that I never tire of telling the story (there have been seasons when we’ve told it as many as 350 times). I think I know why it doesn’t tire me – at least in part. Because when I tell the story something happens between me and the audience.

I’m not talking about hocus pocus; rather, there is a profound sense we share in those moments – the sense that we are discussing the most elemental ingredients of the universe. We are discussing life.

And we are discussing an aspect of life that makes no sense apart from the existence of ultimate love and altruism: we are discussing the giving of gifts, i.e. giving to others without measuring their deservedness, and without regard to compensation.

We celebrate giving in this season. And I get to tell trainloads of people about it!

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

No Room at the Inn

Posted on December 4, 2014 by ivanbenson

As the Christmas season approaches, and colder weather creeps in on us, my thoughts turn to . . . rodents in the chimney.

Please understand, I would rather write about something else, today. Almost anything else. But the truth is, this morning when I got up to begin the day my plans were trumped by the encroachment of a varmint in the chimney, probably an R.O.U.S. (for more information, see The Princess Bride).

He is clearly above the chimney flue and not in the firebox itself (thank goodness), but he [I apologize for any sexist slur implied; I could just as easily have said “she” but women don’t like being compared with rodents as a rule] has been quite busy building, tearing down, straightening his living space, or . . . I don’t know what all else.

I decided that a trip to Kroger for a combustible firelog would be in order. My plan was to heat (or smoke) this guy out of his new found apartment forthwith. I purchased the log, placed it in the firebox, lit the match, and waited with great anticipation for the heat and smoke to rise through the flue, knowing I would be delighted to hear the scurrying paws (or whatever it is they have) as the unwanted intruder departed, running for his life.

Instead . . .

To my chagrin I heard increased activity from the little interloper. After this persisted for some time I realized that I had just provided what must have been welcome warmth to the busy creature. I could just imagine him saying, “Wow! I had no idea this apartment came with central heat!”

There is no clear place of entry from the outside (that I can see), but there must be some way he entered our domain. [I knew I should have left up those NO TRESPASSING signs. Now look what’s happened!]

When Joseph and Mary made their trek to Bethlehem lo these many centuries ago they searched for an Inn in which Mary could give birth to the baby Jesus. And finding “no room at the Inn” they settled for a stable, and laid the babe in a manger, a feed trough for animals.

And I suppose the unidentified creature inhabiting my chimney has done something similar. Although, I suspect that just as soon as he can get into the Inn he will do so!

You may not appreciate the fact that I have compared the rodent intrusion of my residence with the birth of the Christ child in a stable, but . . . [Work with me here, OK? I’m trying hard to make lemonade from lemons, all right?].

I suppose the besetting of my plans is something I should realize is always a possibility. And that implies a resetting of my plans, sometimes done (as they say) “on the fly.”

The fact that Joseph and Mary could not find a birthing place befitting the King of the Universe seems incredible at first blush. But seen in its larger context it becomes remarkably fitting. And so . . . I will try to see my situation in a similar light, today.

As stated in the previous blog entry (Casting Call), my life is not a script over which I have absolute control; sometimes I have no control whatsoever. And truthfully, (although I would love to give it a try) if I wrote the script of my life and had the power to make it come about as written, it would not be nearly as interesting, not nearly as helpful to others, not nearly as transforming for me – as the one I am living.

So . . . I will accept (albeit a bit begrudgingly) this little trespasser, and deal with whatever havoc he may wreak. Face it! At worst, he has given me something to blog about, today. And at best? Well . . . we’ll just have to see how this one turns out, won’t we?

It’s just that way when . . . there is no room at the Inn.

Posted in Comedy, Family History, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Casting Call

Posted on November 20, 2014 by ivanbenson

Yesterday one of my former students lost her husband to a heart attack; a young family is now fatherless. A good friend in his 60s just lost his brother to cancer early today.

As I write, my wife and I are sitting in a RaceTrac C-Store, enjoying free Wi-Fi and a cup of coffee; Carly Simon just got through singing, “You’re So Vain,” on the overhead sound system, and the atmosphere is inviting and comfortable.

It is a beautiful fall day outside, with milder temperatures than we’ve had recently. While we are enjoying our hint of spring, New York is still feeling the effects of record snowfall.

The President will address the issue of immigration tonight; politics and world events trudge along. Israel was bombed a day or so ago; many are suffering the loss of loved ones. And families across our country are looking toward the beloved tradition of Thanksgiving next week.

Have you ever paid much attention to the credits at the end of a movie? I am always fascinated at the number of jobs and positions. One that constantly intrigues me is “Casting.” You know, the person(s) who decides who gets to play which role.

Clearly, by the time the movie hits the screen any decision about roles is ancient history. Once those roles have been set, and contracts signed, actors are not at liberty to “try out” for another part; changes like that are not made in a willy-nilly fashion.

When the casting is done well . . . the movie is usually a success, assuming (that is) the screen writing, directing, camera work, sound work, makeup, stunt work, editing, location selection, wardrobe, catering, transportation, etc. are all done well, too.

There are lots of pieces in the puzzle, aren’t there? More than I ever realized.

Our lives are like that.

Sometimes I ask myself what my role is in this life. Who am I here to support in this “all the world’s a stage” existence? Do I have a speaking part? Or am I just an extra?

Am I a principal whose part is crucial to the storyline? And no matter what my role is determined to be, can I play it in such a way as to make the other actors’ and technicians’ jobs easier?

I am at a loss as to how to comfort my former student and my good friend. The storyline has moved forward in their lives, doubtless in a way they would rewrite if they had the chance. But the roles have been set; the parts are being played. And the story keeps moving ahead, unfolding as it proceeds; baffling us, surprising us, and sometimes overwhelming us.

None of us is the director. None of us is the screen writer. Nor are we technicians in this drama we call life. We are the actors. There was a casting call. We responded to it.

Now we must play the role we have been given.

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 11 Comments

Imagine That!

Posted on October 16, 2014 by ivanbenson

My youngest daughter has not yet married; she is twenty-eight.

Of course, not everyone wants to be married. And not marrying certainly doesn’t make someone a second class citizen.

But . . . she wants to marry. She wants to share her life with a man she admires and adores, and she wants to have children. But times have changed, haven’t they?

Maybe like me, you haven’t noticed that marriage rates have been falling for several years now.

One source says that 75% of all women and 50% of all men in the 1950s were married by the time they reached their mid-twenties. In the United States (in 2011) the median marrying age for women was 26.5, and 28.7 for men. Just 51% of adults 18 and older are married (as opposed to 72% in 1960).

Marriage rates fell a full 5% from 2009 to 2010 here in the states. A mere 20% of adults 18-29 are currently married (as opposed to 59% in 1960).

A 2010 survey found 40% of Americans expressing the notion that marriage was becoming obsolete (only 28% said that in 1970); still, 61% of those who had never married said they would like to marry someday. Of course, of the 40% mentioned above most are unmarried, single parents, or cohabiting couples. And a high percentage of these are young and have less formal education.

Divorce rates soared in the 1960s and 70s, leading some to think that fear of divorce has created the current slowdown in marriages. The rate of divorce has dropped, but clearly that is due in part to the slowdown in marriage rates, as well as the increase in cohabitation, and the changing views on sexual behavior and the birth of children.

I am no sociologist (that should be clear from what you’ve read so far).

So, let me cut to the chase (so to speak). Because my interest in writing today is primarily fueled by the disappointment of a daughter that I love more than the moral arguments for and against the institution of marriage, sexual mores, and the life of an unborn child.

Here is the skinny on the matter. My daughter is sandwiched in an evolving era in our history where traditional values and practices are opposed by modern “enlightened” values and practices at every turn. She works with, and is friends with, a number of lovely, intelligent young women who would love to be married; that is, she is not the “odd one” who can’t seem to find a man. Many share her dilemma.

Many of my daughter’s girlfriends are able to secure “dates” but not able to secure the marriages they seek. Men and women are now accustomed to sexual privileges that once were held sacred in marriage (we tried to destroy this notion in the 1960s and we were quite successful); career goals are now shared equally by men and women, and so the “goal” of marriage for women has been put on the back burner for many. So . . . why marry?

What is the point of marriage?

If marriage is obsolete, destined for eventual divorce; if sexual privileges are available (and considered completely respectable) apart from the establishment of a doomed institution; if career and individual financial stability are a higher priority than any permanent relationship; and if the birth and raising of children can be taken care of adequately by single parents and/or gay and lesbian couples willing to adopt – why marry?

No doubt, marriage is being obsoleted. It is being made into something out-of-step with our current world. Each year it appears to be more and more out-dated, outmoded. But make no mistake: obsolescence is in the eye of the beholder. And it matters not how many people nod in agreement with the error of their ways; if it is error, it will still be error.

I think what might be missing in our society today is – commitment. You know, it’s funny. Right off the bat that word is offensive to some, isn’t it?

Years ago there existed a good bit more loyalty in general. People tended to purchase food from the same grocer, buy books from local book sellers, look for cars at the local car lot. Now we are more cosmopolitan, more world-aware, more willing to buy from a dot com that gives us a cut rate price. We are wal-martish amazon-lovers and we will defend to the death our right to pay the lowest price we can find.

We have identified ourselves for decades now as “throw away” consumers; now we sing songs about the times before everything was “automatic,” before everything we ate was “instant.” We no longer expect products to last a long time; it is cheaper to replace them than repair them. When the latest new electronic marvel hits the market we stand in long lines anxiously waiting to replace the old marvel in our hands (and it isn’t even broken yet).

But I wonder . . . have we embraced the same social/economic point of view when it comes to relationships, marriage in particular (although friendships are probably affected in the same way). Are we essentially persons who keep “our options open”? Or are we essentially persons who don’t look back once we’ve put our hand to the plow?

When close relationships become challenging (and they always do), do you walk away from them, or does the dissolving of a close relationship even cross your mind? Do your intimate, personal relationships “appreciate” with time, or “depreciate” with time?

We stand knee deep in a culture whose base of operation is founded on the notion that we don’t have to continue in anything that displeases us; that our inalienable rights (life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness) endorse flimsy and conditional commitments; that there is no measurable value in staying with a sinking ship (“sorry for that,” ship captains of the past), and we worship the idea of “free” freedom.

Let me tell you about the neighborhood where I have lived for almost 20 years now. There are 21 houses in our small subdivision. Two houses are currently vacant, under renovation. Of the 19 inhabited houses, 8 (that’s 42%) have been inhabited by the same families for 20 or more years; 7 (that’s 37%) have been inhabited by the same families for 5 or more years [and 2 of those families are made up of children who actually grew up in that neighborhood]; 4 (that’s 21%) are relatively recent additions, having been in the neighborhood less than 5 years.

Neighborhoods are not marriages, but they can be very close associations. I have neighbors whose children and/or grandchildren would feel safe and comfortable coming to our house in a crisis. We depend upon, support, and look out for one another; we are a self-appointed “neighborhood watch” group.

We never stood at an altar and recited neighborhood vows to one another while surrounded by witnesses. But we are committed to one another. Had we actually engaged in a ceremony like that, we might be even more committed. And that is in spite of the fact that sometimes our neighbors (never us, of course) do some really crazy and annoying things: where they park their cars, how they deal with their pets, when they like to make loud noises, how they keep their lawns, etc. We are, indeed, a social melting pot.

In schools we used to pledge allegiance to a flag. In small towns we used to stop traffic voluntarily when there was a funeral procession. We used to be lifelong members of one or more organizations, and we used to enjoy lifelong friendships. And there was a time when we used to stay married to the same person for 50 years or more.

Is that because relationships were just easier to maintain in the past?

I think not.

I think it is because we do not understand, nor do we even want to understand what is involved in total commitment. Until we do . . . our culture will continue its erosion, and our march toward self-destruction will one day be realized.

The history books will contain the following line: “Like the ancient Roman civilization, the United States of America had a good beginning, but crumbled under the weight of its own quest to grant individual freedom.”

Our neighborhood would crumble, too, if there was no commitment, no sense of the sanctity of community; if we decided to move away every time the neighbor’s dog pooped in our yard. Or if we found a less expensive house in another neighborhood and left this one without considering the value of the relationships in our current situation as a part of the equation.

A Commitment of Permanency. Giving our word (and keeping it). Making promises before a crowd of witnesses. Staying the course. Putting our hand to the plow (and not looking back).

The country group Diamond Rio released a song in 1997 called “Imagine That.” Some of the lyrics describe our marriage culture quite accurately:

  • “They say they will, when they won’t”
  • “They say I do, then they don’t”

And then the chorus: “A love that lasts forever . . . Imagine that!”

So, my daughter is waiting, “committed to commitment” (as a friend put it), hopeful she will find someone like-minded in the not-too-distant future.

Social changes are always the result of a plethora of factors. And the history books will attempt to evaluate and tell the tale at some distant future date. But I wonder . . .

Will a lack of commitment of epidemic proportions be identified as our culprit?

Imagine that!

Posted in Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

Ashes, 2 Ashes

Posted on September 2, 2014 by ivanbenson

It happened while I was watching a favorite TV series the other night. A young man was given his estranged father’s ashes to scatter as a memorial to him. He chose Eagle Lake, a special place in Alberta where his family had experienced “better days.”

I noted the reverence with which he handled that urn, and I instantly identified with him; I felt the sacredness of the moment.

It is marvelous to me that no matter the culture, no matter the religious or non-religious environment of a given place, the remains of a human being are considered sacred. [Of course, I am exempting in this statement the brutal, insensitive, and insulting treatment of the dead exhibited by persons bent on vengeful and angry retribution. I speak here of the norms of societies, not the aberrancies.]

I remember vividly how I felt when I saw my own father’s ash-filled cherry wood box in Tucson, Arizona. And when the time came for his memorial in Georgia (13 months after his death), I clearly recall how I felt picking up the cardboard box that contained that wooden box, mailed all the way from Arizona. My uncle was with me on that occasion; I remember we spoke of the unique feeling I was having, holding my Dad’s ashes. We may even have done so in somewhat subdued tones.

Because there is a sacredness about human remains. There just is.

When mother passed away several years later I brought her ashes home in a rectangular black hard plastic container. The ashes themselves were in a heavy clear plastic bag inside the container. And my wife said, “Don’t bring those in the house.” She was frightened, uncomfortable, ill-at-ease around them.

So, they stayed in the garage; the dark garage. And frankly . . . I felt guilty about that.

Because, you see – there is a sacredness built into my psyche about those remains.

When the date came for my mother’s memorial, my brother and I went into the garage together, and together we removed the plastic bag from the container, then maneuvered the bag of ashes into the narrow neck of the urn my uncle had purchased for the memorial.

The urn was carefully carried to the car (along with all the legal paperwork that goes with human remains – you see, even the law of the land affirms the sacredness of human remains), then placed on a stand at the memorial site. For the interment it was placed in a small urn vault, then carefully lowered into the ground. Respectfully.

And that is as it should be.

Life is sacred.

When life is valued properly there is respect; honor is fitting. It almost dwarfs the character of the individual who has died. And that amazes me.

It is as if life itself is so sacred its value cannot
be bound by the mortal container it enlivens.

I know that in our society some of the norms of the past have changed. People seldom get all dressed up when going out to dinner, or to special events, etc. And many of the social formalities of the past have been replaced by a casualness that frankly . . . I often prefer.

But . . . I do not want to change norms about the sanctity of life. Or respect for the dead. That is sacred ground.

When I was a boy I was taught that you should not step on a grave in a cemetery. Oh sure, there are myths and all sorts of other reasons given for such a custom. But . . . to this day I try to observe that custom. And I don’t think that is so bad.

We need to honor the remains of our loved ones who have departed. Abraham Lincoln pronounced sacredness on the ground at Gettysburg in honor of those who died there. And then he gave a charge to the living.

 And I wish to give a charge as well. We must always honor the memory of the dead, and in addition we must make it our goal to treat the living with that same sanctity, that same value, that same devotion.

Posted in Aging Parents, Family History, Fathers, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments