Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Splitting Hairs

 

     “The truth is an arrow, and the gate is narrow that it passes through…” Bob Dylan

***

      Splitting hairs…we do it all the time, splitting differences, compromising on this or that, keeping peace as best we can. If we can grasp the metaphor, the ‘hair’ is the truth, and the closer we get to it, the hotter things get.

      We’re sitting around the table, three guys, eating hot wings, chewing the fat and dissecting ‘hot’ topics, topics like monetary policy, ‘supreme’ court values and certain women. We’re not looking for consensus. It can’t be found, especially in discussing women.

      Now ‘chewing the fat’ is not a literal description of male discourse, maybe ‘hashing things out’ is more decorously put. But proper decorum is not part of the male makeup yet. Female attempts to accomplish this transition have so far only resulted in utter failure and have driven the proclivity underground.  

      Idiomatic ‘Southernisms’ aren’t heard rolling off the tongues of women. Only the more subtle roll-offs like, “Now really, how do you feel about such and such, or this or that?” Such opens the discussion, but then they step back, see where it leads. Money is an unmentionable subject…people are fair game. So much for my knowledge of a woman’s means of splitting hairs.   

      Back to the table. We dispense with football scores, yesterday’s stock market report and move on to past college-days exploits, all duly embellished. Then money takes the stage.

      Now there is a lot of hairs to be split, but when it’s all sorted out, it’s money, money for scores as well as sustenance. So much so that one might say that the ‘hair’ is not only ‘truth,’ but ‘money’ is as well.

      I recall a mediation I attended to split hairs with a fellow who had claimed he had been wronged. He wouldn’t accept the fact that he was plain dumb with his money. No, he wanted a pound of flesh and a venue to air his complaint by blaming fifteen folks who were part of a so-called clandestine ‘conspiracy.’ The odds were poor for him, but he was stubborn and plowed on without a full knowledge of the facts.

      In mediations the purpose is to arrive at the truth, and the truth is usually measured in money and who gets to pay. As the Book of Ecclesiastes so succinctly puts it, “Wine maketh merry, but money answereth all things.” Read it for yourself.

      Anyway, when the fat hit the fire, his facts were fiction. The insurance company’s rep lay quietly back in the weeds, cringing, hopeful of a resolution before he was called upon to pay the tariff.  The verdict? The mediator split the hair. The insurance company paid half; the fellow ate the other half. Justice affirmed.  

      No one understood better how to split hairs with money than my daddy.  That story shortly.

      One of the most vivid pictures of splitting hairs was when King Solomon, the Divinely-anointed Arbiter of Truth in the tribe, set the standard for it.

      Two women argued over who was the real mother of a baby. He resolved the case simply by calling for a sword, whereupon he proposed to cleave the baby in half and give each woman half. You know the rest of that story. 

      But life is not all about money or cleaving babies in half to resolve disputes. In fact, it’s mostly about the small things that get resolved every day. Simple things, like what’s for lunch, or who gets to do the grocery shopping, or a book review, or which tv show to watch. The ‘hair’ of truth is just not that difficult to split.

      Back to my daddy’s hair-splitting on the issue of money some years ago.

      “Son, things are getting expensive. I bought your mother a birthday present. It cost $200.00.”

      “Hey, dad, that’s nothing. Why, we eat more for lunch than that.”

      He looks puzzled, confused as to how his son has become so profligate. Depression-era people like him could make a good lunch off of saltines and a can of sardines.

      But the man had balance, you can say that for him, and conflict resolution talents. He looked at me for about 16 seconds before replying.

      “Well, son, I guess $200 won’t buy much these days, but it’s sure is hard to come by.”  It takes a razor to split a hair with more finesse than this.

      And I knew right then that this was the last time he’d ever finance me out of the ditch of debt.

***

      Good luck with whatever hair you’re splitting, and remember, “The truth is an arrow, and the gate is narrow that it passes through.”

 

 Bud Hearn

September 30, 2020

 

 

Friday, September 25, 2020

Stranger by the Day

 

     As if times weren’t already strange, they keep getting stranger. 

      We’ve been living cooped up like caged animals, needing relief, finding little. We’ve hidden behind masks for so long that it’s become de rigueur, the fashion of the times.

      Not that wearing masks is a new phenomenon, just one for another reason.  We’ve sought escape behind them ever since we looked at ourselves in the mirror at about age six and discovered, “Hey, I’m different.” 

      According to La Rochfoucald, the 17th century philosopher, all of society consists of assumed personalities, since everyone puts on a personality and outward appearance to look like what they want to be seen.

      Pride is a kaleidoscope that transforms itself into many patterns, particularly when disguised to trick others when masquerading as humility. Are we really side-stepping people to keep social distance or is this just another way to mask humility?

      Oh, well, masks do assure some means of silence.  Who can breathe, much less talk plainly under one? And for the non-self-assured among us, silence is a pretty safe policy if we’re unsure of ourselves.

      It takes a seasoned eye reader to make out what’s hiding under the mask, a smile, a frown or sneer. It’s easy to get away with things, like ignoring someone without appearing rude.

      But masks are not the sole source of these strange times. Human nature is. There is a strange analogy to the Stone Age going around.

      A friend called recently, said he gets home one day to find the house dark, shades pulled, candles flickering, and walls filled with what he called ‘cave drawings.’ A small rodent roasts on a rotating spit over an open fire in the fireplace. Graffitied photos of political candidates are glued to the furniture while his spouse wears animal skins.

      I ask what he makes of this strange coincidence. He allows as to the notion that self-isolation and the constant bombardment of Fox News reduces the intellect to the rudiments of a recurring Neolithic time. Says Amazon has picked up on the trend. Order your skins before they’re sold out.  

      He refers me to the life of Ra Paulette, the artist who lived isolated for ten years in a sandstone cave in New Mexico making latter-day cave drawings for posterity. And Covid had yet to arrive.

      The advent of a vaccine is all the rage now. Sadly, who’s gonna be the guinea pig to test the cure? Is there yet an antidote for the outbreak of viral political monologues? November 3rd will soon be here…hunker down.

      The latest weird call I got was from Jimmy, a good friend who has been lawyering too long. His addiction to memorizing book and page of the criminal codes has changed. He now seeks legal justifications for the crimes of deranged criminals. He has obviously undergone some spiritual transformation or found peace with self-justification for past acquittals.

      Hey, guess what?  I joined the Sand Mountain No Hellers Salvation Assembly. My sins are wiped out”

      What? Sins are like shadows, forever yours. There are volumes written of your transgressions. An accounting is coming. No such thing as expurgation. Forgiveness is a long way off.”

      Not now. No hell for me, brother, I’ve suffered enough here already.”

      “Hey, back to earth, bubba.  You give up Zen and motorcycle maintenance for this? You have to face the consequences, there’s no easy way out.  What is this ‘No Hellers Salvation Assembly’ about anyway?”

      Hell is here, all around us, we’re living in it,” he says.

      “I agree, but have you not read Dante’s rings of hell? We’re only in the first ring, brother. You have a long way to go.  It’s all downhill. No absolution until you pay the last farthing.”  

       “No sir. I contributed heavily, pledged the proceeds from my last settlement. No more association with murderers, fornicators, idolaters and liars.”

     “Well, life’s sure gonna be boring for you on this side of the grass. But what about the lake of fire, the weeping, the gnashing of teeth, the worms, the bottomless pit? And the seven woes for lawyers, things like straining for gnats, swallowing camels?”

      “Well, we still filter client’s bank accounts and occasionally swill a lot of Corona, but none of that counts anymore.”

      He cuts the conversation short. “Gotta go, heading to Alabama for the Micro Midget Wrestling Federation match.”

                                                                         **********

      Life’s going to get even stranger if things don’t change soon.  What’s behind your mask?

 

 Bud Hearn

September 25, 2020

Monday, September 14, 2020

Waitin' Around

 

Have you ever wondered how much time is squandered just waiting around, for something, anything or nothing at all? Shocking!

 **********

What better way to pass a rainy Sunday afternoon than making up limericks?  Beats crossword puzzles. Here are a few from a brain of nonsense.


I’m waiting to see what’s about to go down

No way to figure it out.

Just wait for a sign

A limerick to rhyme,

And ready for a good walkabout.

 

I’m waiting around for the demon to give ground

And head for its bottomless home,

And give me some space

There’re still dreams to chase

I’ve gnawed my nails to the bone. 

 

We’re waiting around for Moses to come down

And plead to the Pres for us all.

We’re tired of the masks,

It’s too much to ask.

To hell with the axe, let it fall. 

 

I’m searching for apps to give me a clue

To help get through the pain.

My joints are aflame

I’m out of lidocaine

It can drive a sane man insane.

 

I’m waiting around for the music to stop

I have my eye on a chair.

The Dow soars too high,

I’m afraid it will die

My stash is just mostly thin air.

 

I wait no longer for fame to arrive

It’s much too late for that.

My moment of glory

It’s the same sad story

I’ll soon have to pass the hat.

 

I’m waiting around for my ballot to come

To save me from standing in line.

If I didn’t know better

I’d blame the weather

But Pelosi has her own plan in mind.

 

I’m waiting around for the smoke to clear

Common sense to enter the fray.

Common jobs are praised

Common ground’s not a grave

And skies are not cloudy all day.

 

I’m waiting around for truth to be found

And experts are sent back to school.

We’ve followed their guise

It’s a full pack of lies

It seems we’re the greater fool.

 

I’m waiting around with my ear to the ground

To hear what’s coming my way.

The rumble is loud

It comes from the clouds

I think He has something to say.

 

I’m waiting around for moods to calm down

And give us some space to breathe.

When attitude turns mild

And puts on a smile

The mobs will cease to seethe.

 

I’m waiting around for mountains to move

And water gets turned into wine.

When all lives matter

Cuts through the chatter

Consensus will be easier to find.

 

I no longer wait for my ship to come in

For wishes all to come true.

For lately it seems

They were all only dreams

And ghosts were my motley crew.

 

I’m waiting around for the sun to go down

When the blue neon light sets the hue.

I head for a brew,

I hope to see you

And talk about life all anew.

 

**********    

    

Waitin’ around…what better way to let things just sort themselves out on their own? They always do. Enjoy yourself in the process.

 

 Bud Hearn

September 14, 2020