Connecting the Dots

The time has come to begin my last big writing project -- connecting the dots of my long and adventurous life. Born in the middle of 1927, the year of the Great Flood in the Mississippi delta until -- I've reached 82 and am now aiming for the Big 90, which would put my exit date somewhere around 2017.

By 2017, Obama will have finished his second term, and, as it is with most Presidents in our long U.S. history, a record of mixed results but with an overall approval rate above average. His successor might be his current Vice President, Joe Biden, or some other stellar Democrat. by the Presidential election of 2016; the Republicans probably will have gained some grudging approval during the previous decade, but not enough to win a sufficient number of independents -- unless, the relative peace of our time has given way to an erupted enraged electorate ready to elect a demagogue promising miracles for fascist regimentation and suppression of the sloppy but ultimately effective ways of the democratic process.

By 2017, the threat of dire environmental degradation will have become more than a threat but an undeniable catastrophe well on its way. What will the political discourse be at that time? Where will we be? Our health will be compromised that's a sure bet. Will our mobility, our quality of life, be sustainable? Will we be caretakers rather than caregivers?

Mike will be 62, near retirement; Robin 60. Geoff will be 56, John 66. Kacey and Kolten 25, Laila 22, Kaden 14, Samantha 12. What will be their prospects? What will they be into? What their destinations?

Connecting the Dots is my expression of continuity for my descendants. Maybe not our children and grandchildren; perhaps, those that follow the blood line no matter how thin. The prospects for a sustained and stabilized civilization are about as good as any time since 1945, the beginning of the atomic era, and about the time the international community of scientists began collecting data worldwide, which was the beginning of our current status which foresees continued peril of the human race, if not all living matter.

These are exciting days -- hardly a day passes than something seemingly momentous happens, or, rather, we hear about it, read about it. One can ride the waves of ebb and flow surf of news, like news surfers, playing with the edge of now, but, hardly intensely experiencing now. For news is never simultaneous with now, unless one finds himself or herself as the news item. In which case, reading the news is all about the past, not the present, and certainly not tomorrow.

I could go on that way. I can and probably will try to make more accessible the written works I've produced over the years. Right now, dissemination is virtually nil, but at least, to have the stuff on more than my own shelves is a worthwhile pursuit.

What's not readily available is the store of memories up in my cranium. I'd like to retrieve as much of that treasure as I can (while I can), in order to provide my descendants with the ability to touch and feel this time period in one ancestor's life. I have reached this conclusion based on my realization of how derelict I' was in the past not to have recorded Q and As with my own parents, including reminiscing about their childhood and their memories of their parents and siblings, their timer, their cultural backgrounds.

I have some letters from Inez, my mother; some correspondence with Barbara, my sister; some family photos; some genealogy dates of our family tree and its cross-fertilization; but mostly memories. I think putting together a kind of connected, though not sequential, narrative of my life would be useful for my descendants to know more than they would otherwise, about their people. Closer knit tribes and communities have oral history to remind themselves of their lineage; we're a nation of broken tribes, of extended families. So, it is more appropriate for us floating gypsies to dig post holes in which to dump our memories.

This endeavor -- Connecting the Dots -- I hope will encourage others now perched in this particular family tree to contribute, in a way in which we can all share.

But, before I can freely embark on this new fork in the narrative road, I must deal with that weird Stranger, Mr. Pant, Ahque Pant. Its been many months since I've seen him. Since I last saw him, we've elected a new President, Barack Obama. He and his administration are trying mightily to repair the damage this nation suffered during eight years of craven mismanagement. We find ourselves in the worst recession in more than seven decades. In two tenacious costly regional wars. Actual unemployment over ten percent. The negative effects of global warming are accelerating and the threat of nuclear annihilation remains the x-factor in our calculations.

It's in this context that I'll embark on this, probably the last leg, of my journey here on our fragile planet Earth. My hope is to have cobbled enough posts that serve to connect the dots to give one a fair portrait of one lad's journey, interesting and variable, but not very remarkable. In that context, I'm happy to consider myself typical, if not more or less normal.