#2 Pencils

Something came up the other day that has given me something to think about. Since long before I was born, it seems that every school supply list includes #2 pencils. That was the only kind of pencil I remember while I was in school and my kids use the same kind. Sure, they may look different (colors and pictures on the outside instead of the odd yellow color - a color I only ever see on #2 pencils by the way), but they are still #2 pencils.

Why? What is it about #2 pencils? Why do schools all across this country request/require #2 pencils? Because they have proven to be the best. They have stood the test of time. They are recognized as the standard.

"So what?" you may be asking yourself. Well, in this mortal life, there are certain moral values that have also stood the test of time. Some people really do believe that religion is "the opiate of the masses" and is nothing more than delusional fantasies or wishful thinking (or at the worst, hate-mongering). However, I don't "cling" to old ideas just because they are old (there are plenty of old, bad ideas), but because over the years, centuries, and millenia they have proven themselves to be the best way to happiness; that is what I want, to be happy and to have my family be happy. Sure, there are sacrifices to be made, but isn't it worth it?

As odd as it sounds, I am comparing my religious values to a #2 pencil. Dependable. Proven. Standard. And it comes with an eraser when you make mistakes...

Mellow May

I'm currently sitting at my computer listening to a James Taylor CD and feeling pretty mellow about life in general at the moment. After that, I'll probably put on my B.B. King/Eric Clapton CD...that's just the kind of mood I'm in.

I've purposely not writen anything in the past few days - irritation with current events have been running high. But right now, I'm trying to forget all that and just "chill". 

In other news, it's supposed to rain most of this week. Fine by me. I rather enjoy the rain. Besides it helps our newly planted vegetation. Speaking of which, our carrots, beans, and zuchinni have sprouted. The onions, lettuce, and strawberries seem to be doing fine as well. The tomatoes are still dead, however; gotta get those replaced.

The Modern Procrustean Bed

One rather obscure Greek legend deals with Theseus (ya know, the guy who used a ball of string to find his way out of the labyrinth after killing the minotaur who lived in it) and a bandit by the name of Procrustes. Procrustes had a bed that fit him perfectly - and he thought everyone should be just as perfect. So whenever anyone would come by, he would capture them and tie them to his bed. If that person was too short, Procrustes would stretch them until they fit; if the "guest" was too long, Procrustes would cut off an appropriate amount from the legs. Thus, "perfection" (i.e. conformity) was achieved...well, until Theseus came along and killed him, that is.

It seems in our world today, there are far too many who would take up the mantle of Procrustes and attempt to make everyone the same. It doesn't seem to matter if the process is painful, tortuous, or downright barbaric, as long as everyone fits the same standards. Fortunately, these Procrustean wannabes don't normally resort to physical mutilation. That would be too blantant and the people would rebel immediately. Unfortunately, we have to deal with the more subtle aspects of the Bed of Procrustes: Multiculturalism, political correctness, moral relativism, etc.

Too many people (and I'm not just talking about politicians here - although they can be among the most visible proponents of this way of thinking) apply their pre-conceived notions about how I should act and think, because that is the way they act and think. They do this through the redefining of words and concepts (such as "family", "modesty", "conservative", to name a few), revising history (the demonizing of the American founding fathers for example), denying the existence of evil, believing faith and reason are mutually exclusive, ignoring some laws while enforcing those that are currently popular, and (and this may seem odd coming from a self-defined champion of individuality) praising extreme individualism over duty to others and commitment to a set of values.

If you don't fit these ideas, you obviously must be blind, stupid, ignorant, out of touch, oppressive, repressive, regressive, unacceptable, unsociable, unhappy, a misogynist, and a kicker of small puppies. 

Yes, the spirit of Procrustes is alive and well.

But I refuse to just make this post about pointless complaining. I refuse to bow before the pressures of modern culture. I refuse to deny what I believe is right and true and good. I refuse to stand on the corner and point the finger of shame on those that don't believe as I do. I refuse to fall into hypocritical self-righteousness.

I will do everything in my power to be an example of what a Man is for my daughters and sons. I will teach my kids my religious and moral values, so they know where I stand (and why) when it come time for them to make their own choices. I will continue to enjoy who I am, where I live, and why I live the way I do. I will understand that everyone is different. I will believe everyone is a child of God. And by so doing, I will trust that one day the Bed of Procrustes will no longer be used as a means for achieving unity.

City Boy, Rural Dreams

I was dreaming about farms this evening. That is something I haven't done in quite awhile. Not only has owning my first house taken the wind out of my sails a bit, but seeing how nearly incompetent I am when it came to remodling the basement and general house repair almost killed the dream completely.

Not tonight, however.

I told Leslie that I wanted to get some chickens. After she recovered from the panicked, deer-in-the-headlights look, she made a sound that was vaguely reminescent of the tone people use when a stranger starts talking to you and you don't want to talk to a stranger but don't want to seem rude. I'm pretty sure she thought she had married an idiot. Actually, I figure if she is only just figuring that out after 12 years, then I can't be held responsible.

There is actually a city ordinance that regulates (but doesn't forbid) chickens to be raised within the city limits. They also allow bee hives. I want chickens (I'd prefer ducks, but that's a story for another time). I want bees. I want a greenhouse filled with veggies. Actually I want a few acres of some kind of grain. My dad had some of this. Chickens, a cow, sheep, rabbits, a garden, an old beat-up truck.

I have a cat and a minivan. 

And some dead tomato plants.

Unfortunately for me, my dad is a better man than I am. He may not think so, but life has a funny way of making someone not realize they are more important than they think. As I sit in my house (basement still not finished) with my wife and five kids, I look back in complete awe at what my father was able to accomplish. But I'm getting off topic...

Whether or not any of my animal husbandry/agricultural dreams ever come true, it was nice to be able to dream and plot and scheme like that again.

At Home In School, In School At Home

Well, we finally made it official: Mary is going to be homeschooled next year. The others will continue to go to public school, but this really is the best thing for Mary at this point. Why? Well, Mary is 11 and going into 6th grade. She takes after me, academically speaking, than she does Leslie (Mrs. Summa Cum Laude from WSU) - which isn't to say she is struggling as much as I did in school. Still, you add that to the horror of what passes for pre-teen culture in this country these days... I wouldn't mind if all my kids decided to homeschool.

We are using the K12 program and working closely with our school district. Leslie is looking forward to it, Mary is beside herself with excitement, and I wish I could stay home as well to be more involved. This is something that I have always wanted to do with my kids. Something about it just appeals to me.

It is a new experience for us all and I think it will go well (with some expected rough spots at times). And here's a big, fat, "Phhhhbt!" to my kids' current teachers.