V01: Dad’s Scarf

It is odd what one has left after a life has ended.

My father was a somewhat important person in his time, a distinction that has faded to an oil portrait on the wall of a building he never saw under a director who is the successor to the director who succeeded him.

After he died — some time after he died, actually — I happened upon a grey scarf on the shelf above the coats in our front hall closet.  The fact that it was his scarf came to me instantly when I detected the odor of talcum powder that pervaded it, sparking a memory whose nature and origins a could not bring to consciousness.  In fact, I have no conscious memory that associated the smell of talc with him.

But there it was, his scarf and the last possible olfactory reminder of him, hanging in my hand.  For some reason, since this sort of nostalgia is not something that I think that I do, I took a lung full of this smell, got a rush of some ineffable memory, and put the scarf back where I had found it.

From then on I would occasionally happen across the scarf and repeat the strange ritual.

The smell gradually faded and, one day, the scarf was not there.  I do not recall throwing it out, although I may have, and I do not recall asking my wife if she had gotten rid of it.  I guess that I was content to let that last shred of physical evidence of him fade into non-existence as the fitting and proper order of things.

And, for some reason, I think that my father would agree with this.



It has long been my intention to write something and I focused some time ago on the idea of using little episodes from my past as kernels for this writing.  The intent is to paint a picture of the moment, not necessarily to accurately recall and report what actually happened.

It is also an opportunity to study the use of words…

I guess I will label these: Vxx: <title> in the subsequent posts.

Eat Your Damn Spinach — Or Else

I was in college in the sixties at a campus where there was a lot of antiwar activity.  I recall being at a meeting in a completely packed room as some proposals were offered and discussed.  At one point someone requested a vote on a proposal and, as a point of order, someone offered the opinion that everyone currently present should be required to vote on the proposal.

The logic of this escaped me at the time and escapes me to this day.  Putting on all of the empathy hats I have and trying to understand from what logic this strange proposal made any sense, I could come up with only one explanation.

As far as I can figure the person offering this suggestion simply equivocates between being good (in his opinion) and being required.

Our sitting President has offered the same logic of late — he would like to use the power of the state (i.e. guns) to ensure that each and every person casts a ballot.

He does not wish to require that your vote be a considered one, or even an informed one.  Only that you must cast a vote.

From the point of view of principles or logic or sound public policy this is simply idiotic.  Based on some political calculus that believes that the disenfranchised, disinterested, uninformed, unthinking voter will be more likely to vote for liberal candidates, of course, it does make some sense — and reveals much about the quality of the ideas offered by those candidates.

A Self-Conscious Beginning

I haven’t the foggiest idea what I am going to do with a blog except record what I take is the drivel of my day to day thinking and hope that it does not get read.  The only reason for starting this is to find out if having a potential audience makes any difference.

And the only reason for writing this post is to get rid of the generic post provided by WordPrss.