Bells That Rang

            Perhaps a little explanation of the above title is in order. Years ago, Dad presented my brother and me each with a book. His book. It was encased in a 3-ring binder, typed, single sided and was entitled Bells that Rang. This was back before word processors. He had typed the whole thing with two fingers and with much tedious retyping to correct errors. Dad had compiled roughly 100 (manually) typewritten pages of pithy sayings, sage quotations and various writings that, to him, were significant.

            It was for him an attempt at codifying ideas, philosophies, searching questions and other things that caught his attention or spoke to his soul. It opened with a quotation about how we should "distill the essence of our learning and pass that learning and wisdom on to our children". I will always treasure that book, but not necessarily because of the wisdom of the content. I will treasure it because it was from Dad. In fact, I think a lot of the pieces are short sighted, overly pessimistic or just plain rubbish and we used to discuss and debate (i.e., argue) some of them vigorously. But Dad did not think they were rubbish. And he cared enough to go to the effort to do it for us boys. And I loved him and still do.

            Many of those pieces were quasi-political but do not worry dear reader; politics is not the subject of what follows. Dad had tremendous faith in, and admiration for the "Philadelphia Experiment", the ontological outgrowth of the notion of democracy. He did not have much use for many of the practitioners, however, and vilified government, as practiced, frequently.

             Many of the "Bells that Rang" addressed some aspect or other of his other favorite topic, the "human condition". Dad worked hard but he always read a lot, too. He read history, philosophy and he read about what it is to be human. One evening, when my Aunt, my Uncle and Mom asked Dad to play canasta with them Dad replied, "I think it is better to exchange ideas than cards." (Undaunted, they got Grandad to play and left Dad to his books, which was fine with him.)

             He always loved a discussion. My brother and I grew up in an environment where, apropos of nothing special, any one of us could pick up a thread from a previous discussion and we'd be off. Mealtimes were common venues but it could be anytime. I recall that once my brother, Dad and I were shoveling dried mud out of the irrigation reservoir and, stopping for a drink of water, we fell into a long discussion. I was maybe 14 or so at the time. I do not even remember the topic but I clearly remember the scene with Dad leaning on his shovel, my brother and me sitting in the shade of the south wall and the dog napping on the bank.

             As he read, he remembered many snippets and would trot them out for us later. Sometimes he used bookmarks and sometimes, if the section struck him strongly, he would memorize it. As he got older, retired and had more free time, he became more systematic in recording what, for him, were "Bells that Rang". All told, he probably worked on it for six or seven years and he made updates and additions to it periodically until only a few years before his death.

             Dad was also an admirer of a well turned phrase, and would often savor the way some particularly choice piece would feel on the tongue or would chuckle over some apt witticism. Some pieces were chosen because of their simple eloquence. My very favorites were from this category. He had found some dandies. For example, growing up on a ranch in a warm climate, we always had lots of weeds. One particularly hardy and virile specimen was known locally as hogweed. Dad somehow discovered that its Latin name was amaranthus retroflexus. He really savored the way those words rolled on the tongue. He liked the sound and feel of those words so much that he never realy hated the weed again. He still killed it whenever he could but, without rancor; it was just farming. What follows are a very few of my own candidates for addition to that book.

            Thanks again, Dad.

---

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have otherwise occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no one could have dreamed would have come their way.

Whatever you can do or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Begin it now.

Goethe
 

---