Skip to main content

When the Lights Were Low

The TOTs Blue/White Night Game
It might be said that the TOTs played a night game under the lights, but it wasn't very light.  At least eleven of the lights on the poles around the field were burned out.  In the photo, above, the pole to the left has exactly one of its six lights burning.

"It got better after a while", one of the players said.  That is a little like saying that one can get used to being partially blind.

It is a parable of government.  Not that government is dark and evil, but that a government starved of financial support cannot afford to replace the public lights when they burn out.  Government is not the problem--Thank you Ronald Reagan for starting us down that dismal, dark road!--but when government comes to be seen as the dark menace instead of the middleman of desirable and necessary services, then all of us have a problem.

Who is going to put up and maintain lights for the public good?  Your local, Goober, Grub and Gadget Store is not going to do so unless it increases sales and profits of goobers, grub, and gadgets.
There are things we need to do together, for our common good.

Maintaining the ball field at Udall Park is one of the least important, but still desirable things we need to do.  We need public security, education for everyone who can be educated, roads and bridges and airports and seaports, health care for absolutely everyone, ways to insure that our food and water and air are safe,  and a thousand other things that will not be done at all if we do not do them together.  And a civilized city will provide a place for recyclables to be gathered, for the kids to play, and for the Boys of November to play baseball at night, once in a while, just for fun, and so that their granddaughters can take pictures of them, through the cyclone fence.  "That is my grandpa playing baseball, when I was about ten!", she will say, someday.

Then she will say, "It is hard to see him, because the lights were burned out."




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

That's all we want: fairness! Not more guns and more war! Fairness!

The five police officers who were killed in Dallas are certainly not the officers who killed innocent citizens. There is more than enough tragedy to go around. "What is happening to our country?", Mari asked this morning. I had no answer.  We do have an answer.  We do not want to say it. There are lots of answers, all of them pertinent. We are a racist society, like most human societies. We are a society in the midst of enormous changes-- social, political, economic--and we do not know what to do about it. We are divided unsustainably into absurdly rich, and an enormous number of crumbling middle class families, and poor. We have guns everywhere; military guns, guns just for killing people, cheap guns, heroes carrying guns into churches and supermarkets, idiots who think guns ought to be allowed in bars and schools and ball games and beauty parlors and political rallies. Our political process is almost useless. There are good people in Congress, but there...

On Watching a Formerly Sane Man Descend into Abject Religion

If you read the previous post, you know the apparatus, pictured here, is a torture machine. There are ten of them in our house, purportedly to circulate air to dry out all the problems caused by a water leak. We live in Tucson:  it has not rained in Tucson since the Gadsden Purchase. A mudslide the size of the one in Washington State could course through our neighborhood and it would be bone-dry and stone-hard before it quit moving. I suspect it is the CIA, and probably the Border Patrol! We are, after all, only about a hundred miles from the border. I fully expect a large suburban assault vehicle to pull up to the house, and for lots of people with UPPER CASE LETTERS on their shirts to interrogate us, and I will have to explain that all the drugs I use come from Walgreens and Total Wine. But it won't work.  Our minds are going. We are getting short with each other and, if they promise to turn off the fans, I will confess to having invented the Arab...