Good morning, Netizens…
I suppose in retrospect that this week, as grandiose, confusing and harried as it has been, could easily be fitted into a tiny box I would call the misfit week, if for no other reason than all attempts to characterize my good day job have thus far failed me. Things got frantic in the abstract world I call my workplace and I not only replaced a server hard disk, replaced an entire server, reconfigured another server and suffered the typical indignities of Avista’s unpredictable maintenance schedules which usually result in power loss. My God, what a righteous mess this week has been!
One of my mentors once told me this business notably consists of days, weeks or even months of utter and complete boredom, sporadically mixed with minutes of absolute terror, horror and pandemonium. Old Bob was right about that, and after having served in my position for over two decades, I can attest to the fact how unpredictably those moments can arrive. One minute you are sitting there, blithely content with your fate in life and the next minute your heart is up around your tonsils and you are moving at a godforsaken rate of speed somewhere, typically in the middle of the night.
Meanwhile as I read Jim Kershner’s column this morning talking about the new decade just months away http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2009/oct/17/with-a-name-like-that-the-00s-were-doomed/ I couldn’t help but ponder some of the erratic and sometimes preposterous statements I have read on the Internet about 2012, the year that we supposedly are marginalized or doomed to nonexistence. Some of the predictions about 2012 should come with one of those canned warnings: WARNING This content may be unsuitable for all adults and young children.
The only author I have ever read that has suggested how the world might end in 2012 would be that of oft-quoted T.S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hollow_Men) in which in the final stanza it was eloquently written:
So rather than dwell incessantly over the dire predictions of what might be, to live in fear of that which none can predict, I gather my oldest granddaughter into my arms and hug her close to me, for she has the scent of a freshly-harvested wheat field in autumn, sings little songs like the meadowlarks just as the sun is setting on an otherwise tranquil eventide on the Palouse and clutches me closely in her sun-tanned arms with her head upon my shoulder.
My only thought is that, come what may, she will never travel too far from my heart so that, if it comes, I will always be there for her at the closing what little we know of it to be. For here I stand, a victim of the fates, for friends, lovers and loved ones at the closing of the day.
For I have known such guileless, innocent and overwhelming love, over which the unknown fates have no hold.