The stupidities of comparative dullards. who can stand fury?
From the preface to Saint Joan, By George Bernard Shaw.
If Joan had been malicious, selfish, cowardly, or stupid, she would have been one of the most odious persons known to history instead of one of the most attractive. If she had been old enough to know the effect she was producing on the men whom she humiliated by being right when they were wrong, and had learned to flatter and manage them, she might have lived as long as Queen Elizabeth. But she was too young and rustical and inexperienced to have any such arts. When she was thwarted by men whom she thought fools, she made no secret of her opinion of them or her impatience with their folly; and she was naive enough to expect them to be obliged to her for setting them right and keeping them out of mischief. Now it is always hard for superior wits to understand the fury roused by their exposures of the stupidities of comparative dullards.
Not wanting to take sides of the argument on this Sunday Morning, because it is Sunday Morning, I put forward the thought that today’s Haiku can be embraced by either side of the argument.
was kind of solemn laying back looking at stars not one thing happened
From Huckleberry Finn;
“We catched fish, and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn’t ever feel like talking loud, and it warn’t often that we laughed, only a kind of low chuckle. We had mighty good weather, as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all, that night, nor the next, nor the next.”
― Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Saturday morning and I should be enjoying a sleep in.
Of late, I find I enjoy getting up and having my coffee in the quiet of the morning.
It is kind of solemn, sitting in the quiet, drinking coffee, looking out the windows as nothing happens.
I start the think.
The waves I watched this summer.
The tide coming in.
The change of seasons.
Mankind’s mark on history.
Back in college, one of my classes was given a behind the scenes tour of the Gerald Ford Library in Ann Arbor.
The curator was holding a book the size of the D volume of the World Book Encyclopedia.
It was the MINUTE-BY-MINUTE log of ONE DAY in the Ford Presidency.
Ford was President for 895 days.
895 daily logs.
Possibly the most complete accounting of any life of any one one earth.
But did it record Ford’s thoughts?
What he had for lunch?
At some point did he have to search for a pencil and open a desk drawer and lost his train of thought when he came across something else in the drawer?
And how many people get to be President?
Winston Churchill’s OFFICAL biography runs to 9 volumes and 4 volumes of letters and documents.
Here is the point.
How complete is the written record?
On quiet mornings, when I consider the number of documents, articles, books, histories and memoirs that cover the human existence against what really went on.
some thoughts, day after Jury Duty, angry bunch warning signs to see
I have been called for jury duty a half dozen times.
I have been on 3 or 4 panels but only one jury.
My co-jurors in the pool have always been good natured about our common situation.
And my co-jurors have always been VERY respectful of the process and the system we now found ourselves in.
We knew that their were rules, customs and even language that we didn’t understand or need to understand and we were all determined to see this through.
But not yesterday.
First there was an undercurrent of plain old, ‘I am in a bad mood and I don’t care’ in the jury pool room.
As the bailiffs worked to shepherd us into panels, there was little good nature as people had to move and sit tight together in assigned order.
When my panel made it into the courtroom, the mood, if anything, got uglier.
There were 21 of us to make a 6 member jury for a domestic violence case that would be held that afternoon.
During the voir dire process, some of my co jurors became, well, beligerent.
The prosecuting attorney asked for a show of hands if anyone had had an encounter with a Gwinnett County Police Officer.
All the hand shot up.
The prosecuting attorney then went one by one through the jurors asking them to describe their encounter and would it impact their decision.
It was like offering a place to take a stand and speak their minds to a bunch of people who had had no voice for too long and they had some official representatives of Gwinnett County who were going to hear what was on their minds.
When this was over, I was pretty sure the guy on trial was going to walk.
Then the prosecuting attorney asked for a show of hands of anyone who had experienced Domestic Violence in their families.
BOOM all the hands go up and again the prosecuting attorney goes one by one giving each person a moment to vent.
AND VENT THEY DID.
I wanted to cry over some of the stories.
Some were beyond belief.
Many were again indictments of a system that had failed them and these court people were going to hear about it.
Everyone had a story and never did the man in the story come out as the good guy.
When this round of answers was over, I knew that the guy on trial was going down and going down HARD.
Not to be out down, the defense attorney asked, “Do any of you feel you are a part of or know of a dysfunctional family situation?”
BANG up go all the hands and again, one by one, we get to describe why we felt that way.
By this time, bailiffs are passing out Kleenex and hugs are being exchanged between jurors.
It got to the point that the lady next to me said to the court, “Listening to all these stories, my family is nothing like that, just cussing and drinking and getting in each others business. You know, NORMAL DYSFUNCTION.”
What is Normal Dysfunction?
After yesterday, I feel I know.
And ON it went.
Somehow, 6 people were selected out this bunch and the rest of us were excused.
Outside the courtroom, tears and hugs broke out again.
I think the court was as relieved as we were to be able to leave.
No Haiku For You 