Sunshine was one of my reasons for moving to San Diego. It wasn’t the most important, but it was important and I appreciate the Sunshine. For the past week, however, Sunshine took a long-awaited vacation. Apparently, Sunshine was running some sort of scam on the weather forecasters, calling up and saying, “Hi! It’s Sunshine! I’m feeling so much better today! I’ll be at work as usual tomorrow. You can count on it.
And then, when daybreak arrives the next day, it doesn’t. That is to say, when it should arrive, it doesn’t because Sunshine has overslept. Again. I suspect it might be because of all-night partying last night on the other side of the world.
You would think that the weather forecasters would catch on. You might even think that they would have seen the famous “Charlie Brown” cartoon meme in which Charlie Brown’s frienemy Lucy, promises him, year after year, that she will dutifully hold the football and not pull it away—not this time. And, dutifully, year after year, Charlie Brown decides that this will, or at least might be, the year that Lucy finally does the right thing.
But of course, she doesn’t do the right thing. And, Charlie falls flat on his back every time. Lucy smiles.
So apparently, this week, did the Sunshine. Taking vacation elsewhere and not showing more than a stray ray or two in San Diego allowed for the deluge. Other places farther north had it much worse, in terms of rainfall and damage. Worldwide, what we now call extreme weather may, in many places, become more “normal” and extreme weather will become deadlier.
In any case, I am have been just as foolish as the weather forecasters and Charlie Brown. Every day, my phone app has said the rain would be over in a day or two. And, then, two days later…same forecast is dutifully presented. But not the promised reality.
Sadie, meanwhile has been very patient about the fact that our walks have been typically much shorter all week. She has also been patient about not being allowed to dig in the dirt. More accurately, she wasn’t allowed to dig in the mud. There was no “dirt” around. It’s not idle digging. She hears and smells gophers and goes after them. Unsuccessfully. Every time. She’s dug for gophers more than the San Diego weather forecasters trusted Sunshine’s repeated false assurances that tomorrow the rain would end; indeed, even more often than Charlie Brown has over-trusted Lucy.
She persists. She enjoys the process. Maybe the weather forecasters enjoy knowing that they made everyone feel hopeful that could play tennis in a few days (or have a picnic or mow the lawn or harvest their fruit in sunshine). Maybe Charlie Brown enjoys being the kind of person who would give another one more chance to be good, even if they never take that chance than to be more cynical and realistic.
I can’t say what the motivations are for Charlie Brown and the weather forecasters, but I am sure Sadie enjoys the digging. She certainly has little care for how dirty her paws get or whether she spews mud on my shoes. My philosophy may be a mixture of Charlie Brown and the San Diego Cabal of Sun Predictors. I believe Sadie should spend some time “just being a dog.” In other words, she should be in at least partial charge of what she does and be allowed to follow her “instincts” unless it poses a true danger and not just because, say, she tracks mud into the house.
As I was watching Sadie dig, and I was sliding sideways to prevent becoming inundated with wet dirt, it occurred to me that I too, had some years of “just being a dog.” My parents, I think, thought of it as time for my “just being a kid.” In some cases, I heard adults say, “Oh, it’s just boys being boys” when we played in the dirt, fought with sticks, or had “rock wars” wherein we literally threw rocks at each other.
Not all adults were on this plan 100%. My own parents would let me play in the dirt often times, but they did not want me to participate in rock fights or stick duels. Evading those restrictions was trivial. We weren’t trying to be bad. But we knew our friends would not to try to blind us with sticks or stones. We believed implicitly that since we weren’t intentionally trying to blind each other, it wouldn’t happen.
Though there were local variations in the strictness of restrictions, we were always able to do some version of “just being a kid” which truthfully, was not all that different from “just being a dog.”
I had just as little care about muddying my shoes or fingernails as Sadie does about muddying her paws. I’d say my “dog years” were mainly between six and thirteen. Before six, my parents or other caregivers wouldn’t leave me alone long enough to get in real trouble. I mean, I managed all the usual little things like peeing into electrical outlets, throwing stuff down the “registers” (heating vents) to see what would happen, and writing in books and on walls, but there was no opportunity to have rock fights or get muddy from head to foot.
From ages six to thirteen, however, I spent a lot of time outdoors unsupervised. Plenty of time to be a dog. A few years later, however, it dawned on me that girls might find me more attractive if I were less muddy. My mother might have planted that suggestion.
There’s no doubt that many of the “instincts” I had were not very effective guides. They weren’t as effective as the knowledge that science and society had developed over centuries. On balance, I still believe having some dog years is a risk worth taking.
Life on planet earth is over 4 billion years old. There are also no known “skips” in life. In other words, each generation of life, N comes from the previous generation N-1 and generates the next generation N+1. Every living thing on earth today, so far as we know, has the same unbroken line of ancestry dating back 4 billion years. We all share ancestors.
Vertebrates appeared about 500 million years ago. This means that we humans share 7/8 of our heritage with every living fish, bird, reptile, amphibian, and mammal. Indeed, fish have a heart, a brain; they mate; they eat; they have blood; they move; they learn. They flee danger. If someplace is a good source of food, they hang out there.
Early humans must have intuited that they were very like (as well as somewhat unlike) other animals. Otherwise, they would not have learned how to track them and hunt them, let alone train them. In the last few hundred years, however, we have learned much more about how similar we are to other animals anatomically, physiologically, and behaviorally.
I happen to think this branch of science is fascinating.
But it’s more than that. To me, it’s also heart-warming. It’s comforting in many ways.
First of all, I am in awe of our extended family. Life has survived for over four billion years! It hasn’t just survived; it has evolved in a million different directions. Our family includes trees that live thousands of years and grow hundreds of feet tall. Our family includes animals and plants too small to be seen by the naked eye; birds that migrate thousands of miles; whales that weigh 300,000 pounds.
Second, it is comforting to me to know that the Tree of Life is secure against the short-sighted greed of a small number of humans. Ecological disaster, atomic war, pandemics are certainly damaging human life and comfort as well as destroying whole species. But the Tree of Life is vast and more importantly, incredibly diverse. The self-destruction of humanity is possible and would be incredibly sad. But the Tree of Life? We won’t destroy that.
Third, it is comforting to see, hear, and interact with the biome. The way that life interacts with other life is beautiful to observe. I view it as a drama, a symphony, a tapestry, all rolled into one. When I go for a walk, I walk through life; I walk through my family; I walk through a work of art and become reminded that I am one with it.
Birth and death become the same: turning a page in a marvelous and endless story. That’s not to trivialize or belittle it. Turing the page of a story is actually a big deal! Pages make chapters. And chapters make books.
Christopher Alexander was an architect who wrote much about architecture, including the well-known book, A Pattern Language. Later, he also wrote about “The Nature of Order.” He posits 15 properties of natural beauty and good design, the first of which is “Levels of Scale.” I was thinking about that today as I admired our Jacob’s Coat Rose bush which blooms about 3-4 times a year here in San Diego.
Most of us see the flowers of the rose as beautiful. And indeed they are. They are beautiful from afar. They are beautiful up close. But so too are the other parts of the rose plant. At least, sometimes, the leaves are also quite beautiful.
Even the thorns are beautiful.
Beyond this surface level, the rose, like all living things, is beautiful inside. Like all living things, it’s survived four billion years of evolutionary time. The way cells are arranged and the way they work–this is beautiful as well. Moreover, the relationship that roses have to humans and bees are also beautiful. Imagine having the faith and hope to depend on a completely different species to reproduce. Imagine being so beautiful that human being across the globe spend their time and money to keep you thriving.
Did I mention that, like other green plants, roses remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and provide oxygen for animals like us?
Roses are so famous that they play a part in history and pageantry. The War of the Roses. The White House Rose garden. Destroying part of the Rose Garden is also symbolic. The Rose Parade. Individuals give each other roses. They are variously symbols of love, friendship, and peace. Roses appear in poetry, songs, paintings, and both first and last names.
Weather in San Diego is typically nice almost every day. Today is no exception, but that doesn’t mean that the weather is boring. There is a lot of natural variation. There is variation in the humidity, in the wind, in the position of the sun, in the heat, in the (fairly rare) precipitation.
Reflecting on this reminded me of another kind of natural variation: the variation in organisms of the same species. Without that variation, evolution would be far less effective.
It also reminds me of several of the characteristics of natural beauty and good design that Christopher Alexander writes about.
Things that have zero variation are mechanical, predictable, repetitive, and generally not very pleasing aesthetically. Mindless, endless repetition is aligned with death. Variation is aligned with life, freedom, creativity, growth, and joy.
Among things that are non-living artifacts, there is still a variation in how variable they are. Walls made of stone, are by their nature, “rougher” and more variable (and more beautiful) than walls made of bricks. Walls made of bricks are more irregular and beautiful than one made of solid steel. Similarly, at least to me, fences made of wood are more variable and beautiful than fences made of metal.
Building elements that make up a wooden deck show grain and irregularities in the surface of the deck. In addition, however, they even have interesting variability below the deck as shown here.
You can also see in this photo below a variety of materials. The stucco, by its very nature, more interesting and variable than steel or plaster.
In these photos, you can see variation within leaves, among the leaves of a particular plant, and also among the plants themselves. Each plant and each part of the plant grows in accordance to its genetic blueprint. Except a “blueprint” is itself too fixed and unbending to be an appropriate metaphor. The growth will depend on the context–water sources, light sources, nutrients in the soil, other nearby plants and rocks will all play a part in how, precisely, a particular plant grows.
It would be absurd for one plant to say to itself: “Every plant should be just like me! I have a plan based on what works for me and everyone should do exactly what I do!”
Before we bought a new dishwasher, a new deodorant, or a new doodad, most of us would want to read some opinions from others about the dishwashers, deodorants, or doodads we were interested in. We would want to talk to some folks who had first hand experience with those dishwashers, deodorants, or doodads.
That makes sense.
We certainly wouldn’t buy a new dishwasher, deodorant, or doodad simply because the sales person said it was going to be great. Would we?
Democracy is a difficult and time-consuming deal. It’s frustrating. And, it is likely the worst form of government there is—except for all the others.
So, before we throw it out with the dishwater because someone tells us how great a dictatorship would be instead, it makes sense to see what has happened with some of the other dictatorships that went before.
There was Mussolini. It’s said that he made the trains run on time. But would we ever really know? No, because the one thing dictatorships always have in common is that they refuse to allow others to measure, comment, or critique on what’s actually happening. Free press? Gone. Independent monitoring agencies? Gone.
The complaint department in a democracy may not always seem to listen to your particular concern. The complaint department in a dictatorship sends you to prison. If you’re lucky.
How did Italy fare under Mussolini? According to the online Britannica, nearly a half million Italian civilians and soldiers died. And in return? Nada. How about Mussolini? Oh, yeah, that’s right—beaten to death by an angry mob.
Well, we can’t make a sound conclusion based on just one customer’s experience, right?
How about Hitler? After all, he promised to make Germany great and said his Reich would last a thousand years! That must have been a pretty cool outcome. Hitler, was famously responsible for about 6 million deaths in the Holocaust, but he was also responsible for needless deaths of German soldiers, the people who died at the hands of German soldiers, and many German and other civilians. And, how did that end for Hitler? Oh, yeah, that’s right. He committed suicide rather than face the defeat of his own making.
Stalin? Surely, Stalin did better. Right? Well…in a word…no. It’s complicated. Stalin was responsible for Russian deaths by war, criminal execution, starvation due to inept government, and neglect. Here’s a link if you’d like to try to disentangle it.
Then, there was Mao. He is generally credited with the death of about 40-80 million of his own countrymen. As is often the case with totalitarian dictatorships, it’s hard to know how many died of starvation due to ineptitude and how many died of intentional cruelty.
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Once upon a time, there was a bratty kid who wasn’t very good at tennis. And, because he wasn’t very good, he cheated. And because he wasn’t even a very smart cheater, he got caught. And because he didn’t like getting caught, he destroyed all the factories that made tennis balls and told everyone else that he had done it for them. And he promised everyone that it was just a cool thing and he would make tennis much, much better because he replaced all the tennis balls with ping pong balls and that they should therefore put him in charge of officiating all tennis matches.
And, he picked the winners and losers of every game. Those people who said he was amazing and wonderful and the best tennis player ever were allowed to win. And those people who said that was nonsense were allowed to lose. Some were arrested and said to have committed suicide.
We recently acquired a dog. Sadie. Brilliant and willful. Half poodle. Half golden retriever. She’s an amazing ball player. And not just in terms of her physical prowess. She naturally exhibits most of the advice in The Winning Weekend Warrior. She doesn’t worry. She doesn’t berate herself for past performance. She is confident she can catch any ball, and if she misses on the first bounce, she goes after the second bounce as though, not only her life—but the life of the entire pack—depended on it. And if she misses it on the second bounce and accidentally nuzzles fifty feet away, she still goes after the ball!
Before I wrote this essay, Sadie stood before me, staring those sad eyes into mine begging for another hour of ball-playing but I explained I wanted to write on the computer for awhile so she got up on the bed where she’s quietly chewing on a bone.
She and I communicate fairly well. Yet, it’s amazing how little they understand about human communication. Often, I wish I could communicate more fully. That led me to think about how to explain how humans use natural language in terms Sadie could understand. Thus:
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“OK, Sadie, humans (I point to my chest) like me use language in two major ways. One of those ways is to collaborate better by communicating meaning.”
Sadie barked.
“I know, Sadie, I know. I haven’t explained those words yet; we’ll get to it.”
Sadie barked.
Rather than try to clarify my previous statement, I thought it better to advance in the spirit of “appreciative enquiry” and so I said, “That’s right, Sadie! The second way that humans use language is exactly the way you use it, to bark at other doggies! Or, sometimes, just to hear themselves bark.”
Sadie barked.
“OK, I’ll give you an example. You know how the doggies next door bark incessantly whenever they’re out at the same time we are? You know how they spend their entire time jamming their teeth up against the fence to show how tough they are and bark as loud as they can meanwhile ignoring ten thousand things in their environment that are actually more interesting—or would be, if they gave it a chance? Well, that’s exactly how humans sometimes respond. And, it’s how they respond without any adaptation or learning.”
Sadie barked.
“Oh, yes, you’re right. Those doggies (I point in the direction of the better doggies) barked a lot when they first met you and they bark again when they don’t see you for awhile, but they wag their tails and come to greet you. Many people bark like that too. When they first meet someone different, they bark to keep them away and claim their property and their stuff. But when they realize that the threat is minimal, they become friendly and stop screaming.”
Sadie barked.
“Right again, Sadie. Sometimes doggies bark just because something is new or novel or different from what they’re used to. You yourself do this. The mail truck swings by. The gardeners leave a tool. It’s different and you bark. And lots of people are the same way. They bark when something’s different. It doesn’t even have to be a person. It can be a thing, a tool, a book, or even a thought. The difference is that you get used to the new situation and stop barking after awhile.”
Sadie barked.
“You know, I have given you lots of different tastes of things: kale, lettuce, squash, carrots, tomatoes, cooked potatoes, cooked broccoli, cucumber, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, and lots of other things. And I tell you you can take it or leave it. You liked or tolerated everything on that list. But some people—to tell you the truth—the cats are much like this, but don’t tell them I said that—some people who have never tried, say, raspberries will bark at the raspberries and at me for offering them. ‘What?! Raspberries?! I’ve never tried one; never will! They look like a hive of deadly ladybugs to me!”
Sadie barked.
“Well, those are two of the most frequent categories, but there’s another that’s also quite common. They bark to upset themselves and others. It’s as though it isn’t enough to bark at the raspberries. That doesn’t really upset them very much. So they bark and bark and bark until other doggies in the neighborhood are thinking something like: ‘Invasion! Invasion! Set off the alarm.’ Others, of course, are more like: ‘Something’s out there we can hunt down and tear the guts out of! Come on! Let’s go do it!’ And that’s pretty much word for word what the human pack does as well.”
Sadie barked.
It’s amazing how much they understand about human communication.
petersironwood 