Mendicant In Old Woodside

The ennui of waning years and related matters parches in many ways.  Another wake to attend, the telephone that does not ring (well, yes, excluding the incessant "robo"calls and the like that the National Do Not Call Registry seems helpless to thwart), the fading sounds and echoes of laughter, and rarer and rarer convivial gatherings, all these remind one that a cherished peacefulness may be part of the cautionary tale of Confucius to "be careful about what you wish for….you may get it."  But what is this dessication precisely?  Am not certain, but it may be the aging process whereby voluble chats and an expectancy, however not quite ebullient in nature, but able to combust at any moment into gales of laughter, good hearted teasing and good fellowship among pals, neighbors and familiars alike, are just no longer a part of the landscape.  Friends move away, key members of a clan die, neighborhoods change dramatically and ways of thinking, values, salubrious conditions, even remembrances and other assumed rocks of seeming permanence are shown to be quite mutable, made unrecognizable or are simply destroyed. A neighbor's house's demolition after standing for over one hundred and twenty years comes to mind.

There used to be a practice in the days that my father's father operated his fruit and produce/grocery stores here ending about seventy years ago. The folks at City Hall under the "Little Flower's" reign had apparently devised a level of regulation, however rudimentary, that included the registration of panhandlers. No doubt, the less derelict and disturbed among them, eager to latch onto at least a small corner of the world of respectability eagerly went through the process and gained a smidgen of pride with a card alongside their tin cup that proclaimed they were licensed mendicants. One of these gents would regularly visit my Nonno's store and would duly receive his nickel or perhaps it was a dime, maybe even two bits (like Dad, I imagine that grandfather was not parsimonious when those down on their luck expressed their need).  Well, how does this ancient social interaction relate to today's spiritual dryness? Am not sure, but this small societal recognition of the need to include weaker members of our national, or at least our city's family, and at least, to not get into the habit of becoming comfortable with perceiving them as invisible, seems to contrast with the coarseness of our treatment towards and scarcity of brotherly love for indigent strangers today. I could be wrong, no doubt.  Compassion is not an exclusive preserve of the past and my affinity and frankly, affection for nostalgia, could both be clouding my judgment about "then" versus "now." A recent experience observing nurses in a local hospital was heartening about the good will and and humanity of those serving the infirm, elderly and others. Projections are always possible and one's own state of mind deserve consideration as possibly skewering one's take on reality. The vision (or distortion of same) of the female protagonist in "The Days of Wine And Roses" is an example of that situation. She meets her estranged husband after a period of time in which he has striven mightily to confront his alcoholism while she has remained in the grip of the disease without seeking help. She describes the world outside as dirty and deathly. Doubtless, her inner landscape, barren of hope and beauty is darkly coloring her decision about what is true and real in the physical world surrounding her.

Still, I incline towards casting a vote for the America of mid-century, a place where Judeo-Christian values had not yet attenuated to a point where today certain questions on an imaginary course in Ethics seem to have multiple choice answers the majority of which will not cost the test taker the loss of any credit. Yes, it was also an America where the atrocities of a world war were not wallowed in or obsessed about. The music of the era persistently embraced sentimentality with no apologies and lyrics were intelligent , coherent and devoid of navel gazing or ambivalence about love, hate, life and death. The monstrous nature of the totalitarian war machines were not dismantled by unalloyed purity of minds and hearts, to be sure. But absolute determination with overwhelming force as well as loving hearts devoid of the cynicism of 21st century Western thought, is what made the difference between victory or enslavement. And a people who hold their fellow citizens in higher esteem based on the greater degree to which they protect and honor those among them who are most vulnerable are a people worthy of the name Americans.