Written October 6, 2023, At Kansas City, Missouri.

Most of us are creatures of habit. We like routine and when our routines are disrupted, we are often annoyed.

Example: An employee parking lot without assigned spaces, yet repeated use of a particular spot brings with it a sense of ownership. (annoyed and spoken under one’s breath) “Who the f*** parked in my spot today!”

Another example: Earlier this week I was invited to sit in on a community college history class. It was an excellent experience, but a bit sobering. I was significantly older than the professor, and shocked to see how young college students had become in the last 50 years! Prior to class I had been cautioned to sit in a particular seat so as not to “take a student’s seat”. This is despite the class having open seating.

Those are relatively benign examples yet when change is imposed by another person or agency and we feel powerless in its face, that person/organization may become the target of more extreme anger, vilification, and even conspiracy theories.

I recall when national legislation mandated the demise of most incandescent light bulbs, instead requiring the use of the more efficient compact fluorescent and led lights. Incandescent lights typically last 1,500 hours and convert only 10% of electricity into light, the other 90% is converted to heat. Who remembers the Hasbro “Easy-Bake Oven” which used a lightbulb as the heat source with which children could bake small cakes, “just like mom”.

Conversely, compact fluorescent and led lights last upward to 25,000 hours and use 75% less energy to create the same amount of light. A 60-watt equivalent led light uses only 7 watts of energy, about the same as an old incandescent “night-light”.

It seemed a no-brainer; less electricity used in a longer life bulb meant significant money saved and it was good for the environment… Yet certain (dare I say conservative?) elements of society saw this as a grand conspiracy. They decried this as an attack on our personal freedoms, much as they did with the introduction of and later mandated use of seatbelts, motorcycle helmets, smoke-free flights, childhood vaccinations, etc. (COVID masks anyone?)

My dear mother (may she rest in peace) railed against the Obama Administration, blaming the President for taking her lightbulbs from her. Educated with a master’s degree, logic could not eclipse her anger. I learned the hard way to avoid this and many other topics during our frequent telephone chats, “Peter Michael, I don’t know why YOU think the way you do. NO ONE ELSE IN THIS FAMILY DOES!”, and with that there would be a loud “click” the line going dead.

Our electric utility in this part of Missouri, Evergy, recently implemented a timed rate structure. During the weekday peak use hours of 4 pm to 8 pm rates become significantly higher and from midnight to 6 am they are significantly lower. This provides a financial incentive to moderate use during the periods of high demand, thus reducing the need to construct greater generation capacity… good for the company, good for the environment, and good for the customer, win, win, win, right? Not with everyone.

Social media has been lit up with some folks calling it communism, the heavy hand of government, corporate greed, etc. My efforts to explain the system and the rationale behind it have merely made me a target of vilification and conspiracy, “I bet you work for Evergy!”. Even producing the proof that my electric bill has been reduced 30% by timing the use of appliances and changing the thermostat during peak hours has fallen in those circles upon deaf ears.

Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. Sometimes we act contrary to our own best interests… just to make the point that we can. And sometimes those who reach out to lend a hand find that the hand gets bitten. It is a wonder that our species has flourished. Give us more time and Nature will eventually have the last word.

Peace Everyone. Pete

 

Written September 28, 2023, At Kansas City, Missouri.

I learned today of the murder of a friend in Northumberland, England. The coward took her life late last night, a senseless act of premeditated violence that has left the region, the country, and those of us over the world who knew her, in shock.

I met her earlier this year on March 31st as I was hiking the trail along Hadrian’s Wall. It was the day before my birthday.

It was also a difficult day. Long, and punctuated by steep climbs and treacherous descents on rain slicked rocks and muddy cutback paths. My spirits had been brought low by the bone chilling drizzle and dense fog which frequently denied me the full vistas that my eyes yearned to see.

She stood waiting for me at the bottom of a steep vale. I was breathing hard, and my legs trembled from the fight against gravity that had threatened to bring me crashing down the cliff face.

She was famous; indeed, a star having appeared in countless photographs, paintings and even with Kevin Costner in the movie, “Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves”. Yet she was humbly a servant dedicated to all of us, rich and poor, young and old, every day of the year.

Upon sight of her my emotions were immediately lifted. I beheld a family gazing upon her in awe. I approached, and after a moment’s hesitation I embraced her. Strong, tall, almost eternal, she was unyielding to my arms yet soft to my soul. My spirits soared! She was glorious in the pictures that I took of her, but I knew that the images would not convey to Christine her majesty.

Last night she died, murdered. What I know is that a 16-year-old male has been arrested, allegedly having cut her down in her prime. His weapon, a chain saw.

Image from “Wandering Wounder” on Wikipedia

Along Hadrian’s Wall, her home has long been known as “Sycamore Gap”. It is where she put down roots. It is where she now lies in death.

Birds once sang in her arms. No more.

Lovers once laughed at her feet. No more.

Children once danced around her. No more.

… and aging hikers found encouragement to continue, no matter how difficult. No more.

Today the Earth cried a tear and so did I.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. There was another tree. I caught a glimpse of her in February of 2017 as I drove past. It was near Carpinteria, California. She was so stunningly beautiful that I risked an accident to stop and take her picture. She died later that year in the Thomas wildfire that tore through the region.

Written August 13, 2023. At Kansas City, Missouri.

I was recently engaged in a deep conversation with a good friend. The conversation wandered to a discussion of their loved one who had passed a few years ago. I was aware that theirs had been a close relationship yet tinged with some minor regrets. I asked, “Do you still feel any regrets over what you might have done differently for them?”

“Yes, I suppose that I still do.” To which I responded, “When do you think you will grant yourself resolution?” (Or is it absolution?)

“Maybe never” came the too quick response. Clearly, my friend had grown comfortable with the small regret still held.

I found myself wondering if there is anything positive in holding a regret and not granting oneself resolution.

It occurs to me that with resolution comes closure, an end to the unfinished business, time to move on. Holding on to a regret may be one away of not letting go and holding the departed close in one’s thoughts and feelings.

Just a thought.

Peace Everyone. Pete

 

A Change in Plans.

Written May 3, 2023, at Nantwich, England.

We are only two short cruising days from our final destination of Middlewitch. We were scheduled to return Fjord Empress this coming Monday, five cruising days from now. Taking that into consideration, along with the predicted deterioration of the weather this coming weekend, we have decided to return the boat Friday morning. We have booked four nights of accommodations in Manchester where we will treat ourselves to some final sightseeing and urban nightlife. We fly out of Manchester for Kansas City on Tuesday. We are seriously warming to the idea of being home!

Nantwich has been (again) a delightful experience. Not much has changed since our visit in 2019, which is to be expected in a city that measures its life in centuries rather than years. Instead of writing a new post on our current visit, I have chosen to re-post from our visit in 2019. As you will see, that post digs deep into the city’s history and includes some personal reflections on faith and religion. Pete

(The Following is From April 23, 2019)

We arrived in Nantwich today on the Shropshire Union Canal. The plan is to remain in this port until Thursday, and then return to Middlewich Friday where we will be joined by our Canadian friends, Tom and Nanci. The weather is predicted to take an unfortunate turn for the week that they will spend with us, colder temps and rain. It is what it is. A bad day on the canal is still glorious.

The “wich” in Nantwich and Middlewich harkens from the time of the Roman occupation and signifies a place of salt production. Salt had been produced here over the millennia not only as a condiment, but for the tanning of leather, as a food preservative, and for the production of world renowned Cheshire cheeses. At one time there were over 400 salt houses (16th Century), the last one closing in the mid-1800’s.

Nantwich is a large community with a population of over 17,000. It is believed to have once been the location of a sacred pre-Roman forest grove worshiped by the Celts. It was listed as an urban area in the Domesday Book at the time of the Norman Conquest (AD 1066), though the Normans burned and sacked the town leaving only one building standing.

Disaster again visited Nantwich’s resurrected community in 1583. A massive conflagration again leveled the town, sparing only a few buildings. Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) personally contributed to the restoration of the community. From the ashes of that disaster arose a beautiful market center that, second only to Chester, boasts the highest concentrations of historically listed buildings in England. The town center is littered with buildings dating to the late 1500’s.

As we wandered the serpentine streets we beheld a beautiful church and green space. The green displayed a stone announcing that it was a sacred burial ground that had been “closed to new burials” for the last 200 years. Anglican St. Mary’s Church is the oldest listed building in Nantwich, and is stunning!

Construction began in 1286, was suspended from 1349 to 1369 by the Black Death, and then completed in 1390. The church twice served as a prison, once in 1644 following the Battle of Nantwich and again in 1648 during the 1st Jacobite uprising.

The church features scores of remarkable gargoyles, and a beautiful red sandstone exterior.

The interior is breathtaking, with colorful stained glass windows, and a choir comprised of 20 “misericords” which are 600 year old intricately carved wood choirstalls.

The St. Nicholas side-chapel features funerary effigies of a church founder, Sir David Cradock (d. 1390), and Sir Thomas Smith and his wife Dame Anne (dedicated 1614).

Another intriguing feature are the scores of hand needlepoint kneeling cushions, they are in daily use and courtesy of the local guild.

This is a fitting place for a linger day on the canal. We look forward to visiting the many shops, taking a coffee and later a pint, and perhaps returning to the church for a moment of contemplation and gratitude.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Lest I have given conflicted messages regarding the current state of my spirituality, I offer the following: I believe in the philosophy and teachings of Jesus Christ, but not to the exclusion or rejection of all other faith traditions. I have long had difficulty with the “rules of religion”, but at two important times in my life I encountered priests who admonished me not to concern myself with the rules, but to listen to my conscience. The first of those meetings occurred when I was 20, the second when I was 60. Each priest was German and each “meeting” occurred in Europe during a rare visit by me to a Confessional. Each priest asked if I considered myself a “good person”, and then expressed confirmation that they believed that I was. As an act of penance, the second priest commissioned me to always listen to my conscience and be so guided the remainder of my life.

My difficulties with the state of many religions today are manifold: Many (not all) create god in man’s image and likeness. Many (not all) mispronounce “dogma” as “faith”. Many (not all) mispronounce “exclusion” as “inclusion”. And many (not all) adherents profess to follow the teachings of Christ but never stop to ask, “What would he have done”…

Again, Peace Everyone. Pete

Written May 1, 2023, at Nantwich on the Shropshire Union Canal.

Our 6 mile and 6 lock passage to Nantwich today took more than six hours instead of the anticipated three or four.

The delay was not occasioned by difficulties with the locks, difficulties with navigation, or foul weather. Instead, it was a self-imposed delay brought about by the opportunity to tour an unusual remnant from the Cold War.

A sign under a canal bridges in the rural countryside announced that 200 yards from the canal was the once top secret Hack Green Nuclear Bunker, now open to the public. We immediately tied up to shore and set off on foot to explore.

Declassified in 1993 this 35,000 square-foot underground complex was one of 17 such hardened nuclear bunkers in the UK which would serve the needs of continuing government and military operations in the event of nuclear war.

This facility was provisioned with food, water, fuel, and life-support necessities to supply the needs of 160 essential personnel for over three months.

Now a museum, the bunker offers the public a glimpse into Great Britain’s preparations for nuclear Armageddon.

This is the heart of the life support system which includes 15,000 gallons of drinking water.
The infirmary.
This is a small BBC broadcast center in the Bunker.

Within the underground complex are actual radar and communications equipment from that era. There are even decommissioned nuclear weapons.

A decommissioned 400 kt nuclear bomb.

Most chilling was the 45 minute long 1966 BBC docudrama, “The War Game”. Post-production it was deemed too graphic to be broadcast to the general public.

It received a limited screening at the National Film Theater in London, and went on to receive the 1967 Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature.

I sat through the entire movie which drew from the experiences of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Dresden in depicting the physical and psychological consequences of nuclear attack. The black and white movie was brutally stark and unsanitized.

One take from the movie: Great Britain has the largest concentration of nuclear targets in the world. Between 1/3 and 1/2 of its population would be dead within the first few days of attack.

(Pray for) Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. On the heels of yesterday’s report on Christine’s “lock marathon” I thought I would share a couple of images to illustrate what she chooses to struggle with instead of piloting the canal boat.