Sunday, December 23, 2012

EVERYTHING MELLOWS WITH AGE


                                       "It's not the problem of my first male grandchild being christened as a Catholic. That doesn't bother me because when Irwin married an Italian that was to be expected. We were raised Protestants or Orangemen as they claimed in the old country because it was explained to me at an early age, that to be a Presbyterian meant you followed the easiest religion in the world...."

                                "Then what is it Mary? "

                                "It's the fact that he'll be there! "

                                "Oh, the x-factor.."Brian remarked and they both broke into a fit of laughter.

              Mary and Brian had been married for almost twenty years, so they could share the humor. They had both been married before and had adult children on either side. It was Mary's first husband, who was going to come to thee chrisining and even though he was the legitimate father of the son,  who had created another son, which was equal to a grandson, it was difficult for her to divine that if had come from the same source.  His name was Bruce and he was now into his third marriage, with two different sons that he had spired from two different women, since they had gotten a divorce.

              He was a successful financial manipulator and in retrospect, she considered that manipulation with distain. Before, it used to be despair, but that was long ago and now she was liberated from Bruce and brought into heaven with Brian.

              He was also an Orangeman, who had been born in Boston. His accent would have told you that a mile away.  He was very much unlike Bruce.  In fact, he was human.

                                      "If it's such a big deal, maybe I can go and say you were sick or something…"Brian suggested.

                                      "Never!  Do you think I am willing to give up one of the most important moments of my life, for the likes of Bruce? "

              She was not shaming so they got underway.  It was Boston in December and they were going to St. Mary's Church on the south side. Angela's family had come from there, so it was understood that that would be the best place.

               She was now sixty six years old and perhaps altered in appearance from whan she had eloped with Bruce at eighteen, but not too much.

               She had heard through the grapevine that he had been traveling through the Middle East on oil deals and after leaving Texas, where he married his secretary and had another child, h e ended up in Rhode Island, where he bought a yacht and a very nice home.

            



                 Obviously he was not suffering nor either was she. Brian had a good job in the administrative department of the largest hospital in Boston.  He was easy about his position and his earnings.  He was never stingy.  This was the afterlife, in the same life, which was bizarre, with respect to reality and yet, there was no other definition.

               Brue was born in a Brooks Brother suit, she used to say and even his wang wore the old school tie!  It wasn't true for he had faked his appearance and posture. In truth, he came from a background of Steinbeck sharecroppers, who led the life of displaced persons.  Somehow, someway he had shed that past, not unlike a rattlesnake that sheds its skin and had won out on the American scale.  He was still a snake while being incorporated into the accepted pit.

                But if I really have to see this man, she considered, as they drove through the streets of Boston: should I be friendly or even cordial?  There were snowflakes now but yesterday it was 65%.  The weather is changing, she thought, just like time, which never stops.

                St Mary's was not crowded. Not many people went to church these days, she considered as they went inside. It was an intimate ceremony, provided by an Italian born priest.  She didn't catch  his name. Something with a "nini"at the end of it.

                 She went to her place and before she reached it, she saw Bruce. He was with his third wife and child since their divorce. He had on a Brooks Brother's suit and was wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Brian was behind her, so support. Irwin, his wife and all her Italian relatives stood over the infant and holy water was sprinkled on his brow.

                She looked at Bruce, Brian, Irwin and the new life and considered that everything mellows with age.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

THE THIRTEENTH BAKTUN

                                               THE THIRTEENTH BAKTUN

               When it was first conceived, in the forth and third century, before the establishment of the Gregorian calendar, the Maya priests, in Mesoamerica, deliberated on the possibility of altering their vegisimal system already established, with the abstract alternative of eliminating the finite. Thus they created the zero.

                This allowed for mathematical exceptions, concerning what was related as an exact four hundred days, on a solar calendar, to come out to three hundred and sixty. As it worked out, that was correct and with this abstract conception of time, four hundred years counted for one Baktun. If you multiply that by thirteen, you arrive at the Gregorian year 0f 5,200 and this is where the story should begin. But it doesn't.

                        "The precept is sound, even though it does not correspond to the existing numerical order of 20 or one aunil."

                        "Anything that alters the nature of the universe alters the nature of man."

                        "Man and the universe are one. We must find a way to define that."

                        "It has already been defined by one kin and aunil"

                       "Yet this numerical value is at best flexible. It has been determined by our celestial observations. Would we impose on nature if we were to try to understand it better?"

               These ideas were related in curt monotones, but they were comprehensible.  The language promoted that effect. It was devoid of adjectives and limited to definite nouns. It was, in short, mathematical.

              The Maya priests, who sat cross crossed legged on animal skins, on the top of a great temple, remained mute. There was no competition here. They were merely minds, who were locked into a separate, coherent existence, attempting to define time.

                            "Then we agree. We will not forget the established structure for its numerical value; rather add a zero to allow for the variation of the universe."

               It was not a question, nor an answer, for there was nothing definite here. Everyone knew that they would not be present for the Thirteenth Baktun. Alas, it was all speculation. Who could imagine that the universe would evolve under the same calculation? Perhaps it was too abstract to consider otherwise and yet the world settled into the Thirteenth Baktun.