whoisfenton

Whether we believe in the concept or not, we all are endowed with the capability to empathize with another, to understand and relate, to reach a kind of common ground. We find ourselves at times waging an internal war between our self-interest and our realization that the well-being of our fellow humans is equally important because we depend on one another. Empathy can take us outside our skin and imagine what others feel and think. And it is not the case that self-interest is somehow “bad” and empathy is therefore “good”, but that both emotions have a role to play in our shared reality. Taking the time and energy to understand one another seems to me to be a key element in the survival of our species. Empathy provides us the tools to stand together as one.

I am mildly perturbed by a recent uptick in the disparagement of science and the scientists that practice the craft. These discussions often involve two components: (1) scientists really don’t know anything and are just guessing; (2) The things they *think* they know are just theories.

Scientists do make guesses and those guesses are called hypotheses. These ideas are put forward with as much knowledge as is known or observed at the time, and are then subject to rigorous and prolonged testing by people that “believe” the hypothesis and by those that do not. This testing process, done properly, gains as much understanding through an unsuccessful test — one that fails to support the hypothesis — as an successful one. In this sense both outcomes are equally valuable in the unbiased pursuit of knowledge, because a negative result can help us avoid the abyss, a place we need not go, unless you are a shadowy *abyss scientist*.

Suppose I form a hypothesis that the moon in the sky is a giant ball of mozzarella cheese.  I further suggest that if we could ever get there we could have pizza uninterrupted for the next 11 billion years.  After going there we discovered, through observation and testing, that the moon was cheese-less and our hypothesis had to be abandon.  If you run out of pizza this weekend, don’t blame me.

Only after a hypothesis has survived the gauntlet of testing does it move gradually into the category of theory. The testing of theories really never stops because each tested theory provides a stepping stone to the next hypothesis, and so on. For example, *gravity* is still a theory even though it behaves precisely as predicted over hundreds of years.  Moon cheese didn’t make the cut.

This method of systematic discovery seems to “work” in the sense that our modern world is built on the results.  I mean omg, airplanes *fly*.  How is that even POSSIBLE?

We humans have been blessed with the ability to figure things out and I personally find this process of discovery to be one of the many good things about our species. Well, that and baseball.

 

Those of us who look up at the sky, and that would be pretty much everybody, have grown to expect a broad range of sky-like behavior. The sky has as many moods as can be expressed in words, and don’t get me started on night.

I was talking to my daughter during one of our walks along the banks of the Eno River. She opined that while a deep blue cloudless sky gives a sense of the infinite, she much prefers a blue sky filled with dense white cotton clouds, providing a depth, context and narrative.  Also, as she points out, it’s not “boring”.

And I think I get that. Clouds that are heavy and defined put edges on what would otherwise be a featureless canopy. A clear blue sky we may glance at, but fill that same sky with mottled cotton and our imaginations are filled with images of unicorns and spaceships and look! — a profile of your long-departed grandfather, still watching over you.  At this point any mention of “minions” will spoil the mood.

Once, on one of my many early evening walks I saw distant clouds illuminated by a low sun. These clouds were roiling gray-white and filled with bursts of lightning flashing on and off like enormous flickering light bulbs. I was too far away to hear the thunder and feel the rain which I, as mere witness, know is happening out there in the gloaming and the rising wind. I observe the beauty of the storm but do not suffer its consequences, like viewing an oil painting of a great and terrible battle.

What triggers us so, this need to convert the random drifting of water molecules into meaning and memory? Perhaps it is our basic human curiosity trying to make sense of it all and connect the dots of our world. Or maybe, just maybe, we briefly assume the role of Nature’s poets, looking up at the infinite and sensing our place in the universe of things.

The very look of the word “wastrel” is mean-spirited and untrustworthy, as if additional letters might suddenly appear to fool you into thinking “westerly” or “wainscoting”, whatever the heck that is. You can spend your time needlessly examining this profligate word, but let me suggest that you instead lounge around consuming generous servings of beans or some other stalwart legume. I mean, let’s get real.

We humans love to anthropomorphize all manner of animals and things. Thus the raccoon is clever, manipulating his world with eager hands and capable of all kinds of mischief. The raccoon also looks the part with his wise eyes cloistered behind the darkened costume-party facial mask. The goal of the raccoon is to obtain food and procreate, probably (though not certainly) in that order. Studies of the raccoon have confirmed that over half of its sensory apparatus is concentrated in touch. Indeed the name raccoon is derived from an Aztec word meaning “one who takes everything in its hands”.

Which brings me to Rocky, a raccoon who has figured out that we have pet food in our sun room. A few weeks ago we began to notice holes chewed in the bags of cat food we store there. At first I assumed it was another of the cats that roam the neighborhood as part of Tinky’s Cat Gang, and Tinky was offering free food as a way to curry favor. “Someday”, I can imagine Tinky saying, “I will ask a favor of you in return for my kindness today”. But no, the thief was Rocky, and once the pattern is established the raccoon never forgets and returns daily. Tinky acts confused and nervous as he now must share his private domain with this wild creature, whom I expect casts withering glances Tinky’s way.

The recommended approach is to remove all sources of food and water, so we hide all food in one of those giant vertical cabinets with doors that shut tight. Several days later we find the sun room trashed, table turned over and objects scattered about.  Oh boy I thought, now we have an *angry* raccoon.  If we find a horse head in our bed we will have gained a new understanding of our place on the food chain.

Consider the lowly zipper. How you ever considered how they work, I mean really looked at one up close? Zipper People, and you know who you are, are a tad obsessive when it comes to closure.  Zippers are used on everything from clothing to luggage to camping gear. The current incarnation of the zipper has been around for nearly a century, supplanting the “button” as the designer’s choice to close men’s trousers and to avoid, as the marketing campaign of that time put it, “…the possibility of unintentional and embarrassing disarray….”. I can imagine buttons everywhere high-fiving one another over having been displaced from that particular function.

That said, the zipper is a pretty amazing invention. Lightweight, efficient, inexpensive – the way it pulls two sides together is nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps we humans can learn something there, as we have a proven track record of “disarray”.

We can remember the tragic figure of Quasimodo crying “Sanctuary!” from the castle keep. He is being pursued and seeks a safe place, a place where the power of society is momentarily held in abeyance. In this way “sanctuary” bestows a singular and individual strength, where one person can claim the right of freedom under a law older and larger than that which exists outside the wide walls. The historical sanctuary may gain its strength from faith or fantasy, but these days we call it another name.

We call it, Home.

Somewhere out there is a dusty old tome bound in heavy leather and strapped with gleaming copper clasps drawn from the great mines of Escondida, Chile. This book of ancient runes is said to harbor great secrets and may in fact hold the keys to the Seven Mysteries. For example, in this book under the definition of “comfort food” you will find “Shepard’s Pie”. How can such a simple blending of basic things be so good?  Surely there is magic at work here, and yes, I will stop calling you Shirley. True Shepard’s Pie uses ground lamb, but we could never afford it growing up, so our pie always used ground beef.

Behold The PIE!

 

I find the Big Island of Hawai’i to be the most interesting and beautiful of all the Hawaiian Islands. From black sand beaches to high deserts and the rainiest of rain forests, Hawai’i offers everything you can find on all the other islands combined. Oh, and did I mention volcanoes?  If you have a chance to visit Volcano National Park you can experience an active volcanic zone, with steam vents and lava tubes, alive, alive O!  It is your chance to feel small in the great world and I know we all want that. Please note that local legend forbids taking volcanic rock away from the islands, lest Madam Pele visit bad luck upon you until such rocks are returned to their rightful home.  Please mind your manners and respect the gods.

The island of Hawai’i has five volcanic peaks: extinct Kohala; dormant Mauna Kea; and the active volcanoes Hualalai, Mauna Loa and Kilauea. On Kilauea’s eastern flank there exists the Kilauea East Rift Zone which has been undergoing continuous eruptions since 1983. This extraordinary outpouring of lava has covered more than 47 square miles of existing land south of Kilauea, and produced over 500 acres of new land.

I have had a chance to bear witness to lava from Kilauea reaching the sea and exploding into a geyser of steam and sound, the cry of the Earth being born. The ancient geologic mechanisms are still at play here, deep in the dark and pressing heat, reminding us of our place in the realm of all things.

Twenty miles south of Hawai’i and 3000 feet below sea level is the slowly growing active volcanic seamount of Lo’ihi.  One day millennia from now Lo’ihi will emerge and become a new Hawaiian island to take its place among the archipelago. I wonder what nascent gods will roam that future land and what legends will arise, there upon the embryonic stone?