On the Intellectual Life

The intellectual life is such a beautiful and rewarding aspect of our human lives and yet it is so easy to let it fall to the wayside, especially once we leave the formal classroom setting. I am by no means a great intellectual, but I hope I am at least a reasonable intellectual. I have put much thought to the matter of how too pursue further intellectual studies without paying for classes, neglecting my family or becoming a philosophy professor (which I am not at all qualified to be). I have come up with a few ways that  have been quite rewarding for the time and effort put into them. 

Mark Twain once (or possibly many times) said, "I have never let my schooling interfere with my education."  I held strictly to that rule all through my formal education by frequently immersing myself in studies that interested me as a supplement to what I was required to study. I must confess that sometimes  I even pursued my own interests instead of what I was required to study. One practice I used all throughout college was to move slowly but constantly through the works of the late and esteemed G. K. Chesterton. I have not come close to reading even half of what he has written, but I have a good start on his work. This is a practice I have tried to maintain out here in the world of work. Admittedly I might go several weeks without this reading but I always come back to it and it has provide me much insight into my own life. 

Almost two years ago a good friend of mine, a homeschooling mother, approached my wife and me asking us to lead a discussion group for highschoolers on A Tale of Two Cities by the great Charles Dickens. We accepted and lead a small group of eight or nine students through this great work. I had never read this book when I was asked but read it several times to prepare myself for the seminar. We both enjoyed teaching the group so much that the next year we lead seminar on english poetry and will soon be starting a seminar on Dracula and Frankenstein. 

My last method was more or less handed to me by my brother in law who lent me a couple of audio books just after I had purchased my iPhone. When I am working with wood I am usually working alone and there is much time spent in repetitive tasks such as sanding or staining during which I can listen with quite a bit of my attention on the audio book. To be fair I listen to quite a bit of fiction, but I also engage regularly with the classics or philosophical works. Most recently I listened to Plato's Dialogue Pheado. I get most of the audiobooks free off of iTunes in the Podcasts section or in the iTunes U section. Many of the books are from librivox, which is also in the iTunes Podcasts section.

I have enjoyed getting to continue my intellectual life and look forward to many more books and discussions. 

A New Side of the City

As this blog is vaquely dedicated to seeing the world through new eyes I thought that I would give a shout out to my friend, deProfundis and his wife who have started the blog Our Live Active Culture. There goal is to spend as little money as possible this month. Their methods, which will replace money, are bartering, dumpster diving, picking their friends minds for ideas, etc (possibly even like the library and stuff too, I just haven't heard them mention it).

It's an interesting idea and the goal is just to make better use of the resources already available to them. It causes one to change the way he looks at everyday things. My own personal contribution was telling deProfundis to check in rollaway dumpsters on building sites for lumber. 

So nothing to profound this week but do check out their blog and share any ideas you have with them.

For a Button

Gared was tired the night that it had happened. It was night and the eight and a half hours he had spent at his workstation were taking their toll. He had had a good dinner and it was past ten but still he couldn't sleep. He had been lying in bed for nearly a half hour, uncomfortable, tossing this way and that.

Gared didn't normally have problems sleeping, but something about this night just would not let him sleep. Just after he had laid down he had thought he heard gentle footsteps in his studio apartment. He flipped the lamp near his head on and glanced around the room. Nothing, or rather nobody was there. He let his eyes drift across his meagere belongings, from his half empty book shelf to the heap of juggling things laying in the corner by the door. Nothing was out of place.

Gared turned the light back off. As his eyes readjusted to the darkness he realized just how bright the night was. The full moon was peaking through the crack where the curtains joined. Unable to keep his eyes shut he opened them and ran them round his room again. In the moonlight nothing looked in place. The book case looked mostly empty, the heap of juggling things filled too much of the floor by the door.

Closing his eyes again Gared concentrated on his breathing. Several minutes went by, sleep was nearing. A single footstep landed on the oak floor. He was certain he had heard it. He started to open his eyes, slowly, and not fully. He didn't see anything immediately. He slowly changed his gaze from the bookcase to the heap of Juggling things. He saw nothing.

Gared lay, still, staring, tired of trying to sleep. Sleep must have caught up eventually because the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes. It was still night. Judging from the light in the room it was not much later than when he last remembered. His eyes where still on the the heap of juggling things, but there was something else there, no, someone else. He was about to call out when the figure straightened out it's stance. It was, a child. It seemed to have picked up his juggling balls.

"What are you doing here?"

The child made no response, but took the balls and put them on an empty the shelf. When she turned back to the heap of juggling things he could see that the child was a girl. She was very young, maybe four at the oldest. Her brown curls framed a pretty little face that manifested a hint of autism. She continued moving his heap from were he had left it to the shelf.

"What is your name? Where are your parents?"

The girl still continued without awknowledging Gared or his questions. She simply continued moving his things onto the shelf. When she had cleared the floor she got on her hands and knees and started inspecting the floor and the baseboard.

"What are you looking for?"

She didn't seem to respond at first, but then in a moment she pointed at something. Gared could not see anything from his bed so he got up and moved toward her. As he did the night air struck him with it's sobering rationality like a bucket of cold water in the morning. Who was this child? Why didn't she respond? What was she doing? Why wasn't he panicked about having an intruder? Why was it so freezing around this child?

The solution leaped to the front of Gared's mind where he beat it back not daring to think of ghosts or their kin. He shuddered. It really was cold. Yet the child seemed to have no interest in him. She hadn't even indicted that she knew he was present. She seemed interested in something else entirely.

Gared got down on his knees and crawled next to her, putting his face at the same level as hers. He gazed down to where her finger pointed. He didn't see anything. It was just where the floor and the baseboard met. He kept looking. He moved himself so as to let more moonlight on the space he was gazing at, but careful to not come in contact with the child.

As Gared moved a beam of light struck something. He could almost make it out. It looked like there was a button stuck between the baseboard and the floor.

Gared moved closer, still trying to let light in on the object. It was a button. That is what the girl was looking at. He tried to get a hold of it but found is was shoved too far under the baseboard for his fingers to get a hold of it.

Gared got up and went to the cabinet with his silverware and found two butter knives which he took back and used them to pry the baseboard up and wiggle the button out. It popped out, and he only had a second to see that it was a shiny silver button with a knot design on it before the girl had snatched it up. Her face wore a smile of absolute joy and she danced in a little circle and was gone. And the button fell to the floor.

Gared was left in utter amazement, utterly alone in his apartment. He felt silly holding the butter knifes and returned them to his drawer before crawling back into his bed. Instantly sleep found him.

The next morning he met his landlord on the stairs. There were tears in the landlords eyes, though he was trying to stay composed.

"Is something the matter?" Gared spoke out, hoping to comfort the man.

"Indeed there is. I just got a phone call. It was from Lydia the previous occupant in your apartment. She is a single mother, she has the most darling little girl you could imagine, Gracie was her name. She had little brown curls and the most lovely smile. Lydia tried hard to be a good mother and so she was but it is a difficult thing being a single mother even to a normal child. I remember the day they were moving out, Lydia yelled at Gracie for losing a button from her shawl, but that was the only time I remember her yelling. Oh but..." He trailed off trying not to lose his composure.

After a few deep breaths the landlord closed his eyes and continued, "Lydia called to tell me that Gracie died yesterday. She had a heart condition from birth and something went wrong with it yesterday, and well, the world is a sadder place for it now. Now thank you for you're concern but I best be going. I'm going to need a good long cry before I can feel better."

"Will you be going to the funeral," Gared asked.

"Indeed I will, I wouldn't miss it." the landlord reproached.

Gared pulled the button from his pocket and handed it to the landlord, "I want you to give this to Lydia, tell her Gracie found it for her."

Gared walked away leaving the landlord staring at the button in utter amazement.