Ramblings of a Retired Mind

  “Wherever your life ends, it is all there. The utility of living consists not in the length of days, but in the use of time; a man may have lived long, and yet lived but a little.” Michel de Montaigne

​ “A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.” C. S. Lewis

​ “Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.” André Gide 

  "I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom." Umberto Eco, from Foucault's Pendulum

  “There is no belief, however foolish, that will not gather its faithful adherents who will defend it to the death.” Isaac Asimov

​ We will gradually become indifferent to what goes on in the minds of other people when we acquire a knowledge of the superficial nature of their thoughts, the narrowness of their views and of the number of their errors. Whoever attaches a lot of value to the opinions of others pays them too much honor.”   Arthur Schopenhauer

  “War is a racket. It always has been. It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It is the only one international in scope. It is the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.” Smedley Butler

  “I find war detestable but those who praise it without participating in it even more so.” Romain Rolland

  “If there is a sin against life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life.”   Albert Camus

 “Always expecting this and expecting that. May I recommend serenity to you? A life that is burdened with expectations is a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and disappointment. Learn to be one with the joy of the moment.” Douglas Adams

  “It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

  “Always expecting this and expecting that. May I recommend serenity to you? A life that is burdened with expectations is a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and disappointment. Learn to be one with the joy of the moment.” Douglas Adams

 “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth – more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible; thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. It sees man, a feeble speck, surrounded by unfathomable depths of silence; yet it bears itself proudly, as unmoved as if it were lord of the universe. Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.” Bertrand Russell

                                                                             Ramblings of a Retired Mind Angel Smoke The scent was unmistakable. Being hypersensitive to every shift in the air, I recognized it immediately, that crisp, biting aroma of burning leaves in early December. It felt nostalgic until it didn't. At the front of the room, Sister Mary sighed, her mind already drifting toward a quiet cup of tea. Only one hour of school remained. But the smoke began to cling to the inside of my nostrils, a persistent, sharp irritation. "Sister Mary, what is that smell?" Before she could answer, three students burst in from the library, faces pale. "Sister Mary, there’s smoke in the hallway!" No alarms. No warnings. Sister Mary peered into the corrido...

The writers group I belong to has come up with a name for ourselves: Writers Out West — or WOW! I've designed a logo for the group, and I hope everyone loves it!

  The heat was oppressive — no surprise, it was July. No relief. There were showers, but it was not water that flowed from their pipes. Crammed together, whimpers climbing the wooden walls, no escape. Hope lost for some, ready to go, ready for the relief that only death could bring. Thoughts went to the apartment in Warsaw — not a mansion, just a three-room third-floor walk-up. Cold water to cool oneself. How one missed those simple things, the things we all took for granted. The smells of cooking swirling up the stairs: onions, cabbage, meat. One could never tell from the aroma what kind of meat was cooking. Here, in the now, there is no doubt. How this heat crushes the soul — stripped of humanity, stripped of a future. There were days I begged to be taken. I would catch my reflection in the window and not recognize myself: beads of sweat dripping down a shaved head, hollow eyes staring back. I prayed for a breeze, only to recoil as the wind carried the smell from the furnaces...

                                           Ramblings of a Retired Mind                                                The Pot of Gold As the rain began to let up, hope stirred in me. Today, I thought, could finally be the day. Since moving to Polson and settling onto our lot with its ever-changing mountain views, we've grown to love the vivid rainbows that follow a good storm. But we'd been waiting for the one. The full, sweeping arch that a sky like this deserves. Back in the Chicago suburbs, rainbows were more rumor than reality. With houses fifteen feet apart and trees crowding every sightline, you might catch a whisper of color through the branches, but never the arc. Never the whole thing. This is a special day, a d...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Nasty I have been thinking about the word nasty for the past few days. At some point in life, everyone encounters a nasty person. What troubles me is that over the past decade, we as a society seem to have grown more tolerant—perhaps even more accepting—of nasty behavior. We have conditioned ourselves to believe that it is acceptable for someone to behave badly so long as their nastiness is not directed at us. It is self-preservation in its purest form. We look the other way. Sometimes we even applaud it. In the arts, we have long rewarded those who make a living by being nasty. Comedians, for example, often stand before paying audiences and hurl insults at the very people who came to be entertained—laughing all the way to the bank. Don Rickles comes to mind. Those who knew him personally insist it was all an act, that he was, in fact, a warm and caring man. That may well be true. Still, it is easier to appreciate the performance when you are not...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind You Know You Should We all fall into this at one time or another. We stumble onto a new “must-watch” television series, fall in love with it, want more of it, and want everyone we know to watch it too. Inevitably, when speaking with relatives or close friends, the subject turns to our latest obsession — a movie, a series, something we simply can’t stop talking about. I am 100% guilty of this. Over and over again. If we are honest with ourselves, we realize that part of it is the desire to belong. We want to be part of the “in crowd.” No one wants to be the outlier, the person who doesn’t get the reference. So we proclaim to anyone within earshot, “You have to watch this!” Of course, this behavior isn’t limited to movies or television. It extends to music — the new artist we’ve discovered or the obscure performer from forty years ago we have suddenly unearthed and now feel compelled to introduce to everyone we know. Books are another arena entirely. ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Hold My Hand Moving after retirement isn’t something most people do lightly—especially when you’ve lived in the same place for nearly your entire life. Yet that’s exactly what my wife, her twin sister, and I did. We left the northern suburbs of Chicago and moved to western Montana. And yes, plenty of people thought we were crazy. Leaving Everything We Knew All of our friends were in Chicago. Most of our relatives were there too—including those who now rest there. My wife and her sister had never lived anywhere else. Aside from a two-year stint in Stamford, Connecticut, neither had I. We had lived in our home for thirty-five years. Thirty-five years of memories. Thirty-five years of accumulated “stuff.” Letting go of a third of what we owned was both freeing and painful. We also had a cabin in Galena, Illinois, which we ultimately decided to sell, furnished and ready for someone else’s memories. Our house sold the day before it officially hit th...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind “I Know I Am, But What Are You?” Since I was twelve years old, I have had little tolerance for hypocrisy. The word itself comes from the Greek hypokritēs , meaning "actor" or "stage performer". In the New Testament, it described those who outwardly displayed religious virtue while inwardly being insincere — people who wore a moral mask while living by entirely different standards. Even as a child, something about that unsettled me. What once felt like youthful outrage has matured into a deeply rooted conviction: integrity matters. Pretending to be something you are not — especially in matters of faith, morality, or justice — does real harm. It erodes trust. It distorts truth. It weakens institutions. And today, hypocrisy feels less like an exception and more like the status quo. We see it when leaders preach love while practicing exclusion. We see it when officials dismiss science until it becomes politically convenient to embrac...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind An Ethical Will A message of love, values, and legacy In our faith, there is a tradition known as an Ethical Will — a letter of the heart, written not to distribute possessions, but to pass on values, lessons, love, and blessings to those we leave behind. In recent years, I have spent time reflecting on my own life and on the lives of my children and grandchildren. Those reflections brought me back to a short letter my father left for me to find after his passing. That letter was brief, but it was powerful. My father wanted me to know how proud he was of the man I had become. He wanted me to know that although he was gone, he hoped that, in some way, he would still be watching over his grandchildren and over my wife and me. He wrote about the lessons he had learned in his life and about the importance of living with honesty, truth, and loyalty to the ideals of our faith. The letter was written after the passing of my mother, his wife of forty-eigh...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Time Where has the time gone? How did it get this late already? Where did the day go? Time, as the saying goes, waits for no one. Theories That Hurt My Head There are, broadly speaking, three theories of time: realist, relational, and idealist . The realist view holds that time is a physical thing— time is relative , tied to space, just as Einstein described. The idea that time slows as speed increases is fascinating, but also enough to give me a migraine, so let’s not linger there too long. The relational view suggests that time depends on the sequence of physical events in the universe. In an empty universe, time wouldn’t exist at all. Where the realist says the universe has a clock, the relationalist says the universe is a clock. Thinking about who—or what—started that clock brings on a dull ache along the top and sides of my head, so it’s probably best to move on. That leaves the idealist view, which claims time is a construct of the...

Ramblings of a Retired Mind Say it Enough  Yesterday, we witnessed yet another American tragedy of our own making. A mother. A daughter. A friend. Renee Good lost her life during a confrontation with federal ICE agents. Almost immediately, the federal administration moved to define the event on its own terms—casting the victim as the villain and shaping a narrative that aligned neatly with its worldview. We have seen this before. History Has a Way of Repeating Itself On May 4, 1970, at Kent State University, four student protesters—Allison Krause, Jeffrey Miller, Sandra Lee Scheuer, and William Schroeder—were shot and killed when twenty-eight Ohio National Guardsmen opened fire on students protesting the war in Southeast Asia. Sixty-seven rounds were fired in thirteen seconds. Nine others were wounded but survived—an often-forgotten fact. Though eight guardsmen were charged with violating civil rights, all were acquitted. The Nixon administration quickly blamed the student...

                                             Ramblings of a Retired Mind                                            Death Among Us   Living With Death, Choosing Life Nothing stirs emotion quite like death. It is the one certainty we all share, yet it arrives without a timetable or warning. We never know when it will come—only that it will. We encounter death constantly. Sometimes it touches our lives directly; other times it reaches us through news headlines and distant tragedies. We witness loss involving strangers and people we love, and the difference between those two experiences is profound. The Distance of Public Tragedy Recent weeks have been filled with reminders of how fragile life can be. Acts of violence driven by hatred, live...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Our First Christmas Tree When I married a fallen Catholic, I quickly learned that Christmas comes with a rulebook—one that is invisible, ironclad, and absolutely nonnegotiable. My wife’s family is wonderfully complicated and just scattered enough to make every holiday an exercise in logistics. She has four sisters and one brother, and every single one of them had their own Christmas traditions. Separate celebrations. Separate locations. No exceptions. So when her brother announced he’d be bringing his family up from South Carolina to spend Christmas in Chicago, my wife made what seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion: “Could we all celebrate together, just this once?” The answer was swift and unanimous. No. Since her brother and his family would be staying with us, I figured they deserved a proper Christmas—tree, lights, the whole deal. The problem was simple: we had never had a Christmas tree. Ever. “Well,” I said, “let’s get one. We’l...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Can I Change? The question hit me today: Can I really change? A simple inquiry, yet somehow endlessly complicated. I’ve always believed that part of our purpose in life is to keep learning, seek new experiences, and grow. But for all its importance, change is hard—much harder than I like to admit. Some days it feels as though I’m living in a permanent state of self-renovation. This drive toward self-improvement shows up everywhere. There are the shifts I know I need to make, and the personal adjustments I owe my wife. Then there are the subtle behavioral tweaks—the ones that affect friendships and everyday interactions. The feedback I receive is rarely cushioned: “Bob, you’re talking too much.” “Stop interrupting me!” Statements delivered with the sting of inconvenient accuracy. Still, I’m willing to put in the work. I’ve changed before, even when I fought it at first. For years, I terrified passengers with my driving, brushing off their ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind The Glance A Year of Change The year I turned twenty was a trying one. I was studying History with a Pre-Law minor at Roosevelt University in Chicago. My sister was on the verge of graduating from the University of Illinois. With both of us grown and busy, my parents decided it was time for one last family vacation . Two years earlier, they’d traveled through Italy and fallen in love with it. Now they were determined to share that love with us. And so, in May 1972, we embarked on a multi-city road trip that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I took the wheel; my father became navigator. Into Italy Our flight from Chicago took us through a chaotic layover in Paris—customs lines, hustling crowds, and a near-missed connection. But eventually we touched down in Milan in the gentle light of early morning. Within minutes of picking up our rental car, Italy offered its first challenge: a five-lane traffic circle with no clear escape route. Aft...

 We never really know when we’ll meet our closest friend. Many people drift in and out of our lives, but only a rare few become the ones we can trust completely—the ones who understand us without needing an explanation. Back in 1974 , I was working days in an institutional food factory and attending college at night. One morning, I showed up to find a new guy had joined the crew on the loading dock—the place where tons of sugar, flour, and other staples came in to be turned into food for schools, hospitals, and prisons. He was tall and lean, with a long shock of hair and a spark in his eye that told me he didn’t quite fit the mold. We hit it off almost immediately. Before long, we were inseparable during breaks. His sense of humor matched mine perfectly, and within a week, we’d developed our own nicknames for the rest of the crew—our little inside jokes that only we understood. Did I know then that this man would change my life? Not a chance. But through him, and later through ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Warp Speed Stroke—formally known as a cerebrovascular accident—runs deep in my family. A Childhood Memory In 1965, my parents moved my sister and me from the only home we knew in Chicago’s Rogers Park to Stamford, Connecticut. We went from neighbors stacked on top of us to an acre of land with a pond out back. I was in heaven. We arrived in October, right after my Bar Mitzvah and my thirteenth birthday, beginning our new life out East. The following spring, my father’s parents came to visit. But at that age, treasure hunts through the vast three-hundred-acre forest beside our house with my best friend, Fang Ferguson, were far more appealing than slow afternoons with grandparents. One afternoon, Fang and I were watching a baseball game in the den with my grandfather when my grandmother headed toward the kitchen—and collapsed face-first to the floor. At first, we thought she’d tripped on the step. But no—Anna had suffered a stroke. An ambulance wa...