WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Something Wonderful: For Today. For the rest of the week. For always.
byVanderleunonMay 1, 2022
Military father comes home from deployment. Surprises his son during a boxing lesson. This is the best thing you will see all day 🇺🇸 pic.twitter.com/QizjdDctXW
Will Durant looked for “the meaning of life”. He looked in History, in Philosophy, in Teaching, in Travel, in Languages, in Writing, in Fame and in Wealth, and found emptiness.
One day he was sitting in a train at the station. He saw a woman and her 3 children patiently waiting as passengers disembarked. A man stepped out of Durant’s train, and the children began to squeal and they ran up to the man, jumping all over and hugging him. The woman slowly walked up to the man, smiled and kissed him, and arm in arm the five of them walked away from the train station.
Durant had at long last found the meaning of life.
gwbnycMay 1, 2022, 2:08 PM
on the train my first week in NYC, crowded. a man and his son get on, there’s an open seat, the man directs his son to it. the boy sits down, he says “I want to sit with you, daddy.” an old man next to the boy stands up and directs the father to his seat, the father refuses, the old man insists- wordlessly- and the father sat down.
another time, another train, another silent exchange- a boy and his mother board. he’s perhaps six or so. he struggled trying to open a small bag of potato chips. I took a swiss army knife out and opened the scissor and motioned to the boy to give me the bag, he did. I cut the bag open and handed it back to him, and put my knife away. then looked at me and held the bag up offering some potato chips. I declined with a smile I felt but wasn’t visible, and a hint of a headshake.
There are no small things. There are no coincidences. There are no accidents.
ThisIsNotNutellaMay 2, 2022, 2:16 AM
I saw this exact scene once, too. Waiting to pick up an arriving friend outside the passenger terminal at Ngurah Rai Airport. The arriving father was (IIRC) French and the children were half Balinese and obviously utterly unsoiled by the Hollywood Poz: not a hint of Daria or Frozen. It was magical. At that moment I wished I could have lived my life over.
PA CatMay 1, 2022, 10:18 AM
My dad was 82nd Airborne, WWII– although he taught me baseball skills rather than boxing. But it’s good to see that the ranks of the All-Americans are still filled with All-American dads.
Yep Casey, me too, you beat me to say’in it though.
Walt GottesmanMay 1, 2022, 12:21 PM
Dust here too.
Happiest day of my life was in 1953 when, while out for recess on my third grade playground, a kid said to me: “Hey Walter, there’s a man over there who wants to talk to you.” I turned around and saw my dad in uniform, standing by the gate to the schoolyard, smiling. He was home safely after his second year-long tour of duty in the Korean War with a Combat Engineers unit. I didn’t know I could run that fast or hug my old man that hard.
Thanks Gerard, for the video clip, for bringing back a good memory, for keeping this blog going day after day, year after year. Remarkable achievement! God bless you man.
TerryMay 1, 2022, 2:12 PM
After reading Walt’s comment, I called my Dad just a few minutes ago. He will be 97 in June. I asked him if he remembers what year it was when he came home from Korea. He did not remember. But boy, I can sure remember when he walked into the house in Sonora, California. I was never before in my short life so happy.
And he was my, and my brothers boxing instructor also.
Tears in my eyes.
gwbnycMay 1, 2022, 1:28 PM
distribute freely-
TerryMay 1, 2022, 2:16 PM
The red one in the upper left quadrant. Dad gave it to me when I was a little kid. I still have it. He gave all three of his boys red hankies.
gwbnycMay 1, 2022, 3:56 PM
I had my grandfather’s, a red one, and his pinstripe hat- he was an engineer on the New York Central System.
When I leave the compound the dark blue one is in my left ass pocket.
Walt GottesmanMay 2, 2022, 6:30 AM
Blue one’s with me every day. Same pocket.
Minta Marie MorzeMay 1, 2022, 6:23 PM
I read Czeslaw Milosz’s “Captive Mind” book decades ago, so my memory isn’t the best on it—and there are several translations—but it is a phenomenal book, and in it the communist Milosz is in a little railway station in, I think, Siberia, and he sees a small family sit on their suitcases and the mother takes out a small tea set and with great care makes them each a small cup of what was clearly a precious liquid for them. It is in the middle of a place of despair and people sitting and staring into nothingness.
That was the moment of change for Milosz.
gwbnycMay 1, 2022, 8:57 PM
never heard of him, so I’ll look for it.
that happens a lot around here.
edit/searched. if ever a man’s name was illustrated by his looks.
Minta Marie MorzeMay 2, 2022, 12:08 AM
gwbnyc: He wasn’t not just a poet. He was a brilliant philosopher and historian. Czeslaw Milosz’s Captive Mind book is extraordinary, even the poorer translation. I wish I could remember the best translator, but his books are in a shed with a few thousand books I couldn’t fit in in this small apartment. When things get better, I’ll move and more shelves will go up again, and I’ll read his works among the first again. I can’t wait.
Walt GottesmanMay 2, 2022, 6:40 AM
Milosz also wrote The Witness of Poetry and The Seizure of Power. I copied down this quote from him:
“Official language deprived experience of reality.” (from The Seizure of Power)
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
Green Pants Interior by Klahn
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.

My feet are on the hilltops.

My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.

Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.

I have been to hell and back many times.

I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.

I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.

I know the passionate seizure of beauty

And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
 in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
Gerard Van der Leun
Comments on this entry are closed.
I could—I have—watch such videos for hours.
Will Durant looked for “the meaning of life”. He looked in History, in Philosophy, in Teaching, in Travel, in Languages, in Writing, in Fame and in Wealth, and found emptiness.
One day he was sitting in a train at the station. He saw a woman and her 3 children patiently waiting as passengers disembarked. A man stepped out of Durant’s train, and the children began to squeal and they ran up to the man, jumping all over and hugging him. The woman slowly walked up to the man, smiled and kissed him, and arm in arm the five of them walked away from the train station.
Durant had at long last found the meaning of life.
on the train my first week in NYC, crowded. a man and his son get on, there’s an open seat, the man directs his son to it. the boy sits down, he says “I want to sit with you, daddy.” an old man next to the boy stands up and directs the father to his seat, the father refuses, the old man insists- wordlessly- and the father sat down.
another time, another train, another silent exchange- a boy and his mother board. he’s perhaps six or so. he struggled trying to open a small bag of potato chips. I took a swiss army knife out and opened the scissor and motioned to the boy to give me the bag, he did. I cut the bag open and handed it back to him, and put my knife away. then looked at me and held the bag up offering some potato chips. I declined with a smile I felt but wasn’t visible, and a hint of a headshake.
what is a small thing?
There are no small things. There are no coincidences. There are no accidents.
I saw this exact scene once, too. Waiting to pick up an arriving friend outside the passenger terminal at Ngurah Rai Airport. The arriving father was (IIRC) French and the children were half Balinese and obviously utterly unsoiled by the Hollywood Poz: not a hint of Daria or Frozen. It was magical. At that moment I wished I could have lived my life over.
My dad was 82nd Airborne, WWII– although he taught me baseball skills rather than boxing. But it’s good to see that the ranks of the All-Americans are still filled with All-American dads.
OK I got some dust in my eyes.
Yep Casey, me too, you beat me to say’in it though.
Dust here too.
Happiest day of my life was in 1953 when, while out for recess on my third grade playground, a kid said to me: “Hey Walter, there’s a man over there who wants to talk to you.” I turned around and saw my dad in uniform, standing by the gate to the schoolyard, smiling. He was home safely after his second year-long tour of duty in the Korean War with a Combat Engineers unit. I didn’t know I could run that fast or hug my old man that hard.
Thanks Gerard, for the video clip, for bringing back a good memory, for keeping this blog going day after day, year after year. Remarkable achievement! God bless you man.
After reading Walt’s comment, I called my Dad just a few minutes ago. He will be 97 in June. I asked him if he remembers what year it was when he came home from Korea. He did not remember. But boy, I can sure remember when he walked into the house in Sonora, California. I was never before in my short life so happy.
And he was my, and my brothers boxing instructor also.
Tears in my eyes.
distribute freely-
The red one in the upper left quadrant. Dad gave it to me when I was a little kid. I still have it. He gave all three of his boys red hankies.
I had my grandfather’s, a red one, and his pinstripe hat- he was an engineer on the New York Central System.
Send more please.
When I leave the compound the dark blue one is in my left ass pocket.
Blue one’s with me every day. Same pocket.
I read Czeslaw Milosz’s “Captive Mind” book decades ago, so my memory isn’t the best on it—and there are several translations—but it is a phenomenal book, and in it the communist Milosz is in a little railway station in, I think, Siberia, and he sees a small family sit on their suitcases and the mother takes out a small tea set and with great care makes them each a small cup of what was clearly a precious liquid for them. It is in the middle of a place of despair and people sitting and staring into nothingness.
That was the moment of change for Milosz.
never heard of him, so I’ll look for it.
that happens a lot around here.
edit/searched. if ever a man’s name was illustrated by his looks.
gwbnyc: He wasn’t not just a poet. He was a brilliant philosopher and historian. Czeslaw Milosz’s Captive Mind book is extraordinary, even the poorer translation. I wish I could remember the best translator, but his books are in a shed with a few thousand books I couldn’t fit in in this small apartment. When things get better, I’ll move and more shelves will go up again, and I’ll read his works among the first again. I can’t wait.
Milosz also wrote The Witness of Poetry and The Seizure of Power. I copied down this quote from him:
“Official language deprived experience of reality.” (from The Seizure of Power)