J Daniel Hess’ Blog

May I share a nice oddity of my creaturehood?  On many mornings as I am trying to rouse myself from sleep, perhaps as I am stumbling toward the bathroom or when I begin brushing my teeth, an old Gospel song pops into my consciousness. While a few of these songs may be ones we sang in recent worship services, many come from long go: “Beulah Land” or “When the role is called up yonder” or “Revive us again” with special forte on the “Halleluia.”

We sang in my childhood home. Grandma and Mother hummed much of the time. We sang graces at mealtime. And I recall our singing as we did farm work. I suppose that music filtered into the substrata and now occasionally becomes a spring.

But why in the early morning?

“You got an early jump on it, eh?” said a neighbor as he looked at me, cutting down the grasses, pruning the nine-bark, and springifying the black-eyed susans. We’ve not had this kind of weather for months, so coffee downed, I headed to work in the garden. There’s snow remaining on the north side of Shirley’s garage and beside her pick-up truck. I tossed snow out onto the lawn where it surely will be gone by the end of the day. Up the street a neighbor has piled bags of leaves and winter leavings. I prefer to compost the leaves and throw thicker stuff onto a wildlife pile under the trees out back. Sparrows, doves and cardinals occasionally took their chances at the bird feeders while I worked nearby. The garage needed attention too. Tomorrow I’ll take cardboard to Southeastern Ave, plastic bags to Kroger, tins/plastic/paper to the recycling site at East Gate Plaza. Daylight Savings Time will begin next weekend, so the sap is rising at 347 North Bolton Avenue.

This is Sunday night, time for quiet meditation or watching the Oscars, so why am I thinking of vacuum sweepers?  Because I am sitting in the living room.

What happened is this. Our Eureka, for reasons that shouldn’t be, blew its motor, or that’s what the sweeper repairman who likes to sell Simplicity sweepers told me when I carried the Eureka into his shop. I took it there because I smelled hot plastic when I turned on the motor. He listened to the motor for eight seconds and said it wasn’t worth fixing.

The housekeeper was somewhat upset that the Eureka had so short a life — only 15 or so years, and somewhat under enthusiastic about Simplicity sweepers, but she couldn’t shop because of work schedule. What she wanted me to do is find ratings of sweepers from Consumer Reports, which I dutifully did. Then I decided that since we’d have to wait some days until she could go see the units that Consumer Reports likes (they all cost $500 or more, the ones that are lightweight and canistered and good on hardwood and rugs, and have all the right appliances, etc) I would do the good deed of vacuuming the house with the shop vac.

It seems that all my life when I try to do things to please people, I bomb out. I got this shop vac that’s supposed to be able to pick up anything even water into the living room and then got the thought that since it was a shop vac I might as well clean out the ashes and soot from the fireplace, the weather having turned warm. This I proceeded to do, aiming the nozzle into each nook and cranny, above and below the grate, in other words, I did a thorough job. But I turned around to discover that the shop vac was discharging the ashes and soot out the other end. By the time I turned off the vac, the living room was in a fog not unlike what Oklahoma must have been like in the dust bowl.  Apparently the ashes clogged up the simple filter of the vac, which somehow or other rerouted the intake to the outtake.

So that’s where I’m sitting this evening, rather than in the den where the TV is doing the Oscars, and I’m thinking about vacuum sweepers on a Sunday evening.

Yesterday I wrote of hopes for the church retreat. I can now report.

Nice weather:  We had clear weather, high 40s and low 50s, springlike enough to take a hike on the snow to the waterfall.

People ready to have fun; at least one moment of uproarous laughter: The talent show had its wonderful moments, topped, in my opinion, with Bonnie Borntrager’s presenting of two James Whitcomb Riley poems.

Something intellectually stimulating: The two field trips were successful — one to the Levi Coffin house that was crucial to the underground railroad, the other to the Moore Museum of Natural History on the Earlham College campus.

Safety:  No bumps or bruises that I’m aware of.

Food that doesn’t taste institutional: The Friday night snack, breakfast and lunch were house-prepared and delicious. Unfortunately overeating was made too easy.  The site, Quaker Hill, was very attractive and the staff accommodating.

Privacy so that snoring doesn’t ruin the night: I heard snoring but it didn’t keep me awake. I hope I kept no one else awake. We all had private rooms..

A worshipful moment: The Saturday morning worship included Psalm 133 which moved me.

Cooperation so parents can be freed to interact with others:  I think parents enjoyed free time. Child care was available. A little fellow on my lap looked at a book for well over 10 minutes. How fascinated he was.

Free exchanges between youth and elders, males and females, married and single, leaders and followers. I was in a number of good discussion groups, one of them late into Friday night, another at noon today, another on a hike this morning. I didn’t find time to chat with Josh.

At least 75% attendance. Yes, we came very close to 75%.  I believe the total number of participants exceeded 55.

What this little analysis shows — we had a successful retreat, for which I am grateful.

In a couple of hours, we head out to a congregational retreat. What are ten things I might hope for?

Nice weather.

People ready to have fun; at least one moment of uproarous laughter.

Something intellectually stimulating.

Safety.

Food that doesn’t taste institutional.

Privacy so that snoring doesn’t ruin the night.

A worshipful moment.

Cooperation so parents can be freed to interact with others.

Free exchanges between youth and elders, males and females, married and single, leaders and followers

At least 75% attendance.

Elizabeth did her very best.  “And so which tooth is the problem?”

“I don’t know.”

“OK.  How do you know there is a problem?”

“When I chew on the right side.”

“OK.  Does a change of temperature affect it?”

“No.”

“OK. Have you ever had a root canal?”

“Yes.”

“OK.  Which tooth?”

“I don’t remember.”

“OK. Which side?”

“I don’t remember.”

“OK. When was that root canal?”

“I don’t remember.”

“OK.  Who did it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“OK. Come in and we’ll do an evaluation.”

“OK.”

When The Atlantic published the article in 1999, I took notice. The Atlantic ranks high among my journalism favorites. The long article written by James K. Glassman and Kevin A. Hassett, and surely scrutinized by the crew of wise and critical Atlantic editors, made the case that conditions in the early 21st century supported a Dow Jones average of 36,000.  At the time the DJ was something above 10,000. Will we ever forget the absurdity of this forecast?

Last evening I read another financial forecast published in The Atlantic. It’s hardly an exaggeration to say that the article, written by Don Peck, one of Atlantic’s deputy managing editors, is as extreme as the Glassman/Hassett essay, but in the opposite direction. If the former article could evoke unrestrained optimism, this article contains depressants enough to effect acute worry.

Try this quotation:

“If it persists much longer, this era of high joblessness will likely change the life course and character of a generation of young adults — and quite possibly those of the children behind them as well. It will leave an indelible imprint on many blue-collar white men — and on white culture. It could change the nature of modern marriage, and also cripple marriage as an institution in many communities. It may already be plunging many inner cities into a kind of despair and dysfunction not seen for decides. Ultimately, it is likely to warp our politics, our culture, and the character of our society for years.”

If you find the quote a baseless exaggeration, you are invited to read Don Peck’s article, filled with respected research reports, quotes from learned authorities, and logical inferences. Some facts and opinions.

The real unemployment rate was 17.4 percent in October. This figure includes people who want to work but have stopped actively searching for a job, and people who want full-time jobs but can find only part-time work.

The economy now “sits in a hole more than 10 million jobs deep.” The author can not find “the engine that will pull the U.S. back into a strong growth path.”  He quotes former labor secretary Robert Reich: there can be no recovery until we find an entirely new model of economic growth.

Research of past economic downturns indicate that the contemporary youth generation suffers lasting negative effects. They don’t catch up, even when the economy improves.

The loss of finance, building and manufacturing jobs has hit males particularly hard, harder than the socially related jobs that employ women. This change in employment patterns will affect marriage and the family in fundamental ways.

Inner cities will suffer as prolonged unemployment among Blacks and Hispanics continues at rates higher than among whites.

Bell cites The Moral Consequences of Economic Growth written by economic historian Benjamin Friedman: “(I)nside and outside the U.S., lengthy periods of economic stagnation or decline have almost always left society more mean-spirited and less inclusive, and have usually stopped or reversed the advance of rights and freedoms.  People become more jealous of their status relative to others, Anti-immigrant sentiment typically increases, as does conflict between races and classes; concern for the poor tends to decline.”

Shall we hope that Bell is as faulty in his forecasting as Glassman and Hassett were in 1999? Or do we need a major and immediate reshaping of social consciousness and conscience, inasmuch as we have, in the past 50 years, developed many destructive spending and consuming habits.

I must have dropped my wallet and credit card holder onto the street by the car. When I saw it the next morning, my heart sank. I ran to the street and sure enough, both leather holders felt thin and flabby. Both were empty. I rushed to find a phone to call the credit card security number but realized I couldn’t manipulate the phone, but even if I could have, I didn’t have the number for the security office. It too had been taken.

And then the alarm clock sounded!

Oh!  For the first time in my life I loved that blasted alarm clock. I don’t have to cancel my credit cards. I don’t have to apply for another driver’s license. I don’t have to secure new Social Security and insurance cards. I don’t have to ask for customer cards from Kroger, Ace Hardware, the library, Triple A, and Office Depot. I don’t have to go to the bank for a new debit card. I don’t have to retrieve my identity.

I’ve got a lot of free time today and cash for a Starbucks.

The Juniper Spoon, my favorite caterer, asked me to help this evening. It had two assignments. I dressed in all black and arrived at the Montgomery County Fair Grounds with Lali at 5:15. That was one hour and fifteen minutes before 100 people would want dinner. The kitchen was empty. If I were the caterer I’d lose my mind at the impossibility of fixing food in that time. But I’m not the owner so I listened and obeyed. “Dan, you empty the vans. Kitty, you get the ovens ready and Amy and Tera, I want you to fold the napkins like this. Dan, when you are finished with the tote work, set up the chafing pans” Lali set to decorating the serving tables.

Of course there were hours upon hours of time already devoted to this gig. The boxes and pans that I carried into the kitchen were evidence.

The water in the four pans was hot by 6:15, ready for the Tex-Mex food (she’d kill me if she knew how I labeled her food) and wonderful dessert that Kitty had heated in the oven. The napkins were distributed. Lali called the staff together, described the event, gave us each our assignments, and told us about the food. She must have doubted me. “Dan, tell us about the dessert.” I began. “Well, it’s a crunch”  “BZZZZZZ” she said. “It’s a crumble. Go on.”  “An apple and berry crumble with local honey and maple syrup.”

She told us that the line would begin probably at 6:35-40 and that they wanted the meal finished by 7:15.  “So keep it moving,” she said. “And since the speech will be broadcast, be very quiet during clean-up.”

At 7:15 everybody had been fed. The second huge pan of crunch, no crumble, was empty and we were putting out the heaters under the chaffing pans one of which got too close to my hand and burned it. I went to the kitchen to begin scraping and rinsing off the pans while the others cleared the tables — quietly, indeed. Then we sat around a table in the kitchen and had our meal. Not Lali. She left at 7:15 to set up a reception at Wabash College. We actually reloaded the tools and supplies by the time the speaker, the dean of the School of Agriculture at Purdue University, was being applauded for his speech.

I still don’t know how we got all that work done. And now tomorrow The Juniper Spoon will begin preparing for a big Friday assignment.

We arrived home this afternoon to learn that the big hockey game was tied, 2-2  I know nothing about hockey save what I learned in watching a Notre Dame/ Michigan game and a vigorous town game involving teenagers in Alberta. I know none of the players on either team by name. I do not follow pro-hockey. I skate only by wobbling. Thus I can not explain to you why I cheered for Canada in this hockey game.