He was very beautiful, even as a pup. He grew up to be a magnificent Kerry Blue Terrier. We lived in a rural area, surrounded by farms. Some were dairy farms, some were beef farms, and most were growing corn and hay. It was commonplace in that remote community to let the farm dogs have their freedom. Each dog most often stayed around its home farm, and occasionally went roaming and hanging around with others.
I thought Dorian was an elegant name for a country dog. I got it from the famous classic book, “The Picture of Dorian Grey.” I should have thought it through, as you’ll realize if you have read the book. In Oscar Wilde’s novel, Dorian Grey is constantly out on the town. He drank to excess, he smoked a variety of weeds and drugs, and engaged in a seemingly endless numbers of sexual encounters with women, girls, and boys. It seemed to not matter to him that his life was a continuous debauchery. In fact, if anyone attempted an intervention, he simply convinced them to join his depravity.
My Dorian grey was a lovely guy, and an adventurer by nature. Many nights, while I lay asleep in my bed, or my television chair, Dorian was out. He’d be running with other rough and tough country dogs, chasing cats, including some lynx, racoons, and occasionally a bear, I believe. Still, he’d return home in the morning, spry and happy, having apparently suffered no punishment for his aggressive antics. I felt like he’d had his way with every available bitch in the county.
On the other hand, I’d wake up feeling spent. It was as if I’d been carousing and fornicating all night, like Dorian did. I didn’t always fully recover, and by the time I was 45, I was like a man in his sixties. At the same time, Dorian was 19, and still as spry and lively as a pup. Finally, I realized that I was Dorian’s “portrait”, as in the novel. Dorian, the anti-hero of the novel went on carousing throughout his life, while his handsome face in the portrait, in a locked room at home, grew increasingly aged as time passed.
Suppose God actually had made everything, there still had to be evolution. Imagine God made caterpillars. Colourful creatures, but did he take the time to give them the DNA to create a chrysalis or a cocoon? Inside those enclosures, some kind of seeming miracle occurs. These cozy enclosures tear open, on schedule, from the inside. Suddenly there’s a butterfly or a moth. What’s next?
Perhaps God wants the balance kept, rather than coat the planet with flying insects, so God dreamed up fish that leap from the water to grasp low-flying insects. For higher-flying creatures, God created bats, to feed on the flying creatures too. It seems God confused his plans a bit. God created birds, to fly. God created mice, to scurry. While developing the mice, God gave some of them wings, which were meant for birds only. Then God gave the bats radar brains with which they ‘feel the location’ of their target, sightlessly.
As a bonus for the bats, God created the flying insects with an irresistible attraction toward lights. The insects gather in swarms around lights, and Papa bat can feed the whole family. We don’t know how much God had to do with the evolution of the electric light and the electricity to light it.
Suppose God created the giraffe. Is the long neck to reach high leaves a good design? The hippopotamus lives mostly immersed in water. It eats underwater plants. Did God design the cute little nostrils that the hippo can keep above water? I think everything evolved, naturally, starting with materials from the Big Bang. Given eternity and infinity, any possible melding of solids, liquids, and gasses is possible.
While canoeing on Georgian Bay in Canada’s Great Lakes, I was sliding through the calm water alongside a tall, flat cliff of solid granite. Over hundreds of years, water had seeped into small cracks in the granite face. During winters, the water in the cracks froze and expanded to push the cracks wider. Eventually, dirt blew into the cracks and filled them with earth. As time passed, cedar tree seeds found their way into that dirt, either by wind or through bird droppings. By the time I was drifting by, a cedar tree about twenty years old had grown horizontally out of a crack in the granite and bent up toward the sun.
God did not do any of that. It is plainly obvious that given time and weather, evolution can cause virtually any circumstance. God did not make the Platypus, a mammal with a duck beak and webbed toes. God did not make the bat, a mammal with wings of skin. God did not make the marsupials like kangaroos and possums that carry their fetuses outside of their uterus and in a tummy pocket instead.
The way the earth became so rich in species is an accident of space and time. The reality of eternity and infinity prove that anything is possible, without God, eventually.
When we consider the sliver of time during which humans have lived, and the even more insignificant time given to each individual, we mean nothing. It’s true that we have pretty much ruined this planet, and that’s about the only thing that’s significant about our tenure.
This recent photo of exciting events in the universe prove that we mean nothing. It’s a toss up as to whether or not we will continue to evolve and somehow become good, or we will wipe ourselves out with filth or fighting. So don’t worry, you’re as important as a billionaire because a billionaire is no more important than are you. Just imagine Taylor Swift wiping her behind. See? Everyone’s the same, in the end.
We the people are forever striving for more and better of anything good. We must assume that life is good, because science is now developing ways to grow replacement parts for the human body. It seems that the DNA of a pig is sufficiently close to that of a human, that it might be possible for the porcine to grow spare parts for people. However, I question the wisdom of installing aftermarket parts for people. Life might not be ‘good’ after pig-grown kidneys or hearts have been installed.
Mary Tyler Moore has just died. Might she have been saved by a pig part? On the other hand, she lived to 80, which is a pretty good run. I believe she was diabetic as well, so eighty years is an achievement. I’m 80 now, but I don’t feel like death is imminent. I wonder if it just happens. One is walking in the garden, and the lights go out forever. I wouldn’t mind. I’d rather that than a long spell in a bed, suffering embarrassing invasions.
It’s unlikely that science will stop at porcine parts for people. They will press on into the future, hoping to make people. I prefer the natural way to make people. They arrive in a small size, and while they grow into fruition, there is time to teach them some of the stuff they’ll need as life goes on.
I think something between 85 and 100, give or take a decade, is a good lifespan. My friend’s grandfather lived to 105, and was bright right to the end. I’d like to live that long, and I’d accept pig parts to do it. I have a late-life granddaughter, and I want to see her at 20. I want more time with my wife, my daughter, and my friend.
This ancient Chinese slogan is obviously not meant to be taken literally. To me, it means when you become too old to do the things you have always done, you should find the activity that suits your aged physique. On the other hand, the people who have always depended upon their physical appearance to get through life might be unable to survive without beauty.
I know a woman who was so beautiful in her teens and twenties, any glamourous movie star would be shamed beside her. She was wealthy, as well, thanks to her father’s success. She married an associate of her father’s. The groom was a decade older than the bride, and was also very wealthy.
The girl didn’t really need much more, so she went to art college and later produced a series of objects that were duplicates of items she’d seen during world travels. She travelled the world with a paid gigolo. She believes she loves him and he loves her. She’s not too bright, I guess, because the guy left her and married another woman.
The only communication one ever sees from her is focused on her own beauty, as well as her beautiful daughter and granddaughter. I suppose she had ‘work done’, because now, in her seventies, she is still beautiful. She obviously dresses to hide her body and wears tinted glasses to hide her eyes. Her life seems to come to not much of anything that matters.
She tells me that she’s always loved me, since we met at a dance when we were in our teens. I don’t know why I only dated her a few times. There was nothing within her that attracted me. Afterward, a few of my buddies dated her, but did not become her boyfriend. It is strange that such a beautiful package should contain only sand.
I was good looking throughout my life, and I was surprised at the arrival of old age. I’m not a geezer type, although I am pushing on through life in my eightieth year. I still go up and down the stairs with little problem, and drive long distances, clear snow, and help my wife with the large garden. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m still good looking or not. I assume I’ve lost my looks, and I have, in my way, learned to sing.
I was a television writer, and I still write things like this, because I like to. I also sculpt clay, carve wood, draw a great deal and do some paintings. I’ve “learned to sing” in my way. I think It’s because I didn’t think I was good looking until I got into my middle teens. I realized it when girls became bold and told me I was handsome.
I used my looks in my professional life. Receptionists and secretaries would tell me the inside story on one executive or another, and get me appointments that were difficult to acquire. My talent and my way of life make my remaining time full and rich, even though I’ve lost my looks. That gorgeous, wealthy woman, however, is just empty. She’s a beautiful package with naught within.
To me, the planet Earth is a living thing. The cool shell of the planet is like its skin. I have seen a rock appear as a patch of moss on a riding trail. The following year the rock had risen in the earth enough that the moss withdrew. The year after that, it was a low mound of granite in the grass. Year after year the rock thrust itself more and more out of the earth. After seventeen years one could see that it was a gigantic rock continuing to rise out of the earth, like human skin erupting slowly with a pimple or blackhead. That boulder, which is now about the size of a hay bale, looks like it’s going to push up through the earth and might well be the size of a house before it’s done. Like the visible portion of an iceberg is just ten percent of the whole with ninety percent submerged. That rock might be like that. I could be a mountain coming up out of the riding trail over the next millennium.