Choose Order

“If an infinite number of monkeys had an infinite number of typewriters, would one of them type ‘Hamlet’?”

Probably not. Getting monkeys to sit at a typewriter isn’t easy, and an infinite number of them would provide a proportionate number of distractions.

I found that question intriguing when it was first posed to me in high school, and now, I’m not sure of its significance. Are we being asked if everything in existence is that random? If so, I don’t believe it. That would be believing in chaos as the dominant force, and it’s clear to me there is order in the universe.

Order is natural, chaos, so often, is a choice. When there is no order, no reason, when we are left to the mercy of the whims of others, that is chaos, that is a hellish existence. War is like that, and prison can be, too. When humanity is removed from our lives, when the law of the day is different from sunrise to sunset, we cease to live in a reasoned world, where consequences match actions, where equality is valued, where lives matter.

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We expect certain behaviors from certain people, and when people whose behavior has been selfish and uncharitable are put in positions in which they are expected to be wise and compassionate, chaos is certain to reign.

I pray for order in my world, for kindness and charity, for reason and safety.

I pray the monkeys aren’t in charge.


Image © Nito — Adobe Stock


Infinite

Too Cool for School

 
It’s hard to find something that comes pre-printed with the name “Belinda.” But when I was 14, a t-shirt shop in Eastridge Mall would add your name to just about anything it sold — and that was quite a selection.

me-june-1974This shirt had five little chickies on it, tumbling, standing, waving (but not waving the finger, that was a different t-shirt). I loved it. The hat, I believe, belonged to my brother, and on the night after my junior high graduation, either he or my sister snapped this uncharacteristic shot of me.

Look at those shorts. Good grief. I believe the poster in the background had the poem “Desiderata” printed on it — or something similar. I’m not certain, but it’s quite likely “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” was airing on the TV as the picture was taken.

But the best part of this picture? The shag carpeting, in various shades of orange and red. I remember raking that carpet.

Names

The Perfect Time, the Perfect Space

In my last apartment, I longed for a second bedroom, an office and sewing room, with some space set aside for storage. Now I have just that, and I’m hardly using it.

My living room has the perfect corner for one of my desks, so my laptop sits here most of the time. Downstairs (my new townhome is built on the side of a hill, so you enter on the second floor) are both the bedrooms. One, of course, is where I sleep, and the other is on its way to becoming the office/sewing room I imagined. On its very long way to that goal. Right now it’s a percolating mess.

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The corner with the desk, not the percolating mess

How is it that the reality never meets the expectations of the dreams? This room is a wisp of a problem, barely worth mentioning, but larger things loom. The new job, the new home, the new spouse, all bring with them (whether they intend to or not) a belief that now things will be better, now my idle thoughts will become golden reality.

Sometimes, the failure of the new to bring fantasy to life dims any good it may bring into our lives. Over time we realize the limitations of others and other things, and hopefully come to appreciate and value the times when good outweighs bad.

Life is never perfect, and many of us are wary in those fleeting moments when it seems it could be so. It’s not a matter of being cynical or negative, of seeing the glass half-empty or any such thing. Rather, it’s an awareness of the reality of this world, and a sense of gratitude for what good we’ve been given and the grace to manage to bad.

As I write this, I feel a bit foolish for seeing any bad in my life, given the horrors so many are experiencing. I’m grateful for a comfortable home, friends I can trust, food on my table. I feel no fear when I leave my front door that danger is imminent.

I pray that certainty doesn’t leave my life.

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My sweet babies think the outside world holds wonder for them…but really, it’s just cold, wet and devoid of easy living.

Interior

In Memoriam: Two Women Worth Watching

It seems to happen too often: at the tail-end of the year, after many of the retrospectives are complete, we lose a major personality. In this year, when several icons were lost at a relatively young age, it’s particularly poignant. Even more so, because it was mother and daughter.

I’m still feeling the shock of Carrie Fisher’s death, and now I’ve learned Debbie Reynolds passed away late yesterday. Carrie, as most of you know, was Debbie’s daughter with crooner Eddie Fisher. She never lived in her mother’s shadow, however. Her light was too bright.

Carrie was remarkably talented and equally outspoken. She had plenty of pain in her life, but never stopped moving forward, reinventing herself when necessary. As so many have noted, she was best known as Princess Leia in Star Wars, but her work didn’t stop with that character. In my life, I remember her more for her role in When Harry Met Sally… as Sally’s conflicted best friend with the peerless advice who later falls for and marries Harry’s best friend, Jess.

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Riccardo Ghilardi, photographer

Her books were funny, wise and brutally honest. Like many writers, she wrote what she was feeling at that moment, and when she later moved past those beliefs, was perhaps a bit startled to be confronted by her own words in an interview. Her blunt yet thoughtful responses are a tribute to a mind that never stopped spinning, never stopped growing.

Like another great actress we lost earlier this year, Patty Duke, Carrie dealt with bipolar disorder. Her work and words on behalf of the multitudes of others who face this disease brought understanding and compassion.

Debbie Reynolds played the sweetheart role effectively, yet she was as feisty and straightforward as her daughter, hardly the demure, sweet girl many saw on the screen. She could be bawdy and raucous, but she remained gracious. And she could tell a story.

I remember seeing her in an interview once years ago, speaking about her role in Singing in the Rain. Apparently one of the first scenes they shot was of Gene Kelly giving her a passionate kiss, and passionate it was. It was her first french kiss, and she pulled away from her acclaimed co-star, gagging and coughing and demanding some 7-Up. Kelly wasn’t used to this sort of reaction from women, and remained offended for a short time — but got over it.

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Allen Warren, photographer

She endured a scandalous divorce when Eddie Fisher left her for Elizabeth Taylor (imagine the pain of that!), yet in later interviews said she understood his reasons for leaving and had moved on from that challenge in her life. In fact, she rekindled her friendship with Elizabeth Taylor years later and the two remained close until the latter actress’s death.

The reason for her understanding? She told Vanity Fair she wasn’t a very sexual woman, preferring instead to raise her children. That can be a painful truth to admit, yet her candidness was very much in character with the way she lived the rest of her life.

My heart goes out to the family and friends of these two women. Christmas will never be the same for them.