Rays of Sunlight - Five

Occasionally the New York Times brings good news. Four lines under “World Briefing” bring word that Seretse Khama Ian Khama was sworn in yesterday to serve a second term as President of Botswana. His party, the Botswana Democratic Party was returned to power in a landslide. I am sure that Mma Ramotswe celebrated the event, and we shout our day-late Cheers! Go, Botswana!

Rays of Sunlight - Four

In this feature of Ghulf Genes I intend to lift into view admirable people, products, or events in a time of unrelenting gloom. The occasion of a little fall cleaning last Saturday suggested that I finally acknowledge three of my great favorites. In alphabetical order, today I name Ajax the powder, CLR the liquid, and Windex the spray. There is something deeply satisfying in using product you can rely on to do the job as you reach into the cupboard. Ajax and Windex go back into the past of my cleaning pre-history. CLR is a stand-by, but I hadn’t used it myself until I discovered, recently, that a very clean tub or sink can be made yet more gloriously white and, indeed, shiny if the last residues of invisible hard water have been dissolved by the liquid in the strange little grey bottle. The product removes calcium, lime, and rust.

To name names, Ajax is a product of Procter and Gamble, dating from 1958. Windex is three years older than I am, made and sold today by SC Johnson. CLR is the product of Jelmar, originally a sales organization that evolved, over time, into a maker of products, in this array the youngest of the lot. The fact that I must seek my cheer in the humble chores of cleaning house says something about the times, but to use an old wrestling expression, catch-as-catch-can.

Rays of Sunlight - Three

The Camera

Inside the box obscure whose tiny aperture
Is smaller than a small gnat's puny single eye
The rays of light combine to paint an image sure
And accurate but curiously all awry.

What’s on the left out there, inside is on the right,
What is on top out in the world is here the base,
From which we must infer that single rays of light
Are needle-hard and, hitting something, bounce a ways.

Light from the floor comes up toward the tiny hole
And angles to the top of film to be exposed
(Those were the days) or the magnetic new control
That grasps and holds the light after the shutter’s closed.

As from below, so from above, directions change.
From left to right and those two also turned about.
He who first saw this must have thought it very strange
Until he gave it thought and had it figured out.

Magical camera obscura, Light meet Dark,
Be friends and weave us images splendiferous
With nature’s solar light or electronic spark:
Your invention was a deed benign and glorious.

Rays of Sunlight - Two

While in a praising mood, I thought I’d make a second entry to celebrate things large and small in modern culture. Herewith one big thing and one small.

Yesterday Air France delivered two boys to us, Henry and Malcolm, Michelle’s youngest, twins aged ten. They left Paris and arrived here some eight, ten hours later, smiling sweetly, full of life, accompanied by an unsmilingly severe lady in Air France uniform (the perfect French bureaucrat) holding their passports and wheeling their luggage. A curious process of identification then took place. The children waved, we rushed forward (Brigitte, Monique, and I) and proceeded to hug and smack big kisses in European style while the Air France lady observed and, no doubt, at some crucial level, fully knew that we were the people to whom these youngsters could now be safely transferred. Bits of paper? What do they know? Nonetheless, we next proceeded to the examination of bits of paper, not least Monique’s plastic-encased Michigan driver’s license—which the Air France lady dutifully studied, not least the picture, looking up to see if Monique was really the same reality as the photograph indicated. Magical things were going on—a mental process in the Air France lady’s mind which judged the picture to be Monique. Behind that look loomed the vast process of vehicle licensing arrangements by the State of Michigan. Then came signatures, twice, and finally, mutual nods and smiles (the bureaucrat cracked a little) signaled the end of the encounter, and— left, as it were, en famille— we proceeded to the elevators.

Second verse. Back at Monique’s house, not very much later, the boys in swimming trunks now, attempted to do it all at once, thus swimming and fishing at the same time. In this process I got entangled with Henry’s fishing box, left over from last summer. Inside it the top tray had been hopelessly disfigured by the melting of five or six artificial worms made of some kind of second-rate plastic that had liquefied in the fierce heat of last summer. While the boys were off to fish-and-swim simultaneously, I went off (always seeking concentration) to clean up that tray. It was fiercely resistant—until Monique, divining my problem, handed me one of the modern culture’s unsung but great products: Goo-be-Gone. Well, in truth, the product’s real name is Goo Gone, but everybody refers to it as I just did. The Producer is Magic American Corporation—and that’s the kind of magic I do believe in. In no time at all, Goo Gone had dealt with the melted worms and Henry’s tackle-box was as good as new. I suffered conscience pangs for enjoying this cleaning experience rather than using it as a way of interacting with Henry, letting him do it, but for the boys it was now 1:00 a.m. subjective time, for us 7:00 in the evening.

Praises to Air France and all the other airlines, battling the storms of high prices and falling travel patronage. Praises for Goo Gone.

It was a good day. There are lots of them. By way of a corrective to this excess of exuberance, I began looking forward to today’s New York Times, and, indeed, I wasn’t disappointed. Goo be Gone but Gloom be Back.

Rays of Sunlight

Struck by the dark tone of this blog, I thought I’d start to note now and then matters that please me as I learn of them—and thus hope to make “Rays of Sunlight” a recurring title in this account. The occasion today was Brigitte’s enthusiasm as she shared a story from the New York Times announcing the appointment, as NATO commander, of Admiral James G. Stavridis. The Admiral’s last posting was the Southern Command. The “area of focus” of this command, as the military dubs its geographical coverage, is the entirety of the South American subcontinent including portions of Central America. As the article states, the Admiral’s command of French was already excellent when he assumed that command in 2006, but he spoke no Spanish. The text continues thus:

Over the next three years, his fluency was measured not only in the high-level meetings he conducted in the native tongue of his military hosts. He also read the novels of Gabriel García Márquez, the Nobel laureate from Colombia, in the original rich and lyrical Spanish. [NYT, June 30, 2009]

Terrific, we both thought. Admirable admiral! Brigitte and I both have extensive military experience—she as an employee and I as a soldier. We met in Germany because, in our respective jobs, we were coordinating various activities at a major military facility in Baumholder, an important artillery post and firing range, one of two, in Germany. We knew this institution from the inside, and, as insiders, we saw many things that were wrong, but, on balance, the military has always struck us as one of the stellar institutions of American life. There have always been, and, thank heaven, continue to be, outstanding figures like Admiral Stavridis, at every rank, by the way, not merely at the top. We saw back then, in the 1950s, how the Army—long before the Civil Rights Movement really got going—had completely integrated the races. The military could and did accomplish the job—without fuss and feathers. It is very pleasing to see that the tradition of excellence continues in its ranks.