The Weekend Eudemon
This is one of those weekends when I thank the heavens I'm alive. I'm not in New Orleans. I have three days off work. Both of my alma maters, University of Michigan and Notre Dame, start their seasons today. Temperatures are in the seventies.
And, oh yeah: My wife went to Detroit to see her parents and won't be back until Sunday evening.
And she took all seven children with her.
I would have gone, but she left Friday morning and I had to work most of the day. I also have to meet with a client briefly this morning.
I've also been meaning to make serious headway into the works of Pierre Manent, and a quiet house will help immensely. In fact, after I post this, I will head to the front porch (crisp and bugless early in the morning) and read.
I cleaned the front porch yesterday: picked up the trash and action figures, cleared off our two Adirondack chairs, and cleaned the little table that sits between the chairs. I do that a couple of times a month, but the little table is always smeared with food before the end of the day. Marie tends to send the kids outside to eat messy stuff, and Max and Meg (2 and 4) aren't very good with messy stuff. The other four eating children aren't very good, either, for that matter.
But not today. Today it is still clean.
I love my family, but days like today are great because they're rare. I'll be lonely for my family by tomorrow, but today, it's the Day of Eric. Yesterday was the Afternoon of Eric, since I left work early to come home and enjoy the quiet house.
Change of subject: The Kiosk is tanking. TDE received an average of 332 Visitors per day during August. Viewers to the Kiosk? Only 10-20 per week. There's some humorous and decent stuff over there. Oh well. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink it. Kiosk contributors: Don't get discouraged. Some day, it'll catch on. Perhaps like a rampant venereal disease, but it will catch on.
The rest of TDE is doing well. During August, 2270 different people visited the Site. Over 10,000 visitors came during the month, which means many people are visiting repeatedly. That's a good sign.
I hope everyone enjoys the new first-person approach. I received only five or six e-mails that either complained about it or questioned it, but no one signalled approval. It was also fairly cumbersome. I write all my other articles in the first person, and the switching back-and-forth was sometimes confusing. I suspect I'll lapse into the third person occasionally out of habit, but for now on, I will try to address y'all in my voice.
Malcolm's Messages (what's this?)
Chapter 2: Malcolm and the Maze (continued)
. . . Malcolm's words trailed off here and he fell into a dreamy trance. Someone yelled from the Ocean, "What the hell are you talking about Malcolm?"
Even Mr. Rufus looked troubled.
Malcolm, startled, began again.
"I am the hell talking about the Great Things. But I distracted myself. I am sorry.
He regained his thought and continued in a strong and commanding voice. "Wise Men spent their entire lives pursuing the Great Things, but never attained them. The smartest among them started at age twelve and lived until age ninety, but never attained them.
"For the Great Things cannot be grabbed or attained. You only get glimpses of them. The glimpses, though, are worth all the gold in the hinterlands, so you must mold your Maze to make it ready for the Great Things when they come.
"That is what this mighty learning institution should do for you. It should start you on the lifelong process of molding your Maze so it is ready when the Great Things roar into your life in their fiery chariot. For if your Maze is not ready, the Wicked Gnome will shoot the Charioteer with poisoned arrows and the Charioteer will fly from you as from an enemy."
Malcolm's speech commanded complete attention at this point, a preacher without the self-righteousness. He glowed with kindness and knowledge. People were in a trance. But only momentarily. They then started looking at each other, snickering. Even kindly Mr. Rufus turned to his wife and said, "Charioteer? Wicked Gnome? What is this guy talking about?" Others sneered and walked away, shaking their heads.
"The Wicked Gnome will poison the arrows by dipping their tips in the pools of the Maze," Malcolm continued, calling after the people who were walking away, but without threat or begging. Some stopped and turned around. Malcolm smiled to them.
"That is the greatest irony of all. The Charioteer brings the Great Things to you, hoping to spread them like seeds in the pools of the Maze, and instead those pools will provide the poison that scares the Charioteer away.
"You need to ready your Maze, so it is a place suitable for the Great Things. Here, at this institution, you should start that process, but I fear too many of you are concerned with success and money and this institution accommodates this erring goal, so you learn how to attain such things, instead of learning how to order the Maze. You will not know where to begin–what types of books to read or which Wise Men to admire. And if you do not learn such things, then the Wicked Gnome will grow strong and usurp your Maze, making every corner deadly and every blind bend dangerous. Instead of a Maze that is ready, you will have a Maze that is filled with danger and poison. That is my fear, and that is why I came to this learning institution."
Sincerity rang from Malcolm's mouth, and the people who were still there listened to him and his words entered their Mazes, there to do battle with the Wicked Gnome, though they did not know it. Mr. Rufus was particularly stunned.
Malcolm looked about him and looked at the palm of his hands. They had been filled with writing, but now they were clean. He stepped off the speaking stone and started walking through the campus, away from his house, and toward the Big City.
