fishermans exemption rule
I have an odd little superstition about commercial fishers. For some reason they are protected from many of life's dangers, both moral and physical while living and working in the boats. On the beach, there are the rules of church and home, in the out ports along the coast living and working in the boats it's a different kettle of fish. Incidents that spell scandal and tragedy for folks in other walks of life are nothing more than close calls and interesting stories in the life of the fisher.
Even for the world of magical thought in which I grew up, this one is a bit far fetched. Belief in the power of prayer to prompt divine protection to the boats at sea is common. But those folks would be aghast at the thought of boat crews getting some sort of magic protection if they happen to go on a spree up town, that is instantly lifted as soon as the boat heads back out to the grounds. On the ocean, your ass is on the line, mother's prayers or not. Only fair to get limited license for the times in port between trips.
More comfortable with unanswered questions than magical explanations, the myth and woo of my earlier years has tended to drop away over the years. In this context it is interesting and amusing to have the fun bit of magical thinking about the life of the commercial fisher come to mind as if it were real as air. The ease with which it slips past the reality checkers in my mind is amusing. Insight it gives to me in an issue with my mother is interesting, but harder to put into written word. Give it my best shot.
At age 96, our dear old mother, is doing remarkable well. Limited mobility keeps her in a chair most of the time in front of a large television screen. I believe that this has resulted in a curious sort of dementia. Watching the video performances of a single artist over and over for a period of years**, she can no longer separate her fantasies about the shows from every day life. Deeply offended when reminded that the characters on television are only make believe, it is obvious that her brain has lost its ability to sort out fact from fiction in an isolated area, while maintaining normal cognitive capabilities in other parts of her life.
Concern for the well being of the elder loved one includes more than a hint of superiority; I am still in firm control of my mind. Or am I? Separating fact from fantasy is a juggling dance with which we all struggle in every stage of life. Fantasies equally as bizarre as mother's marriage to a television image constantly swirl through my head. The incident in which the old fisherman's protection rule felt true and real gave me pause. The tiny slip allowing bits of myth and magic to cross the brain / reality barrier is oh so easy to cross. I hope that my mind chooses one of its less embarrassing magical notions to present to the outside world when it looses its capacity to notice the dividing line between our inner world and physical reality.
** We have tried to get her interested in a wider variety of entertainment options, but she refuses to watch anything but this one artist's videos.
Even for the world of magical thought in which I grew up, this one is a bit far fetched. Belief in the power of prayer to prompt divine protection to the boats at sea is common. But those folks would be aghast at the thought of boat crews getting some sort of magic protection if they happen to go on a spree up town, that is instantly lifted as soon as the boat heads back out to the grounds. On the ocean, your ass is on the line, mother's prayers or not. Only fair to get limited license for the times in port between trips.
More comfortable with unanswered questions than magical explanations, the myth and woo of my earlier years has tended to drop away over the years. In this context it is interesting and amusing to have the fun bit of magical thinking about the life of the commercial fisher come to mind as if it were real as air. The ease with which it slips past the reality checkers in my mind is amusing. Insight it gives to me in an issue with my mother is interesting, but harder to put into written word. Give it my best shot.
At age 96, our dear old mother, is doing remarkable well. Limited mobility keeps her in a chair most of the time in front of a large television screen. I believe that this has resulted in a curious sort of dementia. Watching the video performances of a single artist over and over for a period of years**, she can no longer separate her fantasies about the shows from every day life. Deeply offended when reminded that the characters on television are only make believe, it is obvious that her brain has lost its ability to sort out fact from fiction in an isolated area, while maintaining normal cognitive capabilities in other parts of her life.
Concern for the well being of the elder loved one includes more than a hint of superiority; I am still in firm control of my mind. Or am I? Separating fact from fantasy is a juggling dance with which we all struggle in every stage of life. Fantasies equally as bizarre as mother's marriage to a television image constantly swirl through my head. The incident in which the old fisherman's protection rule felt true and real gave me pause. The tiny slip allowing bits of myth and magic to cross the brain / reality barrier is oh so easy to cross. I hope that my mind chooses one of its less embarrassing magical notions to present to the outside world when it looses its capacity to notice the dividing line between our inner world and physical reality.
** We have tried to get her interested in a wider variety of entertainment options, but she refuses to watch anything but this one artist's videos.
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