“Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice,” he said. “Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” -Barry Goldwater

Such quotes as Barry Goldwater’s are not limited to politics. Such attitudes persist at every level. It is easy to let difficult conversations slide, small slights made on the sly pass.

The attitude becomes, “It’s not worth it.”

But it is. It is necessary. Because not all claims are hard and fast, backed clearly by evidence, because not all claims are zero sum, because not all claims are made clearly with their intent out front, easily identified.

The question to Goldwater’s quote might be: “Why is it worth it?”

And even then it will tempting to say, “No.”

But we must always keep one question in particular in mind because with every slight, every inconsideration, with every smiling lie, with every irresponsible decision made in dark rooms and in dining rooms, with every selfish endeavor and choice to simply look away and walk off we answer another question.

What kind of society do we want to live in?

We are born into a system. There is seldom choice, but simply the sense that we are herded and pointed. Trying to do the right thing we find the impossibility of it overwhelming. Soon there is no time to care, but only the urgent need to find value or bury the longing we have for it.

Money is easy. We want, we desire. And money is able to give us those things we want and we desire. Money. It gives us safety and security and it motivates us. It changes us. It makes us into its image. Soon we have forgotten that we have no choice and we do not feel the prodding of the stick in our sides as we are moved along the metal shoot.

It all becomes so easy. To get money we must work and so work, that indelible, human concept, becomes something we must do rather than a passion that we desire. Work brings us that single thing that we have now come to desire. Work is a means to an end. Work. It takes our time up and defines our worth.

The value of money is that we no longer need to care but simply to move. There is not time to slow down or the gentle prodding becomes a sharp pain in our sides. No longer caring what we do. No longer caring how we do it. Our work is defined for us and we are given ways to fill our lives up, themselves ways of making money for some. We become a number.

This, the number, is the value of money.

Truth will catch up. No matter what we say, or do, or believe, or hope, or dream about, or desire. Truth will override, overrun, and out pace. It has time, and time reveals persistently. It may start as an uneasy feeling or maybe giddy excitement. It may be as simple as a statement made without thinking. But, truth will have its day.

It’s not always popular, that old minion, Truth. It holds its own and doesn’t care for opinion. It has no filter and no social graces. It has no one that it must answer to. It answers to itself and that it what Truth abides by, itself. Truth is not always invited to the parties and the get-togethers. But it is there, nevertheless, with a smile on its face.

Truth is the only friend to trust. It is the only friend that will not hold back, not give in. It will not abide ignorance or arrogance. It will not smile when a frown is called for. It will not worry about yours or my feelings. It will simply be and it expects no less from its friends, which are few.

We can lie and Truth knows it. We can turn away, and Truth remains. We can hide, but Truth will not come looking. It simply waits because it knows that one day we will need it to be what it is.

So easy to miss and so important, those little things that we pass by without a thought. They grow between the cracks unnoticed and we, always on our way to some other place or thinking about some other thing don’t even forget. We simply don’t notice.

Little blades of grass, little flowers and the bees in those flowers. The hawk sitting on a powerline wondering what the hurry is. On our phone while our dogs enjoy the sunshine and the smells. Dismissing what we deem as unimportant.

Those little things like consideration for others, respect for our neighbors. We are busy. We are not aware. We have excuses but we don’t notice those after a while. so easy to miss and so important, those little things that we pass by without a thought.

Just like the cracks and crevices in our lives, that other thing, some other place. we don’t forget. we simply don’t notice. And what is the hurry? Why are we not down on our knees with our dogs enjoying the smells and learning about what we so easily dismiss.

Well, it’s just those little things, after all.

There is something in a thoughtful melody, one which has been lovingly created. There is a beauty in the ability to conjure up an idea and make it come to life only to have it grow and expand, evolve into the moment.

There is something human in listening. And that is what jazz is. To play it one must listen and respond. One must create lovingly and without a goal other than beauty itself. Jazz is musically virtuous. When played it is a good in itself.

There is something gratifying in the ability to play jazz. It is technical and difficult and takes time, and practice. It is often not easily accessible or readily accepted. It has expectations itself and does not suffer mediocrity. The ability to play an instrument well is a lifelong endeavor. Jazz reminds those that will play it that they will never play it as well as they want to.

There is something elated about music for music’s sake. In a world full of shortcomings and short-sighted goals, jazz refuses to be a product. It is above that and stands in its arrogance proudly and unapologetic. It flies high above the noise and nuisance of the unimportant.

Expectations are difficult to let go, but it is necessary to let them go. They will always let you down. Whether it is an old friend that is in town and doesn’t call or it is a plan that didn’t come to fruition. Expectations, we have to remember, are our own. They were not done to us. We chose them ourselves.

That is not to say that one’s word is not to be held, or that we should not be good to our own word. Expectations are not like that. Expectations are more like hope. They grow because of a desire we have or how we feel. One’s word is one’s promise. It is integrity and character. One’s word defines them. It makes them who they are. Expectations are simply a desire for something that may or may not be true.

Friendships begin as expectations, and on those rare occasions they blossom into true relationships. A friend’s word is something to be trusted and to be held in high esteem. The expectation of friendship is an illusion. Sometimes a plant grows. Sometimes it dies.

We might like to think that our expectations are based upon truths. But, they are not. Just as friendships must grow into trusting relationships, expectations must be understood as what they are: a hope for something with the understanding of that nothing may be.

Of all the ways that be thought of to show someone, to show something your love, to show that you care, time is the most precious. To give someone your time is to give of yourself. It is your time to give and you will never get it back. It will be gone forever.

And yet we sometimes, when we think, we we realize, when we become aware, give our time to others and think nothing of it. But to really, really give your time takes concentration and intention. It takes self awareness. Simply to be in someone’s presence is not enough. It is nothing.

Giving someone your time is to listen and to pay attention. It is to put all other things aside and to find it in yourself to care enough to forget, forget about yourself. It is a gift that is not easy to give. It is that little silence that we put aside for another day only to find that the day past us long ago.

The world is filled with people with ample time to give and perhaps they desire to give it. But it just seems like they, it seems like we, forget. It is easy to do, to lose track of time. And when we do we do not have it to give. And we say: we do not have time.

But time is something we we have all of the time. We often fetter it away, not thinking of what we are losing and why we are losing it. So why not give someone your time. YOUR time is a gift that only you can give. It is most personal and intimate gift we can give.

It is not all we have, but it is all that matters.

Taking Jack to the airport at 3am for a drop off was painful. I certainly shed a tear but I had hope that out west where he was going, that he would find a home. I wanted to be that home but it was not to be. I handed him over and helped into a small kennel. I put his favorite toys into the kennel and when I stood up I looked down and looked at his sorrowful eyes looking up at me.

He wasn’t making a sound and this was odd. He hated kennels. During the past few weeks he had hurriedly become a part of our household, making himself at home and irritating our old dog, Maggie. He was happy and would not let me out of his sight. He went everywhere with us and when we did have to leave him alone, waited patiently.

Jack was a foster that had a “planned outcome”, so it was called, in Utah.

I don’t make any allusions to the fact that fostering can be difficult, especially with a companion such as Jack. But fostering helps dogs out of situations that are not so good and into situations that are hopefully loving and secure. Fostering is fulfilling but be ready to leave a piece of your self with the animal that you foster. The hope is that there is enough to go around, enough for the next, and the next.

If there were issues, it was with people, not with Jack or any other dog including one we tried to foster before and simply didn’t work out. So I’ve been told by others that they couldn’t foster because they couldn’t bear thought of letting go but I cannot bear the thought of animals in need not getting the help. It is simple to do and although painful, fostering is a way to do good for an animal that often has little chance if any.

I will miss Jack and continue to do so, but I will find another to foster, to help, because there are things that are worth bearing the pain and shedding the tears for.

There are many platitudes that hide in the shadows of excuses. There are many fears disguised by procrastination. But there is no greater shame than having no time. As time goes by we become comfortable in our excuses and procrastinated plans are forgotten. A blinder replaces the blue skies of possibility.

We have time. That is all that we have. We sell our time cheaply or give it away to the shiny machinery that makes up our days or we can choose to value that which we do have. There is a chance to start but there is no way to bring back the days spent wasting precious time. Time is a one way street.

There is no time to waste. There is no better time than now. There is yet time but no time like now.