Talking Turkey in the New Year

Dear Reader:

Here we are at the beginning of another ride on this big blue Tilt-A-Whirl, and, partly prompted by a friend's passing, I find myself pondering if I will leave anything of enduring value when I am dead and gone. Sorry to drop the "D" word on you in the first sentence. But I do not mind telling you that I am trying my darnedest to outfox the Grim Reaper so that at least some part of me will remain evergreen beyond the ashes. Maybe you are devising your own schemes, too. If so, take heart. We are not alone.


Entire societies have been plotting to avoid obscurity. For awhile, nations thought that the surest way to secure their place in posterity was by emulating the ancient Romans.  For a case in point, think back to the usually confident Benjamin Franklin arguing for the turkey to be the heraldic bird of the US instead of the eagle, the preferred choice of Roman-wannabes for centuries prior. It seems he had the courage to do so only in a letter to his daughter. "Oh, puh-leease, Dad," Sally must have responded while rolling her eyes. Nope. A bird that could be farmed and eaten was unsuitable. The humble turkey was just too, too mortal for neoclassical aspirations. "To make a lasting impression, to reach the heights of cultural immortality, one must be at the top of the food chain," the founding fellows probably thought, which explains why the world today does not quake with fear as the Flying Turkeys swoop in with their smart bombs. I side with Mr. Franklin on this one, as I reckon that the American quest for an enduring legacy would be more grounded if, when the President arrived, his or her operatives had to whisper, "The Turkey has landed. I repeat. The Turkey has landed." 

Truth is, I am furious at being the equivalent of a gobbler by design. Yes, a big part of me is unwilling to accept that I am, by virtue of mortal birth, a middling in some cosmic food chain. Trapped within this too, too solid flesh, I aspire to 'sing in my chains' so unforgettably that I will achieve immortality through the memories of others. Surely then, this fowl will be turkey no more, as I earn my eagles' wings by cheating death and staying among the mortals. Cunning plan, eh? Then again, there is that tiny difference to consider between being a memory and actually being sentient. I guess no matter how one slices it, death comes; memories fade; and we all give way to tomorrow's poults.

So, as the new year begins, I leave my cunning schemes and return for assurance to my core beliefs: namely, that loving others well in the here and now creates ripples that will matter in the future; and that my essence will remain a part of something more ancient and enduring than eagles or empires when it is time for this turkey to call it a day. 

Reader, I want to give the final word to Mr. Franklin: of the turkey, he penned, "He is besides, though a little vain and silly, a Bird of Courage." And I cannot think of a better way to remind each of us that we are well equipped to look mortality square in the eyes, regardless of our fears.


Glad you are there,
P

"Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, 
Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea." 

Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill