Wondering what to get me for Christmas? (I can hope, can’t I?) On-line Christmas lists seem to be de rigueur among the digerati this year, and who am I to buck the trend? Here’s mine!

Last night our pastor Craig Corley was discussing the need for members of a church to be interdependent and to help each other out. He mentioned that this runs rather contrary to the common American ideal of “rugged individualism”, wherein each person is self-sufficient, and chooses others’ company principally for his own pleasure, rather than to compensate for any shortcoming or need of their own.

Even as a confirmed introvert, I can see that there’s value in community and healthy interdependence. I’ve long been intrigued by the changes in community over the last several decades, and how those changes have affected us. It used to be that having several generations sharing a house was entirely normal — now anything beyond a couple, their kids, and perhaps one widowed parent is atypical. (See Capra’s charming movie You Can’t Take it With You for a fine, if a bit idealized, taste of what this was like.) Neighbors used to come together for barn raisings and other community efforts, but it’s infrequent that we venture out of doors when we’re not on the way to the car now.

There are a number of things that occur to me that have probably contributed to this change. As government has taken on more duties, there’s been less need for individual citizens to become involved in corporate community activities. Ayn Rand makes a very compelling case for the rugged individualist in her novels. The ascendency of mass communication has changed the face of what comprises a community. (I often feel more connection trading Simpsons quotes with people I don’t see very often than I do discussing the state of the neighborhood with the people I live near.) And certainly air conditioning makes the indoors more appealing than the front yard when it’s 100 degrees here in Texas.

One of the most interesting theories I’ve heard is that advertisers deliberately affected this change in response to the post-World War economy. All of these factories which had been devoted to munitions and armaments couldn’t be allowed to go dark, so they switched over to pumping out consumer goods. But after a time, every household — which at this time still often consisted of extended family, borders, and friends — had what they needed or wanted. The market was getting saturated. The marketer’s solution? The American Dream! By putting each family in their own home with their own stuff, they dramatically increased the number of lawnmowers, food processors, etc. they could sell. When we don’t share, we need more stuff!

I don’t know how much truth there is to this theory, but it does seem that the loss of community is unfortunate. We’re personally trying hard to develop it with our friends by making sure that they feel welcome to use and enjoy all that we’ve been blessed with. I’ve also been intrigued by some of the organized community-building efforts, such as cohousing, which combines a lot of the benefits of a more connected lifestyle with most of the advantages of having a place of your own. I’m interested to hear others’ thoughts on these matters as well as we make establishing and maintaining rapport with the people around us a more deliberate part of our lives.

I just realized that the subject of this message sounds like a sermon title. Rather than anything so worthwhile, it’s actually the first bit of music I’ve squeezed out of the Korg keyboard I picked up a few weeks ago — a very short, rather unusual rendering of Jingle Bells. You can listen to it here, or if that doesn’t work, open the URL http://media.mcmains.net/jingle.mp3 in your Quicktime Player or Windows Media Player.

Don’t worry. Most of my stuff doesn’t sound like this.

The other night we went downtown for The
Sights and Sounds of Christmas, an annual Christmas festival here in San
Marcos that features food, music, a “snow” machine (which seemed to be
blowing dishwasher soap foam), a live manger scene, and an absolutely
retina-boggling number of lights. While we were waiting in the car for some
friends to show up, Abby pulled her favorite stuffed rabbit out from
wherever it had been traveling, and somehow managed to decapitate it in the
process.

“Waaaaaaaah!” she wailed. “What is it?” we asked, our concerned parent mode
activating at the sound of that heart-wrenching cry. “My bunny’s head came
off!” Abby wailed, holding her limp rabbit body up for display. And as
concerned, loving parents, there was really only one thing we could do:
laugh our heads off. “It’s not funny!” Abby insisted, barely able to make
herself heard over our guffaws.

Straining every nerve to master ourselves, we finally managed to stop
laughing and tell Abby “You’re right sweetie. I’m sorry we laughed at your
rabbit. We know that it’s your favorite animal, and wouldn’t have done
anything to hurt you on purpose. Please forgive us.” That seemed to mollify
her, and we continued our getting-ready process.

As Abby stepped out of the car, still clutching the rabbit’s body, an impish
grin dawned on her face, and she stuck the bunny in my face. “I’m headless
bunny! I’m headless bunny!” she shouted, waving it around in my face. And in
spite of its newly bifurcated status, she still carries it around with her,
thoroughly enjoying the company of her little headless friend.

This is a photo of a striking granite boulder in Enchanted Rock State Park here in Texas. I posted most of my photos from my recent visit there on the Enchanted Rock With Steve page, but this one, which I particularly liked, escaped the first time around.

The thing I like best about this photo is that the sun was striking across the face at just the right angle to bring out the dramatic texture of the beautiful pink granite, the same stuff of which the Texas Capitol Building is constructed.