"As for man his days are as grass; as a flower of the field so he flourisheth." (Psalms CIII)

I am of the opinion that one of the greatest burdens of modern life is noise. Noise is anathema to all intellectual people and is one of the cruelest phenomena that the ears can tolerate. I can remember the pain of it from experiences in WWII. It doesn't take any great imagination for anyone to realize the origins of that kind of noise--the bombs, the ack-ack of anti-aircraft fire, the drone of the engines of one's aircraft for ten hours or more, and much more than that for three years. I'm saddled with hearing aids because of it. But these days, the pain and suffering of noise continues, to my dismay, as it went unabated in the last three restaurants I attended. The chatter was incessant and undoubtedly mindless. Now, the noise in my own apartment has finally ended. Rh+ wanted to "modernize" our two bathrooms, and the noise of that endeavor--the hammering, the cutting of tile, and the constant marching back and forth of the contractor out of the house and then back into it was tortureous and mind rattling. And now, some other resident is beginning to "modernize" and the noise of their hammering reverberates through my apartment. It is incessant--inescapable. The display of vitality which takes the form of knocking, hammering and tumbling things about has proved a torment to me all my life long. And to make matters worse, we overlook one of the main thoroughfares and the constant noise of traffic, horns, and sirens washes over our building. Perhaps the grave will be the solution to this dilemma. As Hamlet lay dying he said to Horatio, "The rest is silence."

And speaking of silence and graves, a recent reading of Schopenhauer dealt with a discussion of the subject of death. The argument was that death was not really "death" as long as the deceased was alive in the memories of his family, his friends, and his colleagues. The soul lives on in the minds and hearts of those who carry on its legacy. The grandchildren remember, and possibly the great grandchildren, until a generation exists who do not remember, and only then does death triumph. However, I plan not to allow that to happen. Some may wonder why I am publishing all the blogs I have written, since most have already read them, and the fact is that I am not leaving them to my current readers, but to that generation who cannot remember their "great, great, great, grandfather," but who can read about his life in "condoland" in the olden days. That will be remembrance enough for me. That will keep the Baron alive.

And so, I conclude "Pater Noster in Condoland Vol. IV".