thoughts while driving....and other musings

57 Channels

2011-08-29T19:48:00.000-07:00

As time goes by and I find myself watching more TV than ever before, that old song from 1992 starts buzzing in my brain. I think Bruce Springsteen had more in mind than just television but it’s there and for me, it’s just as relevant almost 20 years later. 57 Channels (And Nothin’ On). I’ve got over 200 channels I guess and it strikes me that just like then, there’s nothin’ on. The same movies over and over, reruns of old shows that include sitcoms, westerns, dramas, cooking, traveling and shows that want me to discover something or learn the history of something. To be fair there are some programs that are new to me. I’d wager that you have seen them though and once I’ve taken it all in, well, I’ve seen it too. While pointing a finger at the rest of the world, I’m also pointing at myself when I say that in my considered estimation, television entertainment makes for a shallow view of life. Really, have you seen some of those reality shows? While I admit I’ve enjoyed watching those men catch crab in the Bering Sea and guys into survival how about nasty tempered housewives and odd folk from the Jersey coast? Of what personal, human value is there in watching people bicker, scheme, connive and back stab each other over who can make the best food the fastest, for example? Are we such simple minded, consistent voyeurs that by our very action we stimulate the networks to bring more and more of that type drivel into our hearts and minds? I’m not a big sports fan but that actually seems somewhat real to me and the players at least treat each other with some reasonable degree of respect. You know, I can’t help but believe that television has played a major part in the dumbing down of the world’s population.

Today, in my job, I found myself in a building with a library. After all of my work was completed, I took part of my lunch hour to just walk around in there a bit. I used to visit the library often. In fact, up until just a few years ago, I always had at least one book going and often times 2 or 3. I’ve always thought it so amazing that a person had enough imagination to create a work of fiction. The complexity of the characters, the interaction of persons and events, the total absorption of my entire self in the plot is a far cry from whether it’s raining in Philadelphia or the supposed humor of 2 and a half other people. Of course, not all stories are good ones or ones that hold our interest but given a chance, most have something of value to say at some point. Take for instance The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. The story line was interesting but for the life of me I couldn’t get past a couple hundred pages. On the other hand, nearly everything I’ve read by James Michener held me captivated until the end. I have loved J.R.R. Tolkien and Clive Cussler. In my opinion, everyone should read The Eight by Katherine Neville and in this economically perilous time, Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. These and many others help us grow and develop character. Most set the bar for a higher standard of what is morally and ethically right as human beings. How thoughtful, reflective, introspective were the authors that wrote these books.

As I browsed around in the stacks of books, it occurred to me how nice it was to be in a quiet place. Unlike television, the noisy blast that assaults you from start to finish with its constant interruptions of thin plot by 5 to 15 commercial advertisements, I had time to think. The heart, thoughts and life experience of all those authors surrounded me. The books don’t really call out to me. They just sit there quietly on their shelves, offering something that perhaps I don’t have. It could be insight or love or hope or some great expectation. An invitation to retreat from this hectic rat race of a world we live in, a chance to be at peace for a time.

I asked the librarian if she had a book I’ve been interested in reading, A Canticle for Leibowitz by Henry Miller. She looked in her computer but couldn’t find it. Though I know pretty much all library catalogs are in a computer data base now, I kind of had a nostalgic twinge for an old card catalog. I remember when the librarian in my small grade school first showed me how to use the Dewey Decimal System and introduced me to the card catalog. What a marvelous thing it was to me, how to keep track of so many books. Nonetheless, the lady today was very nice and very helpful. It made me wonder what kind of stuff such a person is made of, to devote their careers to such a thing. I guess she was a good example of one who has a vocation that is also their avocation.

As I was leaving, walking slowly toward the entrance, I thought of all those books and what they might have to say to me and to mankind as a whole. Another song came to mind that I thought was appropriate for the library, Kashmir by Led Zeppelin.

“Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars fill my dreams,
I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been,
To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen,
They talk of days for which they sit and wait, all will be revealed”.

Prayer and The Patch

2011-02-02T17:43:00.000-08:00

All of my adult life I’ve been a smoker. That is, until recently. I suppose no one really knows what single thing brings them to the place where they want to give up that comforting habit. All of us know that it’s bad for our health. We all realize that it makes our breath, clothes, cars and homes stink and if we are honest with ourselves, have to admit that it is a hassle. Especially in this day and age, relegated to very inconvenient smoking areas and the ever increasing financial price one has to pay to feed that addiction. The last month or so before I actually decided that I’d had enough I really became aware of how it made my chest hurt when I inhaled the smoke. At night when I turned off the light and settled to sleep, I had to cough a bit before I could drift off, just to clear things out so I could breath. In the past I had, like most people, tried to quit numerous times but never seemed to make it more than a day or so. When I made the decision to quit this year, I knew that I wanted to but I had this distinct sense of fear that I would fail yet again. Fear seems like an odd thing to experience, looking back at it. I guess it may stem from a self awareness that I don’t personally have the strength of will to give up a habit that I have nurtured for close to forty years. Truth be told, I didn’t have much faith in myself that I would follow through with the decision. Somewhere in that jumble of thoughts and doubts I was having in the week prior to my quit day I did seem to have some moments of clarity that brought me to a place where I could take those first few steps.

More than anything else I had the distinct sensation that God was speaking to me softly and quietly, telling me that He would give me strength. That still, small voice urging me to trust Him and lean on Him. It is as if He knows how weak I really am and that He is encouraging me to believe that I can and will quit smoking because He is there holding me up. I remembered that my oldest brother quit smoking after so many years. I asked him how he did it and his answer was that he asked God to take that taste away from him and that God did so. Others have told me the same thing when I asked them how they quit. Exactly the same answer. I do not believe that God loves me any less than those people. Despite my continual faithlessness, I have been trusting Him to help me with overcoming this addiction and as in all things, He is faithful to me. I wonder if He becomes weary with hearing the same prayers, day in and day out, “please give me the strength of will to not smoke any more”? It’s almost like a chant. Every day I’ve had to ask for help in resisting the temptation. The odd thing is that somewhere in my heart I seem to have this quiet assurance that He does not weary of it. He is happy because I do realize that I am too weak to do it on my own, that I do need His help and power to get past this thing that is bad for me. The Bible says that the body is the temple of His spirit. Maybe He is joyous that I have, at long last, matured enough to understand this simple fact. In that case maybe the repetitive, nearly incessant prayers asking for strength are a sort of praise and not so much a burden to Him.

You know, I’ve had lots of people in my life try to encourage me to quit smoking. My former spouse tried for all the time we were married to convince me to quit. One of my friends from long ago quit smoking after he started coughing up blood and tried to get me to follow his lead. My lady friend now has been talking to me about it for almost four years. None of that really meant anything to me. I have in the past thought to myself that I should quit for my kid’s sake. Possibly for the sake of grand children that might someday come. One thing I came to realize though is that you can’t quit for another person. You can only quit for yourself, whatever the motivation might be. I just know that I don’t want it anymore. I just know that I want my heavenly Father to be proud of me. I’ve just come to understand that this biological shell that my spirit dwells within is a gift from God and that I need to be a better steward of it. There is one person that said something to me a while back though that did have an impact on how I started to think about my smoking habit. I get a physical every year in the month of May. This past visit my doctor asked me if I had quit smoking yet. When I told him no, he just nonchalantly said “well, don’t worry about it, you’ll quit when you get that triple bypass”, and moved on to other topics regarding my health. He didn’t chide me, nag me or berate me; he just made that simple comment, like it was a footnote of my life. It’s funny (odd) how notes in the margin of a story can have such an impact on the depth of that story. The truth is that most of us don’t take the time or expend the energy to notice that small detail.

One thing I was kind of worried about when I decided, in earnest, to give up cigarettes was the impact I would inevitably have on the people around me in my daily existence. You see, my job has me working in the public venue where people are the customers of the company I work for. I knew in advance that I would be “difficult” to deal with without the steady infusion of the chemicals my body was accustomed to receiving from the cigarettes. A quick search on the internet will reveal that there are over 4000 chemicals in that form of tobacco and at least 50 are known carcinogens that can cause cancer. Nicotine is the one substance that is addictive though and therefore the one that I knew that I’d have to deal with. That’s where the patch came into play for me. I’ve tried using them in past attempts to quit but during those times my mind and, more importantly, my heart were not in the right place with regard to my addiction. Though I believe God will give me the strength to not smoke, the truth of the matter is that I have been a smoker by choice nearly all of my life and there are consequences to the choices we make. In this case, it’s one of withdrawal from an addictive substance, something that I’ve just had to deal with in a physical sense. Nicotine patches are not the cure for smoking. I have been using them from day one and though they will take the edge off one’s irritability itch, I’ve still had to pray and control myself. I’ve had to be responsible for the consequences of a lifelong bad decision. As time has passed my little addiction rages have become less and less. Yes, there were days in the beginning when I’d be in an angry, out of sorts state for hours at a time, usually in the afternoon. My days would start out ok but as the stress of the work day accumulated I seemed to reach a breaking point at about 2pm. I did notice a shift after a few weeks though and now I don’t have the “little spells” anymore. Mostly it’s just psychological now. Some movement or activity that my mind recollects as an opportune time to light up comes to me out of nowhere. It passes though, in a moment. I have to remind myself that “I don’t smoke anymore”.

In the end I’d like to ask that if you can, be patient with that friend or loved one that is addicted to smoking. That person has to come to terms with it in their own way. That person most probably knows how bad it is for them. That person very likely wants to quit but quite possible fears failure, as I did. It’s hard having to face the withdrawal and deal with it. Tell them what little story of someone’s success that you can. Love them and encourage them but please don’t nag or berate them. In my mind there is no better recipe for success than realizing that we are weak creatures and that we can call on our heavenly Father for strength and that He will listen and hold us up. If using the nicotine patch or nicotine gum or nicotine lozenges helps take the edge of the withdrawal then by all means use them. They’re cheaper than cigarettes anyway and you’ll only have to use them for a season.

In the end of this, I cannot describe to you how good it feels to no longer be a slave to tobacco. I just wish that I had come to this place sooner. Better late than never I suppose.

Simple Pleasures

2011-01-23T13:59:00.000-08:00

It’s amazing what our world offers us these days. If you think about it for a few moments and compare the lives we live in 2011 to those of the 1700’s, just 300 years, the difference is like night and day. The odd thing is, the more we have the less satisfied we seem to be. Look around you and see all of the conveniences in your life. Is there not enough? Maybe we have all become pawns of Madison Avenue, being told on a continual basis that what we have is not good enough, fast enough or shiny enough. Have we been brainwashed by the advertising agencies of manufactures hoping to make a bigger profit than last quarter? Is it the void that all people feel, looking for things to fill it? Lost souls that refuse the grace of God believing that the acquisition of stuff will make them whole? Sometimes I wonder how far we can go in life, with this prevailing attitude of our society, before it crashes in around us. Does being dissatisfied with the material things in our lives lead to dissatisfaction with marriages, relationships, good jobs and the like? Bad decisions brought on by influences that we don’t really understand. I have looked at the grass across the fence and thought it beautiful. The sad truth is though, once there, I found roots rotted and merely a façade of green. Most of the time one looks back with regret and notices that the original patch of ground held its own beauty and comfort. Surely we can step back across the fence and rejoin a simpler yet more wholesome existence. In the movie Lonesome Dove, Gus tells the girl Lorie “the only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things, like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk or a feisty old gentleman like myself”. I believe old Gus was on to something there. It’s like a book that I used to read to my children, Simple Pictures Are Best. I think simple pleasures are best too.

I suppose that I came to this notion recently while taking a shower. Do you ever think about the shower? How wonderful that thing is. When I have worked outside in the sweltering heat, it washes away the sweat and grime of the day. It cools my body and makes me feel whole. For a time, the cares of this world wash away down the drain. When its cold out, the hot water and steam bring such comfort that it is hard to describe. Pulling the curtain closed, surrounded by that warmth it’s almost as if I’ve reentered the womb, comfortable and secure. In my mind, there’s not a thing in the world that can top a good shower. I certainly wouldn’t replace it with money, prestige or power. Can you imagine what someone from the 1700’s would have thought of this modern convenience? I suppose many people went weeks and possibly months without the opportunity to get themselves really clean. Ever hear of that old adage, “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water”? To top it all off, we get to dry ourselves with thick, rough towels that stimulate the skin, possibly warm, just out of the dryer. This all goes without really speaking much of toothbrushes, floss and deodorant. The honest truth is that in this fast paced world, we take such things for granted, not giving them a second thought. I would venture to say that our ancestors would scorn us to shame for the irreverence we display at such a simple yet marvelous advent in human living. Some days I just know that I can’t go out there and do it. That is until I take that shower. The world, and my life, seems to be a little brighter afterward and I find myself heading out the door.

When I was a child I lived next door to my grandfather. His house was actually an old mess hall for Confederate officers, Civil War era. The house had electricity but did not have any indoor plumbing. There was a well outside that we drew water from. This was used for drinking, cooking, bathing and washing clothes. Have you ever used a ringer washer? It was a pretty amazing contraption for its time. It was however, kind of labor intensive to use. Compare that to what we use today. Put in the soap, put in the clothes, turn the knob and voila! Clean clothes. I wonder how many people that are adults, in this world today, have had to hang out clothes on a line to dry as a matter of necessity? My grandfather had a chamber pot in his bedroom. He called it a slop jar but I can imagine how nice it must have been when faced with the prospect of putting one’s clothes on in the middle of the night to trudge out to the outhouse. We wake in the middle of the night and feel our way down the hall to the bathroom, do our business and flush. We don’t have to be concerned with “throwing out the slop” in the morning. We do this in a temperature controlled environment in our bare feet and undies and are not concerned about the possibility of snakes or spiders. If we need the light, we flip the switch. We don’t have to search for the flashlight or light an oil lamp. Talk about convenience. I’d bet Colonial Americans would have thought it pretty cool.

You know there are other things in life that that could, in truth, bring us great joy and peace. When you get into your car and drive down the road are you not constantly amazed at the miracle of the automobile? I suspect that most of the people on this planet take a conveyance like the car, truck, motorcycle, whatever for granted as well. Think for a minute of how long it would have taken someone in the 1700’s to travel 70 miles. It takes us one hour and that seems an inconvenience to us. Aside from the lust for “more”, the problem I see is that we are moving so fast with so many things on our minds and so many distractions that we fail to notice or appreciate these things. Driving to work one morning last week, I was taken by how aggressive and determined most of the drivers really are. In that morning commute, people are trying to get ahead at all costs even if it means reckless behavior at 75mph. It’s as if there is an unwritten rule that cutting your neighbor off is ok if it lands you in front. Is this a consequence of the desire to acquire more stuff? Is this attitude of our society the reason we don’t or can’t appreciate the simple pleasures in our lives? Maybe it stems from the perspective that “it’s all about me”. I don’t see how anyone can appreciate something simple and pleasurable that potentially does good for all when they are so wrapped up in themselves.

Yesterday, I was pushing a cart through a local big box store when a man turns the corner and pushes his cart toward me. In his cart sat a little girl who, in a sudden burst of energy, enthusiasm and excitement says “daddy, daddy, stop right here, there it is!”. I was amazed at her open expression of innocent exuberance. It made me laugh out loud. The dad looked at me and he laughed as well. It was a beautiful, simple thing that lifted my spirit. It reinforced my understanding that simple pleasures are best. That experience was, in a word, priceless. You couldn’t buy that. You couldn’t coerce, manipulate or abuse someone to get it. It was openly and freely there and I noticed and it made me happy. Really there are many things that we take for granted but if we will take the time to appreciate them for the wonderful things they are in our lives, we can become better people for it. More balanced. Happier.

A kind word. A smile. Understanding. Compassion. Love. A warm bed. A hot meal. Rain. Sunshine. Good health. A good friend. A good book. A good movie.

Child Care

2010-12-12T12:01:00.000-08:00

When I was sixteen years old I knew what I wanted to do in life, in a general sense. Fundamentally, I wanted to be a husband and father. Looking back on that time, it seems odd that a young man should want such a thing. That was me though. I have no idea what motivated my desire for this, I just seemed to know as if that one thing was the strongest, most consistent chord in my being. As if, that was to be my purpose in life. I even remember praying to God about it one day when I was about nineteen. Though I had been raised in a somewhat Christian home, I didn’t really live my life that way. I was out on my own and basically living wild but that longing just never seemed to subside. I felt that if I presented this to God, he would hear me and it would come to pass. Within weeks I met the girl that became my wife and though she did not want to have children at first, by the time our marriage ended we had lots of kids, much more than most other couples. So, in the end, it all came to pass. I had become a husband and father.

Many of you have children and know what joy it can be to nurture and raise them. Sometimes it is sweet and sometimes bitter sweet. It helps us to grow personally and lets us see that there are some things larger and more important than ourselves. You sacrifice your own desires in anticipation of seeing your child’s hopes and dreams realized. You teach them the best that you know how and hope that some of it sticks. As they get older, you watch in sadness as they grow away from you. It seems that no matter how often you write letters to them, call them on the phone or send them e-mail, that effort to communicate is merely entering the void. Sometimes, it seems as if you don’t even exist to them anymore. It makes me wonder how consistent I was in communicating with my parents at that age.

Regardless of how they may feel about their parents once they’ve grown, I have noticed one consistent thing about my kids as they have become adults. They are more than willing to communicate when they need help with something. From comfort to money, a roof over their heads, co-signing for a loan or rescue from a bad situation brought on by a poor decision. Though they may have friends to call on, the truth in most cases is that the friends are as ill equipped to solve the problem as they are. The answer is almost invariably dad or mom. I don’t mean to deride the children for this. I am actually quite thankful for the opportunity to help them. If helping them in a situation that they have lost control of is the only way I’m likely to have any kind of meaningful relationship with them, I welcome it. As an added benefit, it allows me to continue that education/learning process, even if it is abbreviated and even if there isn’t much time.

Recently, I had an opportunity with my oldest daughter. She lives in another state and called me the Monday before Thanksgiving with tears in her voice. Her only vehicle was broken and she had nowhere else to turn but me. I had two days off that week and told her not to worry, that I would be there on Wednesday morning. Now, I have a good job that pays well but to be honest, there is never much discretionary income in my life. Since I know a good deal about cars and what it takes to keep them running, I knew this was going to be expensive. It didn’t matter to me though. All part of that “sacrificing your own desires” sort of thing. If you’ve made up your mind that you would die for your children then nothing material could ever present a real problem in helping one of them. To be truthful, I was looking forward to seeing her, helping her and in my innermost heart, being a hero to my little girl again. As an aging parent with grown children, I don’t know if there is any other way to reestablish that bond that I still feel but suspect that they do not even think about anymore.

I did get to her and helped her work out an acceptable solution to the car problem. If you have ever done any auto type work then you’ll understand that what seems straight forward on the face of something can sometimes turn into a nightmare of extra expense, labor and time. Since I had limited time and finances, I was praying that all would go smoothly and efficiently. The morning I arrived was cold and I didn’t have any thermals to wear so instead of buying parts and getting started at the outset, I went to a local store to get some warmer clothes. Just as I pulled back into the lot where she broke down, I got a call from her. A friend had an old Toyota truck that she would be willing to give my daughter if we could get it started. Well, it did start and with a few minor parts runs like a dream. The emergency car repair of Thanksgiving 2010 had gone in a direction that none of us expected. I like to think that God does answer prayers and it seems that he does move in mysterious ways. Her main vehicle still needs to be repaired but I think that it can wait for a bit now. I’ll head back up there one day soon and get that straight for her.

When everything was said and done my reward was the genuine hug I got from one of my children. Her face buried in my chest telling me softly “I love you dad. Thank you for coming to help me”. The tension I felt in her when I first got there was gone. Her shoulders felt relaxed and relieved, the immediate burden lifted. I’ll take that any day. As I got into my vehicle for the long drive back to here she was already planning her day’s activities and moving on with her life. I guess that’s just the way it is. Until next time.

Road Trip

2010-10-30T15:54:00.000-07:00

It was that time of year again. I had been waiting for twelve long months. Suffering through the heat of what seemed like an endless summer and numerous reasons why I should take off from work. It takes a certain amount of discipline to be faithful to your plan, for a good vacation. Sometimes, it felt as if I were gritting my teeth against the burden of work and the world, pushing on through a storm of adverse things toward a light in the distance. Often I had to stop and remind myself to be patient. Thinking about what it would be like in October, I could see myself doing the things that made me feel a little free. The mornings would be crisper and cooler. The air would smell cleaner and would be filled with the scent of changed leaves. Autumn signals such a significant turn for me. The rush is over. It’s a time to breathe a sigh of relief and reflect on life. A prelude to the stillness and quietness of winter. God only knows what that says about my character and personality. In all truth, I long for autumn (and winter) and mourn its departure. To me, it feels like love and peace and happiness. It’s as if I am being folded back into the arms of protection and grace. The fullness of life pushed into a few months time.

The day finally came. We packed, slept and then hit the road. I think that any long drive is worth the time when you know what waits for you at the end. The mountains of North Carolina are only seven hours from where I live. I was on my way home. Though I’m sure that I appeared to be the same old guy in the process of travel, in my heart I was happy. Just the thought of being at a higher altitude, surrounded by the hills and trees makes my soul feel lighter. Last year I was sick with a cold but this time I felt right as rain. The weather was supposed to be nice and like a child, I could barely wait to be outside in it. I’d been planning a different hiking route than I took the past year and was looking forward to the challenge and change of perspective on the mountain. Funny how, after so many years of not hiking, that this renewed interest still brings me such joy. I can’t help but to say though that while hitting a trail with a friend is great, sometimes it’s so much more pleasant to keep your own company up there.

One of the great things about the folks we visit is that they have what’s called an outdoor room. To me, it’s beautifully made and has a very nice fireplace. Since the elevation there is about four thousand feet, it’s very cool in the mornings. What a treat to sit in front of a roaring fire and drink coffee as day breaks. It’s not terribly uncommon to see deer and turkey walk past and if there is no such excitement, the wind in the trees and the falling leaves are good enough. I honestly believe that I could live in that environment for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think what a shame it is that working at a job has to get in the way of such things. I believe that we are all better off being productive with our hands but somehow I’ve got this notion that I could find things to keep myself busy that would meld better with that environment.

I did get to go on my hike. Six miles that was, at times, a fairly rough go. There were places where it was nearly vertical and really, hand over hand. The mountain has in-place ladders in spots that some brave soul hauled the lumber up there for and built on site. There are also steel cables in places where I had to traverse and one would be unwise to ignore using them for support. Didn’t get to see the Peregrine Falcons that are nesting in the area but the NC park service advises not to disturb them so I didn’t pry. I will say however that the view from the top was really quite awe inspiring. Miles and miles of unobstructed view of the Blue Ridge, like waves in a great ocean caught still in time. Elevation at that point was over a mile high and the air was noticeably thinner. By the time I got to the top, I had started to sweat in my layers and considered peeling some of the clothes off. It’s when I came over the last rock crest that I caught the chill wind blowing, about twenty miles per hour up that north face. A quick change of heart had me considering the jacket inside the pack. Judging by the dwarf, stunted trees all growing with the wind, I suppose it blows like that most of the year up there. I didn’t really think that I would see anyone else on the trail that morning. Surprisingly, I did meet some very nice folks while eating my lunch. A father and daughter. A young man and his girl. A pastor and one of his church members. I spoke with them all and took away some small part of their lives with me down the trail. What wonderful interactions they were. All in all it was about seven hours of hiking time and for me, time well spent. Though I enjoyed the entire trip on the trail, I always feel a little bit of loss when in the exit mode. I think it’s just because I don’t want to come down. Somehow, I think God’s creation must know if we appreciate what we have in it. As I rested on the tailgate of my truck at the end of a wonderful day, a beautiful butterfly landed on my pants leg and just rested there for a long time. Maybe he was just moseying around looking for something edible but I didn’t want to see it that way. I wanted to think he felt connected to me in some way. We are all God’s creatures on this earth together.

Another benefit of my trip this year is that my oldest daughter now lives in the mountains of North Carolina. She moved there about a year ago and has been asking when I could come up to see her. For the last five years my family has been fractured. I don’t really get to see my kids often. Now that the children are getting older, some have moved off to other places. It was fortunate for me that my oldest daughter lives near where I was staying. I had not seen her in quite some time and it gave me such joy to hold her in my arms and say I love you and say that I have missed you. She is quite the girl, that one. Beautiful, strong and independent would a good description. Fragile in some ways though, considering all of our family circumstances. She led us on a little four wheeling expedition and that was fun. Helping her move to a new place and just spending time together was one of the most heart lifting things I’ve done in a long time.

Now that I’m back in my day to day world it makes me sigh. Sort of an empty longing for things I can’t have yet. It makes working and living here hard some days. When you know what life can be, living with what you have right now seems to lack the luster of what you hope for. I don’t mean to say that my life here in this place does not have promise and hope, it does. It just requires an adjustment to one’s perspective to see the joy that can be. I shouldn’t complain, I have a pretty good life by comparison to some. The Lord takes care of and is good to me. I’m carrying that hope though. The one that takes me home to the mountains and my daughter.

Computer Woes

2010-09-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

I’m an electronics technician by vocation. That’s what I was trained to be, by the US Navy. I worked in that field for the best part of my adult life and have experience in a fairly broad area of applications. I did not however, have a natural aptitude for it and had to work at learning basic and advance concepts and how to apply them to my world. As the years rolled by and I grew into some maturity, I actually began to feel quite comfortable working in the ether of electronics theory. Once the mystery of how the physics worked was resolved in my mind and how to use the myriad pieces of test equipment to analyze something that was broken, I did feel rather comfortable with the medium. We harness the power of the atom in vacuum tubes, transistors, diodes, resistors, capacitors, boiling them all down into integrated circuits and controlling it all with various voltage levels. Amazing stuff that the casual user takes for granted. Most people don’t understand how it all works and couldn’t care less as long as the thing comes on and does what we want when the power button is pressed. When it breaks, especially in this consumer driven “want it to work right now” world that we live in, most folks will just buy a new one. For me though, I can’t bring myself to discard something that probably just needs a little help. It was apparent to me that I needed to apply some of the training I’d been blessed with and the natural tendency to fix things I’d been born with to bring my computer back to life.

Along the way, during my electronics education, I did receive instruction in computer operation and maintenance. Most of what I learned though was archaic by today’s standards and had entirely different purposes than what the average pc is used for today. None the less, I felt more than equipped to deal with a dead pc when mine bit the dust recently. I mean let’s face it; it’s just a little box that sits on your desk and does not appear very intimidating. I’ve repaired and made functional radios, tactical air navigation devices, control panels, radar, electronic countermeasures systems, etc. I can handle this, even without test equipment. Since any documentation for a computer that you buy off the shelf these days has virtually zero information on repair I realized that I’d have to search the web for some lead that would set me off in the right direction. I plugged in my problem to search engines and did find some useful info here and there but without fail, every thread that would have led me to a solution just stopped at some point without an answer. Others with pc troubles that queried those threads evidently resolved their issue at some point and left the discussion without revealing what their problem was and how they solved it.

I had by this point opened the case and looked for the blatant blown something or other but there was nothing obvious. The best I could determine with a volt/ohm meter, the operating voltages seemed to be there. Nothing smelled or looked fried. Even when I thought about what had actually happened the day it died there didn’t seem to be any reason for it to stop working. The only thing I could think of that may have contributed to this predicament was that my house air conditioner had been on the fritz for a couple of weeks. Heat can definitely cause problems like this. Considering what might be the fastest way to get computing again, the quick answer was to start swapping parts until something changed. That may sound good initially but I did not have spare parts and trying to live life within my means, throwing money at it just wasn’t an option. I knew that I’d have to replace something but that little voice in my head kept repeating, in an ancient Chinese accent “choose wisely grasshopper”. I suppose that some machines have lots of stuff in the case but once I’d had a gander inside mine I realized there really isn’t much in there. Since my computer wouldn’t power on at all, I figured the drives were probably ok and that my trouble was with one of three things, the power supply, the motherboard or the microprocessor which sits on the motherboard. The processor fan did come on every time I pushed the power switch but nothing else would run. That motherboard is the conduit for all things that go on in a computer. I decided that would be my first move. That’s when I started to visit some of the web sites that sell all things pc.

A couple of major players in the build it yourself or buy your own parts to repair are newegg and tigerdirect. If you’ve never visited these people you would be amazed at the overwhelming array of choices they offer. I looked for days at all manner of motherboards and when I did finally choose one I can honestly say that it wasn’t because I knew that this particular device would be best suited for me. I did, by this time, have a fundamental understanding of what I was looking at and what it would do but in the end based my decision on two things, price and consumer ratings. When you’re faced with how many ram slots, ddr2 or ddr3, various i/o configurations, pci, pci16, form factors and the like it starts to become a maze and you’re left wondering and wavering in your decision. When it came to my home I was pretty excited and very expectant that I’d be up and surfing again in short order. Wrong. I still had the exact same problem. I talked to my best friend about it. She said “I think it’s the power supply”. Once I had made the decision to try that, I had this dawning realization that I was probably going to end up spending about as much to fix this thing as I would to just buy another low end pc like the one I had. The thing is though that another off the shelf, inexpensive computer could easily present the same problems that I have now, a year from now. Besides, there’s all that trashy software that manufactures load on those things that are just memory hogs and annoying at best. That’s when I rationalized a new case. Better cooling for sure and if the microprocessor was still ok then it would definitely need better cooling so a little cooling tower for the big chip would be in order. Going to need a couple of tools and I’m going to need a wireless mouse. Once you get going…….. So, the power supply comes along with the other items. Again I’m excited and spend an evening putting it all together. Does it work at last? No. That leaves me with one last option. I don’t really want to replace the processor but I start studying them feeling that it will probably be inevitable. I think what convinced me that it couldn’t be anything but that is a web site I stumbled upon that was obviously put together by the coolest computer geek that I’ve ever met. This guy laid out so much information in such a clear and concise manner that I immediately understood what had happened and why my computer was behaving the way it was. Wonderful. When I started looking for a replacement brain chip I was again overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities and ultimately called the manufacturer of my motherboard for advice. Nice guy that gave me a little advice on suitable replacement and some info on the board bios. I got the part, put it in the machine and voila! My hard drive booted, the monitor lit up and after some tweaking with drivers, all was well. I’m still amazed every time I push that power switch on my new Cooler Master case.

Really, it was a pretty interesting experience. I learned a lot about how these things we so readily take for granted work and what can be done to resolve problems that arise when they don’t. Though I’ve always had a passing interest in the mechanics of how a pc works, I’ve never had a real need to actually get in there and deal with it on this level. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed it very much. I’ve even started to read e-zines and magazines on hardware and software. When the cash is available, I may just rebuild the old machine that I had and give it to one of my kids. Hummmmm……..maybe a gaming computer?

Who's A Tarheel.....Me?

2010-07-05T19:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, I suppose so. Considering I was born in the great state of North Carolina I can unequivocally declare that I am indeed a Tarheel. I have not lived there for many years but as I grow older, the desire to return to the land of my roots grows stronger most every day. It didn’t seem to be such a great place when I was young. Being the tender hearted kid that I was, it took some getting used to the bullying and fist fights that young boys are prone to favor. I guess it’s no different than any other place on earth where boys are growing up but, back then it seemed like a very rough way to live one’s life. By the time I was 12 years old it seemed apparent to me that each day when I left our little home I was gonna have to fight somebody. In the beginning I got beat up a lot but in time, I learned to adapt. Once I figured out the very real truth that I needed to pick some fights and win them then followed through on this knowledge, it did become more bearable for me personally. Fundamentally I had to adopt the credo to never back down and really, it boiled down to a question of respect and bragging rights. By the time I turned 14, my folks wanted to move to South Carolina where my stepdad was from and I remember the day we left, clearly thinking how happy I was to be moving. The years do roll on by though and with that comes some wisdom and understanding. Though I have traveled the world and all over this country, I’ve always had this soft voice in my heart whispering “come home”.

I remember the years that I attended junior high school there and I clearly remember having to study North Carolina history. The sad truth of the matter is that I wasn’t very interested and really didn’t learn much. That is truthfully a shame and the reality of that fact came to visit me one day when I was on active duty in the US Armed Forces. I had been assigned to do a stint in the galley (kitchen and associated appointments, for you land lubbers) and one of the young men there asked me where I was from. He was from Virginia if I rightly recall. When I told him North Carolina, he looked at me for a moment and called me a Tarheel. I bowed up proud with a grin and said yes I am. That’s when he asked me if I knew where that name came from. Though I did not, I said that I did and he of course put me on the spot by asking me to explain. When I fumbled around with the thing for a bit he told me in a condescending tone that the name Tarheel came from the Civil War (some people in the south call this the War of Northern Aggression). He went on further to say that it derived from the fact that soldiers from North Carolina were reluctant to get into the fight, holding back while soldiers from Virginia were leading the way in combat. In his explanation, the Carolina soldiers had tar on their heels using this as a metaphor for cowardice. Of course I blustered about that for minute but then went my own way. Honestly, I was ashamed because I did not know the truth of the name’s origin and could not refute this goober’s accusation. If I had only known then what I know now someone else would have been walking away shameful that day.

Tarheel, it is an odd name, yeah? Though the guy from Virginia did have one aspect of the origin right, the most questionable part was a total reverse of the truth. Historically, when North Carolina was a colony of the British Crown, they were an important source of the naval stores tar, pitch and turpentine used primarily by the English navy. It is said that at one time over 100,000 barrels of tar and pitch were shipped annually to England. Some historians claim that North Carolina led the world in production of naval stores from 1720 to 1870. Back in those days, they made the tar by piling up pine logs and burning them. The tar ran out of the pile into a channel for collection. The people of North Carolina were often referred to as Tar Boilers during that time and the name was not meant as a kindness but rather as a slur. Somehow along the way, about the time of the Civil War, the name had evolved into Tarheel but was still seen as derisive. Time passed though and the war progressed. The men of North Carolina that fought were brave and courageous. It is written in the third volume of Walter Clark’s “Histories of the Several Regiments from North Carolina in the Great War” that the nickname Tarheel came from the Carolina troop’s ability to hold ground in a battle. According to the book, North Carolina troops held their ground in Virginia while other supporting troops (Virginians) retreated. I’m sure the supporting troops were ashamed of their own running away from the conflict and taunted the Carolinians about the tar they were famous for and asked if there was any more for sale “down in the old north state”. The boys from Carolina said “No, old Jeff has bought it all up. He’s going to put on you’ns heels to make you stick better in the next fight”. In my mind, it is shameful and dishonorable to mask what is ones own historical cowardice by falsely claiming that cowardice belongs to another entity that had proven themselves valiant in the face of open war. If I could only face that question, from so long ago, again today.

Originally, I’m from an area of the state known as the Piedmont. You may wonder what that means and if you look it up in a dictionary you’ll find that it is defined as a plateau region between the Atlantic coastal plain and the Appalachian Mountains. The Piedmont extends from New York down through Alabama. It’s not exclusive to North Carolina but my home is the only place I’ve ever known that identifies itself to that geographic region. The state is divided into three sections, the Coastal Plain, the Piedmont and the Blue Ridge/Appalachian Mountains. It’s all beautiful and has a rich history that worth knowing. For the most part, the people are kind, wise and generous. There are some of the best universities in the world there. It is a center for some of the most advanced technical and medical research on the planet. Thinking back on what others have said about my own countrymen, I have a tendency to sneer “Tar Boilers, Indeed!”

When I was younger, I didn’t think about such things. Looking back on most of my adult life, I feel as if I’ve been somewhat a vagabond. Moving from here to there, I’ve never really had the feeling of being still. Like this is where I’ll live out the rest of my days. This is the place where they will put me in the ground. Funny how life seems to come around full circle, isn’t it? I just think that it may be time for me to go home.

Lightning

2010-05-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

It’s the spring season here. Last night, we were graced by a little rain with the added bonus of some lightning and soft thunder. I heard a rumble in the distance and went out on my porch to take it in. Off to the south, I could see the lightning as it flickered across the sky. It seemed almost alive, as if it were its own entity, absorbed in its own interest. As if it had its own consciousness and, an awareness that I was watching from a distance. It’s voice of thunder telling me “not yet, not yet, I will visit you in time”. I was reminded a movie that I once watched where this Fire Marshall was interviewing a known arsonist. Of course, the interviewee was a bit nuts but he asked the investigator, who had been present at a particularly dangerous fire, “did it look at you”? That thought crossed my mind as I watched. Did it look at me? I guess it is human nature to try and rationalize powerful things that we really don’t understand. Maybe we do this so we can deal with them emotionally and psychologically in our humanness. Kind of like bringing them down to our level, though we see the power and grandeur of such things and inherently understand that they are beyond us, we seek a connection that we can deal with. That seems reasonable on the one hand, arrogant on the other. I suppose it could be our penchant for possession and control that drives this. I wonder, is that why we make so much effort to humanize God? In the Bible, Isaiah wrote “shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, what makest thou?”. We humans are so fragile and yet we don’t seem to realize it. There are so many powerful forces in our world, this earth, that we have absolutely no control over. This is just one of them. It really is pretty amazing stuff this natural phenomenon, lightning.

It’s interesting, don’t you think, how given any number of people there will be an equal number of differing perceptions about something like lightning. When I was a kid, the older people in my family would tell us children to be quiet and still during a lightning storm. It’s God’s work and voice in play and we needed to be still in reverence. Dean Koontz wrote a book named Lightning (which I read several times and thought was an excellent story) where the power of a lightning storm was used as a vehicle for time travel. Throughout history various peoples have accounted lightning to their own gods. According to Wikipedia, the Greeks felt that lightning represented Zeus. Supposedly when Zeus was at war with Cronus and the Titans, he released his brothers Hades and Poseidon along with the Cyclops and the Cyclops gave him the thunderbolt as a weapon. The symbology for a thunderbolt is evidently a zigzag with non-pointed ends and represents speed and power. Lightning and thunder has also been used as a means of divination and is called ceraunoscopy. Divining what, I’m not so sure of but I am confident that it would have been used to resolve most of the same human questions and problems that we experience today. In the Jewish religion a blessing is to be recited when seeing lightning, “He who does acts of creation”.

After doing some reading and research, I was pretty much amazed at the amount of information available about lightning. Of course, there is much scientific data that can be digested about it and a seemingly endless supply of resources to learn from. Honestly, I was struck by how ignorant I really am about this thing. I’ve always loved earth science but I guess this area must have escaped me. It forces me to consider just how many other aspects concerning the earth’s physical properties have also escaped my understanding. The most significant thing I can remember is a discussion in class about whether lightning strikes up or down. Considering the basic concept of electron flow in an electrical circuit, it would seem that electrons would flow from negative to positive. The lightning bolt should discharge from the earth, which appears to be negative or at ground potential, to a more positively charged cloud once there was an imbalance in the two charges, kind of like a capacitor. Yeah??? I think this is a very basic synopsis of what’s called “leader and return stroke” so I’d have to say that fundamentally, yeah it does but it really happens in both directions and most catastrophically in the cloud to ground sort. What I thought was interesting is the variety of different types of lightning and their descriptions. Take these names for instance: Cloud to ground (of course), Bead, Ribbon, Staccato, Forked, Sheet, Heat, Dry, and Ball lightning. There are even descriptive names like Sprites (taken from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream), Blue Jets and Elves which is really an acronym for Emissions of Light and Very Low Frequency Perturbations from Electromagnetic Pulse Sources. That really is a handful of words. I say just stick with Elves.

All in all, I enjoy the logic and science behind this sort of thing but in my heart am more akin to feelings of awe, mystery and the power behind it. To me, it’s like the mist in the mountains or the movement of the sea. Something I have no control over and am, by the very nature of it, force to accept as something beyond myself. Not something to worship, but still something to see as created by the one that deserves my worship. Lightning, like other natural events such as volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tidal waves, floods, the aurora borealis, etc, have a way of putting things in perspective for me. It helps remind me that I am human, that I am not invincible, that there is a higher power and that I need to be grateful for the existence that I have. I am always astonished by such events in that they always bring me a sense of relevance in this wide world. They bring a sense of place and occasionally, a little inspiration.

Incomprehensible Loss

2010-05-04T16:32:00.000-07:00

Nearly every day of my life, my youngest daughter calls me on the phone to ask how my day was and to say she loves me. How wonderful and faithful is that? When my cell phone rang the other day on my drive home and it said “mom’s cell” on the caller ID I immediately asked, when I pushed the green button, “child, why are you calling me on your mom’s phone”. The response wasn’t what I expected. “Because it is the mom”, the voice replied. Now my former spouse and I do talk to each other on occasion and since we got past the three year mark in this divorce, it has mostly been open, warm and connected. This day however, she was crying and distraught. You see she is a midwife and delivers babies, primarily in the home of expectant moms. I can’t tell you how many she has delivered but there are hundreds of children, alive on this earth today, that were caught with her hands. I know from living in that world for so long that midwifery is a very personal thing. Most of the time there is real bonding between her and the pregnant mom. It isn’t just a business relationship. It’s a very human and intimate thing. From a bystanders perspective it’s really quite amazing. I think it’s kind of like a love relationship, that of family and home. As if those who touch us, and those we touch, teach us and help us to grow into who we are. Somehow, being close to the birth of a child always seemed to make me feel better as a person. It’s as if the experience is pure joy, a renewal of life that seems to make us whole.

Though we chatted briefly, it didn’t take long for her to say that she just needed someone to talk to. She was on the way back to her house and was thinking about the loss that one of her families had just experienced. A child that she delivered had died and she had just left the funeral. I know she was grieving for the baby and the parents and that was a part of what she was feeling but her primary concern was for how the service was handled by the men of the family’s church. Now this isn’t my former spouse’s church. She doesn’t attend any kind of Christian services. She is, in fact, a pagan by her own profession. When we were married, we lived our lives as Christians but once that marriage relationship ended, she almost immediately renounced Christ and declared to all concerned her distain for Christian values. From her perspective, the Christian faith is cruel. How could a God of love threaten His people with the prospect of hell? How could a God of love allow a two year old child to die such a sudden, tragic and apparently painful death?

During the service, one of the men stood up to speak. From what I was told, he basically had a cavalier attitude about the whole thing and said that at least now the parents wouldn’t have to deal with another rebellious teenager. Then he mentioned that the child’s death was the hand of God, moving with the purpose of bringing others to Christ. Listening to her on the phone, I have no doubt those were his words. If it had been me, I want to believe that I would have chosen to say something different. I would have said something that would have brought the child’s beauty and brightness and joy back to remembrance, if only for a bit. I would have recalled how she had brought happiness and love to the family and how sorely she will be missed. I would have tried to console the parents and other children of that family with the knowledge that the little girl was with the Lord and that she is at peace and happy. Taking in the words of my former spouse, it was obvious to me that she felt angry with the man because of his apparent insensitivity and manipulation of the dire circumstances to try and proselytize those in attendance to the service. To me, the adults that were there are most probably intelligent enough, sensitive enough and aware enough of the precepts offered by Christianity to know that the choice is theirs. God offers salvation through grace to any that will accept it. The choice belongs to each individual.

In time, I asked her about the circumstances of the accident. It seems the mom was away on some errand and the dad was there at the home with the children. From what I understand, this two year old little girl was in the front yard playing with a nine year old neighbor. The two children wandered over to a neighbor’s driveway and the small child was standing behind an automobile when a seventeen year old ran out of the house and jumped into the car, put it into reverse and started to back out of the drive. He, or she, didn’t look to see if the drive was clear. Do any of us, most of the time? I felt immediate sorrow for that teenager. How must that child be handling the fact that he (or she) ran over a little baby? My first reaction was “where was the dad”? “Why had the dad allowed his two year old out of his sight for even a moment”? I felt an initial surge of anger that he had faltered in his physical responsibility as a father. Then, a moment later, I realized that it could have happened to me just as easily. I don’t know how many times I told one of my other children “watch your sister while I’m on the phone, in the bathroom, getting this pasta off the stove”. It can happen in an instant. Maybe it is God’s will. Maybe there is some greater purpose that He has in store. We can’t know the mind of God and the bible says, that He says, “my ways are not your ways”.

I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before in my life. A young child dies, the parents can’t forgive themselves or, assign blame one to the other. The marriage deteriorates and divorce follows. I reminded my former spouse of one incident in particular that she did remember. I tried to console her. I told her that even though it seems cruel that such a bright young light had been extinguished on the earth, God is still in control. The child’s soul, the very essence of who she was on the earth, still lives. I encouraged her to intervene if possible with this man and woman and help them understand that though this tragic thing has happened, they need not let it tear them apart. It could end in guilt and divorce but it could also be a force to hold them together. It can serve as something that will provide the glue which will hold them together for the rest of their lives. Strength and love from this tragedy is just as valid as anger and separation.

Truthfully, this is a sad story. I just hope the family survives. They have my prayers.

Thoughts on a Spring Day

2010-04-11T11:41:00.001-07:00

I think most people really enjoy the Spring season. It seems to remind them that life always buds anew. I like it too but on this day, I feel some trepidation about life. Like I’ve said before, I feel a bit lost sometimes. Today is one of those days. There seem to be so many questions in my life that do not have answers and I truthfully do not know where to turn or where to seek those answers. It leads me to daydream about how things could be if some of the circumstances were different in my life. What if I had stayed in the military for 30 years instead of 20? Would I be geographically situated in the place I am now? What if I had not gone through divorce? Would the attitudes and perspectives of my kids be as they are now? Would my oldest daughter be estranged from her mother and siblings? What if I had chosen a different, second, career path? Would I be working the 9 to 5 grind with a daily commute and the struggle to pay debts? I guess my feelings about some of these things aren’t so different from many people on earth today. Possibly, there are millions and maybe billions of folks that are in the same situation as me. I heard this guy on the radio talking about how kids see their parents. One of the things he said was that parents weren’t always boring. That they were at some point interesting and fun to be around. It was the daily grind of paying the bills, feeding the kids, cleaning up after the kids and worrying over them that made them who they are today. I can see that as truth. It seems like the years get heavier as they pass on by.

Things aren’t different though. They are today just as they are and no amount of speculation changes that. As I sat on my porch this morning, drinking coffee, looking out at the street in front of my house, I easily slipped into a fantasy of being in the mountains. Sitting there looking out over the forest covered hills and the little coves of green that have been carved out of the valleys, I could see myself financially secure and without an obligation to run with the rats. My kids all loved me and wanted to spend time close to me. I did not owe anyone money and could pursue the day as I chose. Some of that firewood needs to be split and laid up for winter. The early garden wants to be weeded a bit and eggs need to be collected from the chicken coop. I want to plant those sunflower seeds on the southeast side of the house. Later, in the afternoon, I may go down to the village store and hang out with some of those guys. It’s a nice place really. An old building that sells food, gas, hardware and an assortment of oddities that somebody may want in time. There are chairs to lounge in, coffee to drink and the conversation is always good. Maybe a drive though the mountains would be nice. I’ve been wanting to hike that one trail again. It’s not a tough hike, there are some beautiful vistas and it’s mostly shaded. There are a few streams and low waterfalls that are just magical.

I really don’t want to be without an occupation and I think it’s important for a man to be employed at something. Maybe a small restaurant that just does really good soup and sandwiches. I think that morning coffee with homemade scones, cookies and cinnamon rolls, serving the local people in the small town would be a good thing. The money made would not need to be as important as the connection with the people and the positive impression of grace that could be made on their lives. I believe that volunteer work could be considered an occupation. Being an interpreter for the natural setting that visitors find themselves in would be good. When I was a kid we used to visit the mountains every year and one of my favorite things to do would be attend the lectures given by the park rangers in the campground amphitheater. Being a natural history guide on the trails would be fun I think. In our busy lives we cruise through beautiful places oohing and ahhing, snapping a few photos and moving on at a fairly quick pace. I know how vacations are. With limited time and resources, there is an inherent sensation that we’ve got to move on to the next place so we can see it all. The opportunity to lead a few people through a few miles and helping them open their eyes, ears and minds to the flora, fauna and history of a place would be good for everyone involved. I like physical stuff too. Clearing and maintaining mountain trails has always been an interest of mine. Though it could be solitary work at times, the peace and quiet of the environment, the connection to the land would be worth it I think. Doing work that benefits others seems like a noble and satisfying endeavor. I know that I have at many times thought with kindness of those unseen, unnamed souls that made my hike doable and even pleasant.

To be in a place where you can do what you want with the time you’re given in this life seems ideal, doesn’t it? How did we get to where we are now though? Certainly there are things that most of us would never do over again as it would take away some of the joys and sorrows that made us who we are. I suppose everyone makes mistakes in life that seem regrettable on down the road and they, in part, shape us into the people we have become. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I wonder though if I can take who I’ve become and allow that person to grow into who I want to be. Where to start at this late stage in my life? If you don’t like who you are or the circumstances you find yourself in, how do you turn it around? I’ve seen people do it and I know it requires focus and work, which I’m not fearful of, but which direction do I turn to take that first step? Life shouldn’t be just daydreams. Even in the Autumn of one’s days there must be a path to the end and not this aimless wandering. Honestly, I don’t want to accept the ordinary, common existence that I have now as the termination of my trip. Though some might see my morning musings as plain and uninteresting in their mind, to me it would be an exultation. It would be something unequivocal. I understand that any existence has its own set of problems and worries. Maybe I’m just ready for a change and that change is manifesting itself in these, nearly constant, daydreams.

I guess it’s time.

Lonesome Highway Man

2010-03-10T19:55:00.000-08:00

As I drove to work a couple of days ago, only mildly irritated at the rush hour traffic, I started thinking about the incredible diversity of all those people. That the cars keep moving at all is a wonder in itself. Hundreds of individuals as different as finger prints all moving in a controlled and somewhat chaotic dance to as many destinations. All of those brain cells firing at the same time, thousands of thoughts ebbing and flowing in the course of a few miles. Amazing. So many singularities expressing their individuality in everything from what they drive to how they drive. It made me think of that Mission Impossible movie where the lead actor, who is really a spy but has a cover as a transportation specialist, is at a party and tells one of the guests that traffic is like a living organism and can be predictable depending on the overall stimulus that it’s subjected to. At least I think that’s how it went. Kind of like a “hive mind”, I suppose. For anyone that drives in traffic I’m sure one would agree that you can just feel what is happening and can almost communicate without any physical cues.

As we moved along I started to notice more than just the cars themselves. There were all manner of bumper stickers, everything from political statements to school logos to espousals of love for one’s wife. You have to wonder what motivates someone to put a particular sticker on their car. Aside from the obvious that the person wants to be heard, I started thinking about that particular person’s life and what brought them to say definitively “Coexist” where the letters are all stylized religious or cultural symbols. I think in all of my life I’ve only had one bumper sticker on a vehicle that I drove, Love Your Mother with a symbol of the earth at the end. To me it was just a simple way to say “take care of this planet we live on, it’s the only one we have”. Of course that was long before it was popular to see something like that as a pagan imperative to worship gaia, some primal Greek goddess that embodies earth. If I could have seen that coming there’s no way that sticker would have made it to my bumper. It wasn’t just the stickers though. License plates of a large variety graced many of the cars. Some advocating for helping schools, others with duck stamps or images of field and stream, the ever present university tags, farmers, retired military, reserve military, veterans of foreign wars and the personalized alpha numerics like “LITIG8R” or “MS TUTU” or “POOTIE”. Have you ever noticed the Toyota symbol on the back of that type car when they are turned upside down? It’s pretty suggestive.

Though there seems to have always been stickers in the rear windows of cars, I’ve noticed more and more the last couple of years that lots of women feel compelled to put their monograms back there. I really don’t get that. Maybe that’s what one does when you don’t really have a political or cultural statement to make but still want to personalize your ride in some way. Possibly a “herd mentality” that mandates a need to get in there with something. There are lots of Buck marks, big deer antlers with a note saying “size matters”, pink John Deere logos, Calvin peeing on some other brand of car or truck, stickers advocating some web site. Like the one I saw in town the other day that advertised “PickaStateParanormalResearch.Com”. The ones I like best though are the “In Loving Memory” ones. Gone but we still love you and miss you and you are not forgotten. After seeing so many lewd Calvin stickers, it kind of blew me away the first time I saw one where he was kneeling at a cross. Calvin was a brat at times but all things considered, he was pretty good kid with a highly active imagination. Somehow, the kneeling at the cross one seemed more appropriate to me.

You know, I suppose all of those labels mean something to these people. I wonder if it can be expressed in how I felt when seeing the Tattoo person or the Piercing Saved My Life person. Did these folks pursue those courses because they needed a way to express how they felt about life? Were they so disillusioned by what the largest part of society said was correct that they followed a path less travelled, standing there in the world’s face with a pride that says I did it my way? Hoping that someone will see through it all and in this wide world will notice that they are alive, intelligent and have some purpose and value in life? It’s easy to see how anyone can get to a place where they feel so ignored and outcast that when promised hope and change it’s like cool water in a dry land. Maybe they had a lonely or misunderstood period in life when what they now advocate was all they had to hang onto. Surely all of these people have some reason for taking a stand on whatever issues they so openly offer for others to think on.

As my drive came close to the end, I noticed one last window label on a pick-up truck ahead of me. At first I couldn’t make out what it said and thought “Yeah, it’s got a hemi” or “Can Ya Hemi Now?” but as I drew near, I realized it said Lonesome Highway Man. When I got closer I could see that he was a big fellow with a beard and he was wearing a baseball cap. He didn’t seem to be dejected or sad, just a guy on his way to some place. I wondered what his story was. Did he travel a lot of back roads? Was he forever driving to far off places, never able to be at home? Did he have a family that he wanted to be with? Maybe he was always on the road and didn’t have time for a life outside of the drive. Maybe he had accepted his life and decided to live it in peace, recognizing it for what it is and who he is. Maybe the man was just as content as he could be with his own company. As I drove on past, I figured it’s possible that he knows his name and is ok with it.

Chemistry Lesson

2010-03-07T09:51:00.000-08:00

Lately, I’ve noticed more big trucks running up and down the interstate. Most of the time, it’s your standard box trailers with a company logo on the side but I’ve also seen flat beds with all manner of cargo being transported to who knows where. Wide sheets of steel, pipe, machinery, military equipment, you name it. Though the big rigs can be an inconvenience, I’m actually happy to see them out there. It says to me that the economy is still moving. It tells me that interstate commerce is alive and that’s a good thing. What caught my eye the other day was a truck hauling carbon monoxide gas. Now I’ve seen those tanks with oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, helium, etc., labeled on the side but never carbon monoxide. It seemed really odd to me. What earthly purpose could this gas have in industry that would require it to be produced and transported? As far as I knew, it was nothing more than a poisonous gas that had no purpose and was to be avoided if at all possible. The thing stuck with me the whole day though and piqued my curiosity enough to do a little research.

After searching the web for a while, it occurred to me just how little I knew about chemistry. I have never had any formal education in the subject but felt that I knew enough to be at least a little conversant in this area. I’ve always had an affinity for science subjects but my interests were geared more toward earth science and astronomy. Of course I’m not an expert in those areas either but I have studied some and am curious in those regards. Looking back on my life, if I had chosen a career field in the sciences, I believe that I would have enjoyed volcanology. It’s mountainous, of course.

The first place I looked for information about carbon monoxide was Wikipedia. I quickly realized that I needed more basic information about the chemical structure of things to understand just what the article was trying to tell me. This led me to a site that is geared mostly toward children and explains the periodic table of elements. It was actually a sort of two edged sword as on the one hand it reaffirmed how inadequate my knowledge base is in the subject but on the other hand gave me a sort of elation to know that there are very young people out there who are studying chemistry. It made me feel confident that difficult technical matters are not being abandoned by our youth and that brings promise for a brighter future. Anyway, it didn’t take long to understand that carbon monoxide is not a basic element in the periodic table sense but is actually a compound made up of one atom of carbon and one of oxygen. Though it occurs naturally in some ways, this natural occurrence seems insignificant in the larger scheme of things. It exists primarily due to the partial oxidation of carbon containing compounds. The interesting part is how it is produced by chemical manufacturing processes and its ultimate uses in our world.

This understanding that the stuff is dangerous to humans and animals has been around for a long time. The Greeks and Romans used it to execute people. The Nazis used it to euthanize people. During times when gasoline was in short supply, it has been used to fuel automobiles and is currently used to convert coal and biomass to diesel fuel. Though there are some absolutely nefarious applications for it, there are also some relatively benign uses as well. Take the creation of acetic acid, for instance. Plastic water bottles, photographic film, wood glue, synthetic fibers and fabrics are all by products of acetic acid and a result of carbon monoxide manipulation. This same acid, when diluted, is a common household product. Think vinegar. One thing that surprised and disturbed me a bit was the use of carbon monoxide to enhance the red color of meat we buy in the grocery store. Apparently, it keeps the red color longer so we mere mortals are enticed to believe that it is fresh. Food producers use this type of processing in many of the products we consume, like fruits and vegetable, pasta, cheese, ready to eat meals, seafood, etc. They call this MAP or Modified Atmosphere Packaging. Ever wonder why some of those packages of meat in the store have that puffy clear wrap on them?

It is truly amazing to me how little we know about the world we live in. Life on planet earth seems so “every day” on the face of it. Little do we realize how complex our existence is. Something that we all know can be dangerous but at the same time is as innocuous as carbon monoxide has so much impact in our daily living. It just leads me to believe that I am actually very ignorant of my surroundings. It takes me to the modern adage “question authority” and speaks to me of the need to understand that there is more to my existence than meets the eye.

Spring, She Comes.

2010-02-28T18:15:00.000-08:00

We’ve had an unusual winter this year. There was actually snow on a few occasions. Though it wasn’t that beautiful, dry, fluffy snow I longed for, it was snow none the less. It didn’t stick to the roads and create the hazard that would be inevitable for people in this region, but it was lovely in the trees and on the roof tops.

Now though, the tentacles of winter are starting to recede. I’m beginning to see signs of awakening. It just feels different. As much as I do love the cold weather, I guess that I could welcome the change to a new season. For some reason, I had the strongest remembrances of spring and summer the other day. It’s funny how some things from childhood come back so bright and clear at times. Where I grew up there was always a distinct changing of seasons. With winter pulling back we could smell it in the air, feel it in our bones. We would open windows to let fresh air inside the house. My mother would think of planting flowers. To a kid like me it meant that summer wasn’t far off and there would be a break from school. You could start to spend more time outside in the evenings and the leaves came back to the trees. Of course, we had evergreen trees too and they always offered the whisper and moan of the wind but it was in spring that they became the most noticeable. I guess it was the rising sap that made them smell so strong. Sometimes I would just sit outside in the evening and breathe in the strong aroma of pine. The earth was greening up and the soil smelled old and rich, as if there was an untold history there. It felt moist beneath my bare feet. Dusk was pretty much my favorite time of day. There wasn’t much man made noise back in those days. No cars running up and down trying to get somewhere fast. Mostly what you heard were the Whippoorwills and Bobwhite Quail. We live next door to my grandfather, who we all called Papa, and I think spring was a favorite season for him. In my recollection, he seemed to be more energetic at that time of year. I remember him painting that metal porch furniture in the spring and how he seemed delighted to sit in the rockers with me and tell me stories.

As the weeks passed, the birds would nest and soon there would be eggs in them. Being the boys we were it was hard to resist climbing the trees and taking some. They were like jewels from the natural world for us, something to present at Show and Tell. The teacher would fuss that we shouldn’t have done that but the other kids were wide eyed with delight. The spring was a time for thunder storms and though the earth turns and time passes, the ones I witnessed as a child seemed to hold so much more power then. It was as if God was reminding us that He was still there and wanted us to know that He was still in control. All of the older folks used to say we needed to be quiet in a thunder storm. I suppose it was in reverence for that power. As children, we didn’t realize that birds and nests and eggs were also His power, manifested in gentler way.

With the change in season came yard work. Cutting the grass wasn’t my favorite but after it was done, I loved the smell of the mown grass. The mower we had was an old pusher that took forever to start and the yard seemed to be huge then. My Papa had two mowers and they both were self pulling. He wouldn’t let me use them to cut our lawn but he did let me when I was cutting his grass and it was pleasure incarnate. There was a shaft with a large knob that you pushed and pulled to make it stop and go. Those things were wonderful and gave me such a feeling of power and control. I still don’t like cutting grass much but I have learned how to keep a mower in good working order so they are much easier to start. Funny about the smell of mown grass though, these days it doesn’t seem to smell as sweet. I suppose getting older dulls the senses in some ways. I believe that it’s good that we can still remember when such things made us feel happy and content.

As the days pushed toward summer, all of the fruit trees and bushes on Papa’s place started to bud out and bloom. Sweet smells and the promise of fruit picked fresh from limbs were on me and I looked forward to sitting on his porch and sharing it with him. He used an old Barlow knife to peel the big fruit with. It gave it a metallic flavor but it was still delicious. There were apples, pears, peaches, cherries and grapes. To this day I’m still amazed at how grapes grow. Purple ones, white ones and red ones. A thick, gnarly old vine trained to run along some old clothes line wire. I suppose the leaves were even good to eat but I didn’t know that then. Often I would climb the cherry tree and sit there on a limb eating those bright, beautiful red things until I’d had my fill, spitting out the pits at bugs or nothing. Good times.

Caught up in the world of 2010 there doesn’t seem to be a place like that anymore. Maybe it could be re-created but I suppose the wonder of it all would be for another generation. At this stage in life, it would be mostly a visual memory for me. Somehow the remembrances of spring that I have don’t seem to be as shallow as the one we have today. I know time passes and things change, the world moves on, but it doesn’t really mean that things get better. Sometimes I tell my kids about what it was like for me when I was young and they seem interested, even enamored with the tale but when it’s over, they move on in their minds. Too bad we can’t keep all the good things going for future generations so they can see with their own eyes that what was once good, important and valuable could still be today for them and those that follow them.

Go Fly a Kite

2010-01-10T15:22:00.000-08:00

That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time. I do believe that I introduced my kids to it many years ago, maybe just once or twice. Looking back at it, I feel a sort of loss at not making it a more regular thing in our lives. When I was a child, all of us kids flew kites. Some made their own and were always looking for ways to improve their handiwork. For the most part, mine were usually bought at the dime store. They were diamond shaped flat kites made of paper with wooden supports. I used cheap cotton string for a flying line and made my own tails with whatever scrap cloth my mom would give me. Back then, it was just something we did that was fun. As an adult, I can appreciate the freedom it brought to be out in that field doing something that had no purpose other than my own personal enjoyment. To be on the ground and watch it undulating with the breeze was a peaceful sort of thing. With its tail wavering to and fro, billowing white clouds and the warmth of the sun on my face, it was like stepping out of time to a place of comfort and wonderment. Where has that pleasure gone to?

Things were less complicated back in those days. Televisions were black and white with only a few channels to choose from. There were no cell phones, personal computers or Internet. No Xbox, PS1s, 2s or 3s, no iPods or music downloads. By today’s standard, a kid had to be pretty creative to have any fun at all. Of course, we didn’t know that. Most of us lived to be outside and chaffed at the prospect of having to stay in for most any reason. We rode bikes, fished, swam, played Army, Cowboys and Indians, built forts in the woods and hung out at the community store and drank Cokes with peanuts in them. You don’t see much of that sort of thing anymore. These days, it never ceases to amaze me at how long kids can sit in front of a monitor or TV and play video games. I understand how the mind can get so absorbed while playing on the game machine, much like when reading a good book, but to what end? I honestly don’t see how the video games have any redeeming value. At least with a book you have the memories of the characters and how they interacted with their situation. One’s own visualization of the scene and circumstance must be more meaningful than the repetitive visual imagery offered by some of the stuff we’ve seen our own children play. Right?

I wonder sometimes how technology has shaped our existence today. Not so much the adults in our lives, more the kids that are coming up now. When I was in school, especially first through sixth grade, our teachers focused on reading, writing, arithmetic, history, earth science and geography. Every morning we stood with hands over hearts and pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. When it was appropriate, there was prayer in the classroom. When we were naughty there was a trip to the principal’s office which, more often than not, resulted in a stern talking to and a paddling. Yes, my parents approved. I guess they don’t do “show and tell” these days. We all did it. If for no other purpose to give us the experience of standing up in front of a room full of other people and speaking intelligibly about something.

I worry for children these days. Most young people I know have read very little in their lives and could tell you very little about the world they live in. How many continents are there? How many oceans? How many presidents has the United States had? When was the Civil War fought? How many planets are there in our solar system and in what position is the earth from the sun? I am amazed at how little my own kids know. I have some children that are adults now and I knew more by the time I was twelve than they know now in their twenties. One thing is for sure though, they can tell you how to level up in most popular games available today. They know the cheats to get around sticky problems in the games. Sometimes, it seems that’s all they live for. What does that stuff teach them? If you can’t accomplish the goal honestly…..cheat. If you don’t like the way things are running, reset. What kind of brain drain is all of this technology? Do you know of any young people today that can or will hand write letters? I don’t know about lots of others but most of the people I interact these days that are twenty five or younger, my own kids included, have appallingly bad handwriting. The bad thing is they know it and aren’t willing to do anything to improve it. E-mail and spell check is so much easier.

Flying a kite just may have more value than the obvious pleasure it offers. Perhaps it could teach that we need to slow down. To keep it in the air we need to be patient with the winds of change. We can’t always force our own will and sometimes it just may be better to bend with the winds of life, than to be broken by them. A kite requires diligence to keep it airborne. A slack line, like a slack hand often ends up in disaster. Most of the responsibilities in our lives need continual attention. Imagine investing in the stock of a certain company. Would you really just check on it occasionally? Probably not, that’s your money. What about the day in day out come home, don’t see the kids cause in their rooms playing games? Don’t really talk to the spouse because he or she is in their own world and you’re too tired. A slack line on one’s life, like that of the kite, is sure to facilitate a crash.

Do we really see what’s going on around us these days? Are we so enamored by the fast move, the fast buck, the instant gratification of this world that we’ve given up our powers of observation in things that really matter? Time is passing in my life. Some days I can hardly believe that I’m as old as I’ve become. They say that hindsight is perfect vision and I believe that’s true. If I had it to do over again there are definitely things that I’d do differently. Though I didn’t really see it in years gone by, I’ve come to understand just how significant my actions and attitudes affected other people in my life. How I should have walked softer, spoke less and listened more, loved more openly and deeper, smelled more roses, flew more kites. The Bible says that a good man leaves an inheritance for his children’s children. I don’t think that necessarily means money. What seems more important to me is the tools we give to those that follow us and how they will pass those on to those that follow them. Character, honesty, dedication, honor, a good work ethic, a good name, compassion, wisdom, understanding, a tender heart, freedom, an appreciation for simple pleasures. These things are an inheritance to be proud of. One that when your last day comes you can go in peace, knowing that you really did do the best you could with what you had.

It’s been a long time since I flew a kite but it may be time to try my hand at it once more. I miss that simple pleasure. Maybe this spring.

The Written Word

2009-11-26T12:14:00.000-08:00

What is it about writing?

I’m always thinking about it but never doing much of it. Honestly, I can’t figure out why it seems so hard to just sit down and talk about the things that are on my mind. Do you ever stop for a moment and consider all the thoughts that go through your head in a single day? There are just so many things that seem innocuous at first glance but really do have merit and would benefit from the light of your own insight.

Just the other day I was having lunch with a co-worker and he told me this story of how he made his first potato gun. The company that we work for had sent him to a weeklong school where he was to train on a subject that he’d already been taught. In fact, everyone in the class had already received the same training. The instructor, realizing the pointlessness of rehashing the material, suggested they make a trip to the hardware store and buy stuff to make the spud launchers. Using the liquid from glow sticks so they could see the potato fly across the interstate at night was a good scene. When I got home that night, I found hundreds of videos on the internet about folks and their experiences with the things. Apparently it’s a tired subject, but not that tired. It got me to thinking about primitive weapons and I ended up spending an inordinate amount of time reading about slings. You know the kind that David used to slay Goliath. It was really quite fascinating. The length and type of materials to projectiles and their physical makeup to the history of their use for the last several thousand years. I suppose it may have been some deep seated, primeval instinct for survival that drove me there and held my attention. I can see how something like that could lead to a whole world in one’s imagination. That “Clan of the Cave Bear” sort of thing. The woman that wrote those stories seemed to have a special interest in herbal remedies which basically gave her the heroine of the books. I read them all and enjoyed them immensely. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that. Character and plot development seems to be something that eludes me. Just how far into the story must you imagine before you can begin? There is a line in the latest Indiana Jones movie where Marion says to their son Mutt that Indy just makes the stuff up as he goes. Writing should be like that, letting the story pour out of your mind onto the page like water from a pitcher into a glass.

Maybe my problem has always been one of expectations. I’ve worked at one job, or another, my whole life and to be honest, I’m tired of working. I am thankful for the employment that I have. It does provide for all of my needs and I feel blessed that I have it, especially in this time on earth. I just believe that I’m ready to do something else. Of course, writing seems like the best way to go. Though there is work involved, it can be done from your home. There is no daily commute. No requirement to wear the uniform of one’s employer. My mind is not fettered by the clothes I wear, the vehicle that I drive or corporate objectives. The question though still boils down to one of financial needs. I’ve read so many things that told me how difficult it is to make a living with the written word. How most writers do it their whole lives and never make any money with it. Is it possible that my typical American upbringing which encourages hard work at a job that has substance discourages, in a quiet and subliminal way, the notion that I can make a living at something cerebral? There are other objections to a life of writing. “You have no formal training”. “You don’t know anyone in the industry that can help you”. “You don’t have a clue what some publisher might be looking for”. Ask yourself the question, “Are you willing to commit the time and energy to learn a new craft”? What about all the stuff that’s in you right now that wants to be said that very well may be lost in the process of learning what some other person says is the right way? Shouldn’t it be spontaneous and free flowing? Aren’t my ideas about what is the right way just as valid?

I read somewhere that everything has been written about. There are no new subjects. Even if that is true cannot the old ones benefit from my internal light? In Chicken Soup for the Writers Soul there is a story where one person says to another, “If you wanted to be a writer, you would write”. Looking at it all from a glass half full perspective you can tell yourself “do what you love and the money will come”. I suppose one just has to believe in himself. When I was younger I thought that my special interest in woodworking, my passion for the craft, would allow me to make a living at it. After trying my own business for a while, I soon realized that I’m not cut out for all things I’m passionate about. Though I’m not an exceptional woodworker, I am adequate and have built a few really nice pieces. I realized after a while that my love of wood and creating something beautiful with it didn’t have to be defined by a price tag. The riches came from the personal knowledge that I had expressed myself in that medium and that there was some lasting thing of my own creativity. I suppose writing is like that as well. It may be possible that my children will read some of my musings one day and get a different perspective on their dad. That there was more to me than the guy that provided stuff for them. The guy that disciplined them at times. The guy that supposedly did the best he could while he was there but still failed miserably at times. I suppose that’s a reward in itself, isn’t it?

I don’t know what it takes to be a good writer. I’ve never tried really other than here at this blog and in a few other places where very few people ever read what I had to say. I will say this though, I like to write. It feels good to my soul to express what is in my heart and mind. I just need to get over the notion that it needs to provide something back to me other than the self satisfaction that someday, somewhere, somebody may take what I have written to heart and that it might give them insight into their own lives.

There’s always that one hope.

The Recital

2009-05-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

I have children. I am a father of both sons and daughters. Though it’s easy to go through the days on earth not really thinking too much about that aspect of life, just accepting that you are a parent and trying to do what is good and right for them, it is I believe the most important thing that I’ve ever done.

Though I have quite a few children, nine actually, only one makes the effort to keep in touch with me. My youngest daughter is so faithful about calling me that I wonder what might be wrong if she misses a day. I cherish those phone calls. It is often when they come at inopportune times but I don’t want to miss one. As all of the others have been growing, my communications with them have become less and less frequent. With some, I’m reduced to writing letters that are never answered. Some I see briefly when I pick up the youngest ones for my weekend, sharing a quick hug, an I love you. I have such longing for them. I want so much for them to seek me out. To talk to me of what is in their hearts and minds.

I suppose my life isn’t much different than many others that have started out young, got married, had children. Work hard to provide for the family. Long hours, time apart due to work, chores and honey dos all use up the most valuable of commodities, time. There a myriad of things that can take up your time at home, leaving precious little to spend with children. In years past, I would get so focused on getting what needs to be done accomplished, that I wouldn’t even take them with me to the various stores to buy parts or even to shop for groceries. It would take a little extra time and that was something I couldn’t afford. I thought. The sad truth is that I didn’t make an investment in time for them that would have paid dividends today which are priceless. The woman I was married to, their mother, used to tell me all the time that if I didn’t change my ways I’d regret it in the end. She was wise in that assessment and often reminded me of that song by Harry Chapin, Cats in the Cradle. You know the one.

Recently, my two youngest girls have been taking piano lessons. Last weekend, they had a recital which took place in the teacher’s church. My baby girl called and asked me every day for two weeks if I was coming to the event. She had played her piece over the phone for me several times and it was just a simple little beginner’s tune. It took maybe 30 seconds to play and she did struggle with Roman Trumpets a bit in practice. My knee baby girl is a little more accomplished and had two pieces to play, Sonatina in C and Sleeping Beauty. There were other children and young adults there. Some of the students were absolutely magnificent. When the one young man played a piece by Rachmaninoff, it was as if I were listening to a professional, concert pianist. The real joy for me though was not the music. It was the light in my child’s eyes that said to me I love you dad. Thank you for being interested enough in me to come. I love you for being my dad and for being here with me on my special day. It was her happiness that gave me joy.

I have learned some hard lessons about the fruit of my relationships with my children. I would not have missed that recital for anything in the world. The music, and performing well, was important to my girls but they are young. They can’t yet look back and see the effects of time and energy misspent. What the ultimate cost is for neglecting the little things of love and for living a life that is fundamentally self centered. As I’ve grown older, I have begun to understand that even though work, money, security, personal space, etc. are all important in their own way, none of that can provide the kind of peace and comfort that comes from a warm, close, loving relationship with one’s children. I never thought much about grandchildren when I was younger. It’s on my mind often these days. Will I ever get to hold them in my arms, change their diapers or help to raise them? Or, will it just be loneliness in my old age with the obligatory yearly phone call to dad? It’s hard to think about these things when one is young. I just couldn’t see it then.

My daughters played flawlessly by the way. They had put their time and energy into something they cared about and were happy with the end result. All actions have consequences, be them good or bad. We may not want see that clearly while running down the road of life at full tilt but it would be wise to consider when children are involved. I may have shaped my kids into my own image, at least an earlier edition of me, but I want to believe there is still hope that I may become a better man for them and that I might find another chance to be the dad they deserved and do deserve today.

Snow Day

2009-03-01T08:09:00.000-08:00

There was a nice surprise when I woke this morning. As I made coffee, I glanced out the crack between the blinds and the window sill in my kitchen and noticed the white stuff on the ground. My initial view was through that small gap at the bottom edge of the shades but when I opened them, it was as if I had been transported to another place. I was amazed how during the night, while sleeping, my world had been transformed. The drabness of winter had taken on a new aspect. The sleeping trees with shades of gray that all seem to run together were more distinct now, the snow sharply outlining the differences between them. That monotonous color of the trunks and limbs were given depth and character that were of course there all along but hidden to my view somehow. The white carpet covering the lawns in my neighborhood seemed to reflect light upward enhancing the contrast. It all seemed so pure and clean. Like a fresh start in life after so many mistakes. As if I had been forgiven and blessed.

Snow is so rare here. It’s like finding a gem stone in a mountain of slag. I know there are many people who have it for months at a time, and have a hard time appreciating its inherent beauty. I have lived in places where it must be shoveled and driven in and dealt with. Even when I’ve had to work at negotiating snow, I have always loved it for some reason. To me, it’s like a gift from God. It causes me to stop and look and listen. It brings me peace and an awareness of its power. As I sat on my porch this morning drinking coffee and watching it fall, it struck me as manna softly descending from heaven.

When I was a child, we had snow every winter. For 12 of my 20 years in the military, I lived where snowfall was common. These days, I feel like a stranger in a strange land most of the time. I feel as if I’m living an unfinished life. There’s a troublesome notion that I need to go home. As if I belong in that Ansel Adams photograph and won’t ever be truly at peace until I go.

Today though, it feels right in a small way. The large and small flakes continue to fall. There is an incredible cleanness in the air and the sheer beauty of it all fills my senses. I have so many good memories associated with snow. Rosy faces, cold hands, warm fires all make my heart smile. It makes me happy and brings me peace.

It’s time now. Writing about it all is a good way to remember when the days become unbearably hot but no substitute for being in it. I need to go back outside for a while and take it all in.

Road Rage

2009-02-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

Like many people, I like to think of myself as a safe and efficient driver.

Lately though, in the last few months, I’ve noticed myself becoming increasingly irritated at others and the way “they” drive. Somewhere in my consciousness I have been hearing this little voice that tells me to not be so aggravated with other people in traffic. Some voice of reason that says there is most probably a reason for that stupid behavior I see in others. I have tried to listen to it and believe in it but invariably I get caught up in the same thought processes while engaged in what, on the surface, appears to be a simple task. Driving.

In my job, the company I work for provides a vehicle for me to drive. They are very serious about safety and for the slightest safety infraction they will not hesitate to let you have the day off without pay. Anyone that saw my work vehicle would know immediately what I’m all about. Is that why the person ahead of me is driving so slowly? Are they intentionally driving slower than the posted speed limit just to irritate me? Surely they realize that I have appointments to keep, places to go and an important function to perform for the populace at large. I see them looking at me in the rear view, hoping for a reaction. The voice in my head tells me to calm down. Even when it appears that some folks accelerate at intersections just to keep me from making a turn across their paths. Hey man, my making the turn doesn’t hurt your drive at all! It’s easy for me to reject the voice of reason and become mildly enraged. As I make the turns, pass the slow ones, clear the congestion, I feel more free, less confined. I feel more righteous.

The bad thing about turning off the voice of reason is that it gets easier and easier to let the siren song of road rage have sway. Lately I have found that it’s not just in the city where I work, while in my company provided ride. The Interstate, oh man, I just can’t believe these people out here! How can so many drivers get caught up in the brain dead mentality of putzing along in the fast lane? Again, I’m feeling righteous. Indignant. Offended. I know in my mind that there are speed limits and these laws are there for good reason but the siren song is very seductive and speaks to me of my rightness in attitude. What? The state police won’t stop me if I’m doing 75 in a 70. Just gotta keep below 80 so if I do get stopped, the ticket fine won’t jump another hundred bucks.

Up until about a week ago, the voice of reason seemed to have all but given up. I remember clearly when it spoke again. A driver in a minivan attempted to cut me off at an intersection. Of course I accelerated and made the turn first, which was definitely my due. Though the traffic was fairly heavy in this urban area, I felt that I just had to look at the driver of the offensive minivan. I wanted that person to see me looking at them. I wanted them to know that I was offended and that I felt they should be shameful of such rude and inconsiderate behavior. While involved in my self-righteous thought process, the car in front of me made a sudden stop. Providence, I suppose, got my attention. I saw the stopped vehicle just seconds before I would have plowed into the rear of it at about 40. There was no time to look into the lane beside me. I just snatched the wheel over and was fortunate that there wasn’t another car in it. No accident. Praise God. I drove safer the rest of the day, believe you me. Of course, it didn’t last. A couple of days later on the Interstate, I just couldn’t understand why all of those people were driving so slow. I know it was a construction work zone but hey, I had to get to work. I was running ahead of schedule for a change and was going to actually be at work 5 minutes early. Didn’t want to screw that up. That’s when I saw the State Trooper. Just as I passed him, he started rolling. I knew that I was busted with a probable fine in the range of 500 dollars. I pulled over. The Trooper fussed at me for driving 71 in a 50 and asked for my license. The whole time he was back there in his patrol car, I’m thinking about how I can’t afford a fine like that. When he came back to the passenger’s side window, he starts asking me all these questions about which agent I use for insurance, where he’s located, what I do for a living and I answered them all, politely, humbly. It was odd that he seemed to be suppressing a smile. That’s when he handed me the warning ticket and told me to be more aware of the construction zones. Bless that man’s heart. I cannot tell you how thankful I was. Providence.

When I got to work, I noticed on the ticket that there was some information for all drivers on it. I want to share that with you.

“Somewhere in America tonight a little child will be killed. With him will die the happiness of a Mother…the pride of a father. He will be killed by the carelessness of a thoughtless driver. That driver may be someone who is reading this right now. For in this country a human being is killed in an automobile accident every 10 minutes. Most of these tragedies don’t need to happen. They are caused by human acts. They can be prevented by human caution.”

My personal vehicle weighs about 6000 pounds. I can imagine what it might do to a compact car. More so, what it might do to a 150 pound human.

In light of that, it helps me to see what a deceiver the siren song of road rage really is. Most of the time when I get past “those driver” that are irritating me with their intentional delay tactics, I can see that it’s an elderly person or a mom having to deal with rambunctious children or I see a look on the person’s face that is one of deep thought or sadness or worry. Sometimes that person is happily singing along to some song on the radio. Blissfully unaware of my existence. I hear the voice of reason say, “See, I told you”.

I believe that many of the situations I’ve been annoyed by are mostly my own doing. Most of it stems from an unwillingness leave early enough to be where I need to go on time. Rushing with minutes to spare. I realize that it’s just a bad habit.

I’m thankful for the voice of reason. It is my intention and promise to listen to it and to remember that we are all just human. Taking the time to think rationally about driving, I can see that the person, who seems so stupid, is really me.

Chistmas Conflict

2008-12-25T11:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas seems to be one of those holidays that moves most people to a place of joy. That in itself is really quite commendable as personal joy is something that is often projected outward and in it’s own way reminds others that they have reason to feel joy also. A casual observer would be moved by the inherent happiness and well being exuded by a joyous person without really understanding why. In the United States, a predominately Christian nation, we associate Christmas with the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus. Someone that knew nothing of Jesus the Christ but witnessed the behavior of someone that did, in this season, would certainly feel and share in that person’s joyfulness just because it is there. Being human, we relate to the feelings of those around us.

I’ve always liked the Christmas holiday. When I was a child, it was such a wonderful thing that I looked forward to all year. My parents always had a traditional sort of celebration with Christmas dinner, a decorated tree and the exchanging of gifts. We always did this on Christmas Eve and in the innocence of my youth, I had the gifts of Santa Claus coming the next day. What great stuff for a child. So much candy, homemade sweet treats, Christmas music and often enough, snow.

When I grew up, the holiday still had most of the charm I’d experienced as a child but I did become more aware of the supposed real reason for the season. The birth of our Savior, right? In that light, the commercialism of Christmas seemed kind of wrong somehow. I still celebrated all of it in the same ways but it did seem to have less luster for me. I didn’t look forward to it throughout the year like I used to.

I got married along the way to where I’m at now. My wife and I had the sort of holiday that most people have. For a few years anyway. At some point I felt like I needed to live my life as a Christian and that’s when I met her grandfather. He was a devout Christian man and during a long visit with us we talked about Christmas, among other things. His take on it was that Christmas had nothing to do with Christianity. Though I respected and admired him, I still wanted to celebrate Christmas in the way that I always had. My wife didn’t and insisted that we should no longer recognize Christmas as a holiday that stood as a reminder of the birth of our Savior. Her take on it was that Christmas had pagan roots and to be involved in it was an affront to God himself. I really did need to research the history behind Christmas. It didn’t take much digging to see that the holiday does indeed have pagan roots. Traditions we follow today were instituted by the Christian church to take the place of pagan rituals. This all in an effort to convert the pagans to Christianity. The decorated tree, holly, mistletoe, caroling, gift giving, Santa Claus. All originate in paganism. Many historical scholars, and quite probably many theologians, affirm that the birth of Jesus was most likely in the month of September, not in December. The date 25 December comes from pagan celebrations that apparently start with some god named Mithras and that was eventually converted to celebrations of the Roman god Saturn. Saturnalia supposes that the sun dies on the 22 of December and is resurrected on the 25th. Three days. Note the difference between sun and Son. Saturnalia was an exceedingly wicked celebration by the way. Oddly, the woman that was my wife put me on this path of understanding but is today an avowed pagan herself and denounces Jesus as the Son of God and as any type of Lord and Savior.

I lived my life for approximately 25 years in rejection of Christmas celebrations. Today in my intelligent mind, I understand that Christmas isn’t really about the birth of Christ. The bible does not tell us to celebrate His birth. If anything, it tells us to celebrate his death. That’s where the real hope is.

All that being said, I can tell you that today I’m okay with Christmas. It may have pagan roots but how many other things in our lives do we go with the flow on and have no idea about their origins? Tooth fairies. Easter bunnies. New Years Eve celebrations. Halloween. Step on a crack……
I talked to my mom once about the whole pagan/Christmas thing. She told me that Christmas is for children. How true that short answer is. Life is hard on planet earth for the most part. How can it be so wrong to allow a child (or the child in our adult hearts) to have a few days of joy in the celebration of a good meal, a decorated tree, the giving and receiving of gifts, songs of praise for our Savior, peace and goodwill toward our fellow man? I love my Lord and am here to serve Him in whatever small way that I can. I just don’t believe that he is so harsh as to condemn us for celebrating this holiday.

I say to you Merry Christmas. May the knowledge that a King was born and ultimately died for you, that there is hope for us all, bring joy to your heart. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

Birthdays

2008-11-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

Today is the birthday of my dearest friend. Though I suspect she isn’t all that excited about it, I’m glad that she is here in this life for me to be close to. I believe that we basically feel the same about birthdays but I’m not so sure how deeply she thinks about such things. It seems odd sometimes when you’re with someone that thinks so much like you do. Has the same sort of perspective about life. Has the same sort of likes and dislikes. Is moved emotionally and spiritually by the same kind of things and places that bring that special inner peace and comfort. I’m pretty thankful that we can be together and it makes me happy to know that she is who she is. I’ve got some of my own thoughts about getting older that I’d like to talk about here but in the end, I want her to know that she is first in my thoughts on this day.

I wish that I could say lots of great stuff about birthdays, as an adult. I’m not so sure they mean that much to me anymore though. As I’ve gotten older, they seem to be just another day. Not some occasion to celebrate. I think some people look at them with optimism and see it all as another year of growth, wisdom and even survival. On the other end of the spectrum there is fatalism. One year closer to the ultimate dirt nap that everyone takes eventually. Body is breaking down with weaker eyes, stiffer joints and the realization that youthful vigor is a thing of the past. I suppose that much of how we see life, birthdays or any other day for that matter, depends on how well we have made decisions about our lives in the past. People are so diverse and individualistic that there is no accounting for why someone chooses their steps in the way they do. Most of us really don’t think about the consequences of our actions in day-to-day living. We just do what we feel because it’s seems right at the time. Looking back on my life there were decisions that I made which seemed innocuous at the time but had long-term effects, some good and some not so good. I suppose that’s part of what shapes us into our own unique, individual selves.

One way to see it is that birthdays are like mile markers on the highway. Traveling on life’s journey, those markers reflect the passing years. We become smarter about the trip but understand that the farther we go, the less chance we have to go back and take a different course. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. The open road is before us with all of its potential adventure, anticipation and hope. You never know what’s around the next bend and it could lead to more fulfillment and happiness than you have ever known.

The last few years, on my own birthday, I’ve had the distinct sensation that I’m still here. It’s as if I wake up on that day and realize that I’m still alive and for whatever reason, I still have some earthly purpose. Time is calling me into a continuation of life. The problem I have though, most of the time, is that I don’t know what that purpose is. Once upon a time, I thought I knew but things changed in my life and I had to come to grips with the realization that I was on a different path. Of course, the decisions I’ve made put me on this road but often it feels as if the turn was sudden and abrupt. Like an instantaneous left that changed everything that I thought I knew about life. Dreams that seemed so real and so attainable at one time are like misty memories that are so far in the distance. As time goes by, I’m realizing that there aren’t enough years left to travel that far. Sitting here, writing this, I long for answers about destination and purpose. Honestly, I’m not even sure what the questions are that would frame the answers I seek. I guess I’ve gotten to the point where my understanding about my existence has narrowed a good bit. All I know now is to do the best I can with what’s left. Love one another. Be kind to one another. Be a good steward of the earth and the things you are given. Understand that life isn’t random. There is a time to give and take. A time to stay put and a time to move. Just do the best you can with what you’ve got and hope for the best.

All that being poured forth out of my heart and mind, I’d like to visit my friend’s day again. This is her day and as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing too good for her. She raised a fine young man that is both fair and bright, on her own. If you knew this young man, you would be proud to claim him as yours. Though she possesses a college degree, she never made a lot of money. Somehow, she managed to provide everything they needed and gave that child a safe, secure and comfortable upbringing. There are lots of personal things that make her a truly remarkable woman but you wouldn’t need to hear them if you knew her. I think her daily existence speaks for itself. In the end, I’d just like to say to you dear heart:

Thank you for being there all of the time.
Thank you for listening to me.
Thank you for understanding my, sometimes woeful, existence.
Thank you for the wonderful back rubs.
Thank you for the great lunches that you insist on making for me.
Thank you for the morning coffee.
Thank you for just being who you are and for being my friend.
Love.

Veteran’s Day

2008-11-11T17:44:00.000-08:00

This evening after work, I went into a grocery store to buy something. It’s a small, nice place and just feels local when you walk in. The cashiers are all young, school aged girls with nametags that tell you who they are. Complete with hand drawn hearts and smiley faces on them. They’re always friendly, polite and respectful and I appreciate that. As I checked out, I asked the young lady if she goes to church. When she said yes and told me where she goes, I said to her that she could go to any church she wanted to. I mentioned that she could choose any denomination or faith she wanted without any real retribution or recrimination from anyone that mattered. She looked puzzled and I told her that she could thank a Veteran for that freedom. I honestly don’t think she really understood that. What a shame that many of our young people (and older people for that matter) can’t really appreciate what it means to live in an open and free society. That the very freedoms they take for granted were bought with a price. Men and women throughout our nation’s history have sacrificed their own personal freedom, their psychological well being and their lives for their fellow countrymen. How can anyone not be grateful and thankful that there are those who would do such a thing for them? I believe that this too is grace.

Some questions I’d like to ask are:

Like English as your primary language?
Like the church of your choice?
Like the right to vote?
Like to know that crooked politicians can be held accountable for their actions?
Like the freedom speech?
Like to just get in your car and drive wherever you please, when you please?
Like to decide whether you're gonna work a particular job or not?
Like being able to live wherever you want?
Like the freedom to own a gun?
Like the freedom to have as many kids as you want?
Like having ultimate say in where or how your children will be educated?

I suspect you can come up with a few other freedoms, that are so easily taken for granted, if you think about it.

The odd thing about most vets is that they don’t exalt themselves. They’re not braggarts. They served their country selflessly and didn’t ask for anything in return. Things like Honor, Duty, Commitment and the understanding that someone had to do it are enough for them. These people are quiet heroes and they deserve our respect and admiration. If you know someone that has served this great nation in that capacity, please tell them you appreciate it. Thank them for their sacrifice and service.

Freedom. What a great thing this is. Be thankful for it.
Thank a Veteran for it.

Working for a Living

2008-11-09T12:28:00.000-08:00

I’ve got a pretty good job and I like what I do for the most part. I’m thankful that it’s a part of my life and that it takes care of my needs. I guess that when it really comes down to it, I’m just doing time on earth and need to be gainfully employed at something but it’s more than that. When my day begins, the boss gives us a little pep talk; I get in my company provided vehicle and head out, giving service to those who need it. There is a lot of inherent trust on the companies part to just turn me loose and not be concerned that I’ll do the best I can for them. I like that and I try to give them 100% everyday. There is a certain amount of freedom in the fact that there is no one looking over my shoulder. I’m not being micro managed. I’ve been trained and given all the tools I need to complete my daily tasks. It’s really a pretty great job.

I like people and during my day, I’m always meeting someone new. The interesting thing is that there’s so much variety in the individuals that make up my customers. I’ve laughed with some. Shared stories of life with some. Prayed with some. Though there is the occasional crank, most folks are glad to see me when I show up. I’ve had some of my customers try to feed me, asked me to come back as a friend, even asked me out on a date once or twice. Though the technical aspects of my job are interesting and sometimes challenging, it’s the freedom of going place to place unsupervised and the interaction with others that make it most worthwhile.

That all being said, I wonder sometimes what daily living might be like if I didn’t require a job to survive. What would I do if the need for financial resources were already met? What if I had the freedom to do what I wanted with each day? I think most people understand that work is a good thing and that all of us need to be doing something productive. Why can’t it be in the pursuit of things we love? Like I said, I like my job but in all honesty I’m not in love with it.

There are lots of things that interest me. Natural resources, people in need, caring for the elderly, woodcraft, food and art to name a few. What it must be like to have the financial resources to contribute to worthy things, helping others and our planet. Living life from a philanthropic perspective. For me, helping the park service maintain hiking trails would be a wonderful thing. Volunteering clean up help on spoiled shorelines, saving whales, visiting old people and listening to the stories they have to tell, lending a hand in a soup kitchen, contributing what skills I have with Habitat for Humanity. These things are all work too. Yes?

I’ve always loved woodwork. Most of the things I’ve done though have come about because of a need, my own personal requirements or those of others. It would be great to have the freedom to create some beautiful or functional thing just because you wanted to see the fruits of your own hands labor. Having the time to learn and grow at some craft that gives you pleasure and possibly brings joy to another person. Just the idea of helping a child see that there is more to life than video games and the internet. Helping to open young eyes and minds to the possibility that they can have vision and purpose outside the limitations of the high tech world we live in today. That life need not be lived at breakneck speed. That there is peace and comfort in doing simple things that bring joy to themselves and to the world.

I suppose that some of these designs can still be accomplished while working the 9 to 5 life that most of us are in. It’s time that limits me mostly, that and money. More accurately, the absence of those things. Though I like my job and am thankful for it, I wish that I had the freedom to pursue things that might do some real good. There are many aspects of our lives that are truly blessings and that alone is much to be thankful for. I just sometimes see the world today with all of it’s armed conflicts, politics, starvation, homelessness, orphans, divorce, drugs, gangs, social disfunction; you name it and wonder what it could be like in my little corner had I the resources to make a difference. Wouldn’t it be just beautiful if you could start helping by having the time and finances to expand your mind and encourage just a little oasis of peace and joy?

A Vacation for the Weary

2008-10-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

I’m really a cool to cold weather kind of person. Though it’s uncomfortable to work in the heat of summer, it has never been much relief to take a week off during that season. That’s why I wait and suffer through the terrible humidity. The sweltering heat of the southeast, that seems to go on forever. Really, it starts getting hot here in March and continues through September. Even into October sometimes. Though I’m from the south and love many things about this part of the country, it’s just too hot most of the year.

Today is the last day of my coveted time off. It’s peaceful here in my house. The heat is off and the window fan is running quietly. No television on this day. Reading and reflecting. Resting. I have somewhere to be this evening but for now I get to enjoy the last threads of a wonderful thirteen day respite from the grind.

In the past, I haven’t done much of anything during this time. Sit around the house mostly. Maybe visit family for a few days in another state. This year was a little different though. I took the opportunity to spend some time in the mountains with my dear friend. The place we went is my home state and it felt like I had come home. It’s been about a week since we returned and I have that feeling of lose again. Pining away for someplace I’d rather be. I’ve traveled all over the earth and seen many wonderful and beautiful places but the old saying rings true with me. There’s no place like home. Maybe someday it will be my place again.

I did visit with my family some. My dad has long since past away but my mother is still there. She doesn’t live in the family home anymore. With the onset of dementia it was safer for her to stay in an assisted living facility. It is quite sad to see someone you love lose his or her cognitive ability. A vague remembrance in the eyes, the obvious mental struggle to put the pieces together of who this person standing before you is. I love my mother dearly but I hope that I don’t end up in the same place. I honestly believe that I’d rather pass out of this life than to end up in that way. Though my time there was brief, I did get to visit with two of my brothers, my brother’s wife and my sister. It was really a joy to reconnect with my siblings. Their lives are so interesting and I am so very proud to be a part of our family. I wish there was some significant thing that I could do for them all. Some unequivocal thing that would always bring them peace, warmth and joy when they thought of me. I miss them already.

When I returned, it was time to pick up my own kids for the weekend. We always have a good time and I think all of our hearts ache when we part again. My youngest daughter, who is ten, has been bugging me to take her roller skating. When I was young and in school, I used to love skating. In the little town where I grew up, the man that owned the rink would drive an old school bus, that was painted white, around to pick kids up and then take them back home. It was like a dollar to get in and a dollar to rent the wheels. Though my dad gave me a small, weekly allowance I’d rake leaves, cut grass or collect bottles for the deposits so I’d have a little extra money when I went. It was good to buy a cheeseburger and have enough to buy the girl of interest a cherry coke. I’d skate my heart out and smooch with most any girl that was willing. Good times and mostly just clean fun. Well I took my daughter. It was the first time I’d been on skates in probably 30 years. Honestly, I was surprised at how well I was doing. Frontward, backward, even spinning around in a circle to stop. That’s when my girl wanted to hold hands and skate together. Now she does okay by herself but flails those arms around a good bit to keep her balance. I thought, no big deal, she’ll settle down if holding my hand. Right. We were probably in our third or forth go round when those little arms started to swing. In my effort to settle her down and keep her from falling, we both ended up on the floor. The one thing I didn’t remember about skating was just how much it hurt to land hard on that rink floor. Man, I could hardly walk for two days. My hip still hurts a bit and it’s been nearly a week.

Well, it’s been a good vacation. I really do feel rested and rejuvenated in heart and mind. I’m not looking forward to going back to work. I guess that’s pretty common with most folks. I am thankful that I do have a good job that is providing for my needs. God be praised. Its just time to start that long wait again.

Heavy sigh.

Service in Today's World

2008-10-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that the larger an organization becomes, the less service oriented it becomes? Have you ever asked yourself just what does the word “service,” mean? A well-known dictionary gives us several definitions of service. Here are a few of those provided.
-The occupation or function of serving. Employment as a servant.
-The work performed by one that serves. Contribution to the welfare of others.
-The act of serving. A helpful act. Useful labor that does not produce a tangible commodity.

Years ago when men and women had spent time in the military, it was common for them to say “I’m in the service” or “I served with the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard”. And who or what were they serving? Our country. When in far-flung regions of the world, do you not think that they really wanted to be at home with family and friends? Those people certainly weren’t in it for any sort of financial gain. I’ve been there and done that and can say from personal experience that the pay isn’t very good. Free medical? Again, that’s pretty dodgy as well. Most of the MDs in the military service probably couldn’t make it on the outside. From what a friend tells me, who has some personal experience with this particular matter, most of the doctors in the military couldn’t get an internship anywhere at a civilian hospital. They just barely made it through med school and the military was about the only place they could practice. That’s not to say they aren’t good people with a caring attitude but it does raise questions in one’s mind about their technical skill as doctors.

I once went to a leadership class while in the military. You know, they told us that the main reasons people stay in the military are “intangibles”. Things like a personal sense of duty. Knowing that they are such a very small percentage of this country’s populace that are willing to stay in it, despite the hardships it imposes on it’s members. Honor, integrity and dedication are also intangible qualities and are part of why some people make a career of military service.

There are many occupations that are fundamentally service oriented. Take teachers, nurses, coaches, utility workers, mothers, fathers and others. Even though most people in these fields do rightfully expect monetary compensation for their services, it’s that “spirit and attitude of service” that seems to make the difference to the person being served. I would personally be more willing to pay a higher price for quality service, that spirit and attitude of service, knowing that the person providing is going above and beyond that which is merely required, than I would for rendered mediocrity.

I am employed in a service-oriented occupation. When I first came to work for this company, I had numerous training sessions on customer service. Both external and internal customers. Not only am I responsible to provide a high quality product to my end users (customers) but also to the myriad of others that work in that with me. When my company was smaller, before it was absorbed by a larger entity, quality service was a much more important priority. I am honestly disheartened by the way things are going now. In example, I had to provide service for a very large business customer the other day but there were problems with what they had ordered. In an effort to resolve these issues for them I had to interface with a few other offices that could have easily made the necessary corrections to bring everything in line. The response I got from each of them was brusque and rude. An attitude of indifference to the end user and to me. My company is nearly three times as large as it was a year ago. What happened to the spirit and attitude of quality service that we were so collectively proud of? If things continue the way they are now, I see dark days ahead.

Maybe it’s my military training that makes me so sensitive to this aspect of life. The quality of work that I performed there could have realistically made the difference in whether someone survived the day. It was of the utmost importance. I had people’s lives in my hands. Out here, the consequences of shoddy workmanship are not so dire but the principle is the same. If I do lousy work the quality of someone’s life is affected in an adverse manner. To top that off, the customer is ultimately paying my wages and getting in return an aggrieved state of existence.

The company I am with grades my daily work with a system of qualifiers that are at best nebulous but some of the items looked at are valid. If a customer calls back and reports the service is unsatisfactory, it goes in a negative check box on my daily performance. I don’t want that to happen. Not because of the personal tally sheet that is maintained on me but more because that human being, that expects good service, is dissatisfied in some way. I want to put myself in their shoes when working for them. As if it were my money that was being spent. I believe that my time on earth is limited. I believe that there is a reckoning in my spiritual life. Is it really worth taking shortcuts here on earth when the consequences of those actions have everlasting potential? I am reminded of the apostle’s words in Ephesians 6:
Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ;
Not with eye service, as men pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart;
With good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men.

Has our society become so “self” absorbed that we cannot see the value of doing the right thing in all things that we do? It seems to me that the prevalent attitude in our country today is one of “it’s all about me”. Whether a company or an individual, it’s really quite shameful. If this perspective is a result of progress and technological enhancement in our lives, I believe that I would personally be better off living my life a hundred years ago.

Loss of a Loved One

2008-09-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

The 10th of September was a significant day for me this year. I lost a loved one that had been with me most of my life. I had to have a tooth removed. It was the first time I’ve lost one of those dear ones since I had my wisdom teeth removed by the U.S. Navy when I was 19.

I noticed when I got there that some things had changed in the outer office. There was a new receptionist who asked me to fill out new forms. I wanted to say that nothing has changed with me. That I had been coming here for years and my information was the same as always. I took the clipboard from her though and filled in the bare essentials. She seemed okay with that. I think part of that process is just an acknowledgement by the patient that the forms, an extension of the person that cares for them, have power and purpose. I realize that some of the information contained in them is essential but certainly not all of it. By example, I went to a consulting doctor’s office once at the request of my family doctor. There were, of course, forms to fill out and lots of them. The lady handling the forms said that I must sign in agreement that the doc could take photos and basically use them any way he wanted. I told her that I would not sign because I didn’t want any photos taken. She told me that it was okay to disagree and that no photos would be taken if I didn’t want but I still had to sign the form saying I agreed to the photo documentation. It turned into this minor altercation but in the end it was all about validating the forms and, I suspect, the power and purpose of the forms tender.

The dentist’s assistant eventually escorted me back to room 4 where she looked at my problem with a mirror, took an x-ray and developed a worried look. “I’m not sure if we can save it”, she said. “Lets have the doc decide”, I said. She gave me 2 pills, started the gas and the mission was underway. Some time passed and the doc came in. After checking things out he confirmed the assistant’s assessment.

It broke off at the gum line about a week ago and according to my dentist there was decay at the point of bifurcation. “It can’t be restored” were his actual words. Though I kept a brave face and demeanor, in my heart and mind I was grieved at the news. I felt a quiet mourning deep inside. Like I imagine someone must feel when they hear some devastating news that is, without question, unavoidable or irreversible. Part of me was about to be gone, never to return.

My dentist is a great guy and I really like him better than any other I’ve had. Straight forward with just the right amount of sensitivity to my consciousness. He doesn’t lecture me on what I should be doing or how I’ve failed in the immaculate pursuit of oral hygiene over the years I don’t want to hear a lecture when I go in there. I just want help. Now. I am old enough and self aware enough to know where I’m at in all of that. I know I’ve neglected that some. I don’t need or want some pristine judgment passed on my shortcomings by the hygienist who has, by the way, a perfect dental presentation to the world. I just want to preserve what I have for as long as I can. My dentist is good with that. We’re on a first name basis and I feel as comfortable with him as I do with a friend. I trust him and his judgment. If he said it had to come out, then it had to come out.

After the numbing effect began to settle in, they came back into the room. Another young lady slipped in quietly behind them and started to suit up. An observer I suppose. As gowns, masks and gloves were donned, it all started to look sterile and impersonal. Down to business. I heard him mutter “15” and the assistant handed him something. There was some mild poking around and I heard her say, “sure you’ve got it”? “Yeah” says the doc. That’s when I felt something pinching my tongue and pulled it out of the bind. “Well, thought I had it”. A moment later I could feel the fibers of my gum reluctantly releasing the tooth. Like it must feel to be desperately holding on to a hand that is being pulled away from your grasp. Someone you love being pulled away from you, never to return. As it happened, I thought about my loss. I felt regret, anguish and anger. How would I continue to live comfortably without this tooth? Absorbed with my loss, I suddenly recalled something I witnessed when I first came into the office. The new receptionist had handed me the forms and I’d noticed that there was a band-aid on her index finger. Half of her finger was missing. It stood out in sharp contrast to the bright and happy nature she displayed. In that initial moment of personal loss for myself I realized how insignificant it was by comparison to some real tragedy. The loss of a finger, a pronouncement of cancer, the death of a family member. Those are real tragedies. Suddenly, feelings of anguish for my tooth evaporated. Though I will miss it, I’m sure that I will adapt. I guess that part of an event like losing a tooth is also the understanding that I’m getting older. I’m not necessarily the superman that I once envisioned myself to be. Even well maintained machines breakdown in time. The high side of that is as time takes it’s toll and we lose functionality in some areas of life, we develop abilities and wisdom in other areas. Sometimes it seems like we are diminished when we lose things we love and that we are lesser for it. If the truth be told though, it forces character on us and helps us grow, not wither in ways that really matter.

Mountains

2008-08-17T10:47:00.000-07:00

I've always loved the mountains. There just seems to be something spiritual, mystical and powerful about them. It's as if they want to take you into their arms and love you. Like parents that take a small child into arms of strength and security. I suppose some people feel that way about the ocean. It has power and purpose also. I spent a good deal of my adult life on the ocean though and can tell you from first hand experience that the sea can be and is benevolent at times but can more often be that harsh mistress you hear of than lofty peaks are. Mountainous areas can have their treacherous faces as well but somehow, I always felt better prepared for the surprises they offered.

I've been to lots of places on this earth. I've seen and traveled in mountains of such diverse character that you wonder why a generic term like "mountains" covers such a wide variety of geologic formations. Some are barren for the most part and it is amazing to me how life thrives in what appears to be an area akin to a moonscape. The magnificence of the Rockies with their transitions from one life zone to the next. Lush valleys, verdant forests, above treeline. They are almost overwhelming in their presence. Volcanic ranges with peaks that continually send up smoke signals, telling the world that they are awake and very much alive. I've seen Vesuvius, Etna (which was actually having a very minor eruption while I was there), St. Helen's, Baker, Redoubt. Beautiful and awesome in the physical power they present. For all of our technology and early warning capabilities, there is really nothing we can do with a volcanic eruption but live through it. Volcanoes are exempt from man's dominion. As much as I do love all of the mountain regions I've visited, my favorites are the Appalachians. I'm from the Southeast and though I never lived in the Great Smoky Mountains, my family visited there often when I was growing up. Maybe that's why I have such an affinity for them.

Our trips were mostly for a couple of weeks at a time but to me, it seemed like I was coming home when we got there. The air was cool and fresh. The people always so friendly and open. Things seemed slower there. Food tasted better there. Certainly, we did tourist things on these trips. What boy child wouldn't enjoy Ghost Town in the Sky. Everyone in period cowboy clothing, gunfights in the street, saloons and Can-Can girls. Gift shops with all manner of trinkets designed to remind you of your trip. Live and wooden Indians (Native Americans) dressed in traditional clothing. Traditional native dances and stories. These things were all great but the best part, for me, was the mountains themselves. We would take long hikes through the forest, ever climbing upward, to be rewarded with views that were just magnificent. Sometimes the tree leaves were green below, sometimes a tapestry of color. The waterfalls, some large and some not so large seemed to invite you into the coolness of their bounty. Looking back, I see it now as if they were saying "I bring you water and life". There were times when we would stop by the side of the road and fill mason jars with spring water that flowed down from the rocks. It was cold and good and we had no fear of bacteria. Never seemed to have any effect on us other than refreshment. I used to love taking my shoes and socks off and walking in the rocky streams, fishing or looking for fish. I don't think I ever caught any but that wasn't really the point. Some days, we just drove in and around the area we were visiting. Old log cabins that appeared to have been standing for a hundred years. Roadside stands that sold fruit, vegetables and honey. Local people wearing overalls and old gingham dresses. Men sitting on the porches of old stores playing bluegrass. My dad often liked to stop and talk with the men and I'd get to sit and listen. They just seemed like nice folks to me. Now, as an adult, I wish that I could talk with those people who had so much knowledge of how things were there, both then and in their past. I realize now how hard life might have been for some of those mountain folk. Struggling to get by. Doing the best they could with what they had. I suppose they are all gone now.

Though most of the time we stayed in motels while visiting, sometimes we camped out. When we did camp, it was mostly in the national park camp grounds. That was okay with me. We had the smell of wood smoke and food cooked over the fire. The bath houses (when we had them) were convenient and there were other campers to talk with. It was always fun to swap stories of things we had seen and done during our visit. I always wanted to stay near the stream so I could hear the babbling and burbling of the water. The sound reminding me of quiet chatter and laughter. The stream passing by, aware of the people in the campground but not concerned with them. Absorbed in it's own existence.

Much has changed there over the years. Air pollution has become worse. I don't believe that I would drink water straight from the rocks anymore. All manner of people have moved there from all over the world. It's a lot more crowded now. I don't suppose you can blame anyone for wanting to live there though. The mountains there are still beautiful. Still peaceful. There is still the sense that the mountains want to embrace you. In this fast paced world we live in, I think most people want to find a location to settle that offers comfort and peace. Out of the rat race.

Usually, when we look back at things in life, we see with much more clarity than we do in the present. Foresight can be a wonderful thing when you have it. Today, I'm wishing that I'd had enough foresight to buy land there so many years ago. Not for any kind of financial gain but to have that quiet cove to rest in until my time comes. Who knows. It could still happen. If so, maybe I could live long enough and gather enough lore about life in the mountains to pass on to someone that would be interested. Keeping truth and legends alive for another generation or two.

A Home of Your Own

2008-08-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

I think most people want a place of their own, a place they call home. There is something comforting about the thought that at the end of the day, you get to go home. Sanctuary. A place of rest and peace. All of your things are there. It may be nothing more than a comfortable couch and your cat but it's yours. It's you.

During my life, I've lived in a couple of homes that were mine. Even though they were old and needed lots of love and care, they were mine. My first house was a simple, craftsman style, cottage sort of place. It was by far my favorite. I put every extra dime I made, over 5 years, into it. The original owner was a lady that never married. She grew up in the house that her father built and eventually had to sell it because of heart trouble. Almost 60 years under one roof. That's pretty amazing. I was in military service at that time and ultimately had to sell it due to a transfer. Though I wanted to leave the duty station I was at, I did not want to leave my home. It had become part of who I was. The bright part of selling it though was that the buyer was a lady that had grown up in that neighborhood. She had moved away early in her life and had not lived in the area for more than 20 years. She really wanted that house and we did everything we could to make that happen for her. She wanted to go home and we understood that.

A lot of time has passed since then. I have often thought about the man that built my first house and why he built it the way he did. It would be easy to think that the design and plans he followed were the most expedient for him at the time, but I don't want to think that way. I believe that he had more in his heart and mind than an attitude of "just need to get it done". He was building a home for his family. Something I always wanted to do. That house was basically a conventional, stick built home. I like that just fine and may, some day, build one similar to it but as the years have passed I've become more interested in alternative building methods.

I started to learn about other ways of building from Mother Earth News. It has always been a pretty good source of back to the land kind of information. Some of their politics aside, most of the articles dealt with how to do things economically and in ways that were Earth friendly. One thing leads to another and pretty soon I had books dealing with all manner of ideas for personal shelter. I've seen house plans that call for old automobile tires, rammed earth, straw bales, underground and materials scrounged from the local dump. I've always liked logs. Especially the squared off type with dovetail corners. One summer, I went to a timber framing school in upstate NY for a week, followed by a week of how to build with cord wood. I really like that concept. The strength of a timber frame with cord wood walls as in-fill between the frame members. It's just basically masonry and firewood but can be quite beautiful if you use a little creativity in the process. The best thing about building with an alternative mindset is that in most all instances, the cost is very low by comparison to conventional building. Most people that I've known of in life that built this way, didn't have mortgages. They built as they could with the material they could acquire over time. In your mind you might think "how could anything alternative be as nice as what the common real estate market has to offer". I want to say that I have seen some of these places with my own eyes and most all are more beautiful and comforting than anything that money can buy.

Just because we are adults does not mean that we cannot dream and ultimately make our dreams a reality. I hope to build my own home someday. I don't know exactly what kind of house it will be or what method I'll use to build it. I just know that I want my own home again. A place that is mine. My sanctuary. My place of rest and comfort. Maybe in the end, someone else will live in it and think, "this was someones home".

Did you ever watch the Lord of the Rings movies that New Line produced? Bilbo's house at Bag End had a beautiful round door that was painted green and supported by the most ornate and wonderful hand wrought iron work. That's my kind of door.

Illusion of Winter Past

2008-08-13T03:22:00.000-07:00

As I commuted to work yesterday it began to drizzle rain and the sky was lowering. Since it is August and the temperature is at least 75 by the time I get going, I had the air conditioner on. The sensation of overcast sky with light rain and cool air reminded me of late fall/early winter where I grew up. By comparison to where I live now, we had real winter there. We would most always have at least one good ice storm. As an adult I understand the inconvenience of that kind of weather, but as a kid, power outages, slippery roads and damage from broken tree limbs could never have entered my mind as anything that mattered. An ice storm was the most beautiful of all weather. It covered everything. Trees, power lines, blades of grass took on a whole new persona. With the sun blotted out by low clouds, it all seemed sort of ominous and over bearing. As if everything had acquired some new but benevolent power. Like some coat of armor that nature had bestowed on it's outside creatures, just to show humans that it could. In the gray light, it was cold and quiet outside. It made me realize how small that I really was. I remember feeling at peace with the world during those storms.

As the freezing rain came down and the temperature dropped, we would all watch it unfold. Outside for a while and inside through the windows. You could hear the incessant, light tapping of the ice crystals against the house. Everyone moving quietly, not saying much. If we were fortunate, from my point of view, it would go on all night. I remember drifting off to sleep listening to the light patter of the ice and rain.

The best part of an ice storm is the next morning. Looking back, I am still amazed at how it would transform my outside world. If the sun came out, everything glittered. Bejeweled with billions of diamonds. When I walked in the yard the grass would crunch under my steps. All the leaves and berries on our holly tree a wonderful, shiny, green and red. Each individual green pine needle coated with it's own layer. Icicles would often hang off the edge of the roof. My little brother and I would pick them off and eat them as if they were the most delicious ice pop treats. We would use them as swords and throw them as spears. The adults would complain and we would laugh with delight. How wonderful to be caught at that moment in time.

Maybe I'll live in a place like that again someday. I hope so. I hope that I never lose the sense of magical wonder in such a thing. I long for winter but especially the winters of my youth.

Right or Left?

2008-08-12T03:29:00.000-07:00

The other day I was cruising along to work and passed a pickup truck that was just sort of ambling along in the slow lane. As I got close, I could see a sticker in the rear window that said "I think, therefore I am Republican". I suppose he believed that Democrats don't think about much of anything more important than how they feel. It seemed like the statement was just another version of an age old contrast. Left/Right. Me/You. Up/Down. Sweet/Salty. It reminded me of a commercial I saw on the TV recently where this woman was advocating the use of some new birth control drug. On the one side the girl appears to be conservative and straight laced. On the other, she is casual and carefree. It's the same girl but with two different perspectives on life. Conservative girl is logical. Casual girl is emotional. I guess the guy in the truck probably considered himself logical and would never lower his perspective to the simple state of being emotional. Politically anyway.

In my opinion, the leaders of our country need to be logical. They need to be thinking about the next steps for our country. How our actions today are going to effect our history tomorrow. That is important to me. However, it's also important that these leaders are sensitive to the needs of the people that put them in office. What good is it to be so far to the right that we lose our understanding of the needs of our fellow countrymen? Or to be so far left that we can't get the business of America done in a timely and efficient manner? We put our trust in those politicians. We the people understand that our country must be strong but our leaders must remember that we have human necessities that must be met. We want our leaders to remember the humanity of our nation as well as the potential power that our country can project.

I personally don't care what political party someone is affiliated with. I want to know that whoever is elected is a person of character, ethics, understanding and compassion. I want that person to be strong. I want that person to be thoughtful, to think. I also want that person to be have a strong feeling for humanity. I don't care if they pronounce themselves Republican, Democrat, Independent, whatever. Those are just labels that, in my opinion, don't mean anything. I want leaders with good minds and good hearts that have the best interests of the United States in the forefront of their daily existence.

I guess that I'm neither right or left or center for that matter. Surely, there is someone in this country that can fill the shoes that I imagine must be worn by the leader of this great nation.

A Burning Analogy

2008-08-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

While driving to work recently, I saw in the distance a plumb of black smoke rising in the distance. As I crested a hill, I could see that there was a vehicle of some sort engulfed in flames. It was one of those moments when you ask yourself "why do I not have a camera with me". As I got closer I could see that it was a minivan and the fire was a conflagration. The next thought I had was how it could, at any moment, explode.

What I didn't notice, until I got closer, was that the driver was quickly walking away from the fire. He was an average looking guy. About 40 with longish hair, wearing jeans and a ball cap. Carrying one of those igloo lunch boxes that have the little button on the side that you push and the top slides over sideways. What struck me as interesting was that he was looking back over his shoulder as he headed north. I'm sure his thoughts were somewhere on the order of "glad I got out in time". In the state where I reside, the only insurance required for drivers is liability. It was an older van. Probably a work vehicle for the guy. He very well may have been thinking with regret, "what am I gonna do now".

In this day of extravagant gasoline prices, I think a lot of people are trying to rethink what our next steps are going to be in dealing with dwindling natural resources. The increase in prices for fossil fuels is having a direct impact on lots of other commodities that we have, for so long, taken for granted. Who really considered how corn would play such a significant role in the initial response to the fuel crisis? Farmers have probably understood this for years but the average Joe or Joan most likely never considered such a thing. The prices of beef, chicken, milk, etc. have all climbed higher and higher. The basic staples of life are getting so expensive that many people are having to cut back or find alternative means to supply their daily food needs. It's almost as if we are working at the daily grind just to subsist. Making just enough money to pay for the fuel to get to and from work so we can make enough money to buy more fuel to get to and from work. A vicious circle. Where's the quality of life in that?

When I noticed the man walking away from the burning minivan, looking over his shoulder, it struck me as a sort of metaphor or analogy about the average person's attitude regarding the times we live in today. We have lived with so much for so long that we have quite literally taken the bounty of the earth for granted. In the United States, we are such wasteful consumers in a general sense. You all know this to be true. The look on the man's face, as I passed by at 60mph seemed to be one of resolution. His face seemed to reflect a new beginning. An understanding that we must turn our back on the methods and accepted practices of recently past generations. We must move forward. We must embrace new understandings of how we will live life here on earth. The ways that we work, travel, create and live on a daily basis will need new direction. Though there may have been a flicker of regret in the man's mind for the past and present, there was also a strength of character that said I can adapt. I can overcome. I can face these changes head on and ultimately make a better life for myself and for those that come after me.

Late Start

2008-08-06T08:13:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome.

If you're reading this then you have most probably taken the time to read the "about me" thing and have gotten a small peek at where I'm at in heart and mind. I titled this post Late Start because that's just what it is. I've tried blogging before and didn't get very far. After the first 5 or 6 posts I just dwindled off to nothing. I think there is some good stuff over there but maybe I need to do something else with it. Something about taking the time to sit down and collect my thoughts on paper (electronic or otherwise) that I just haven't been able to bring myself to on a regular basis. This particular blog was created a month or so ago and this is the first post to it. So.....Late Start.

I've had friends tell me that I write well and that I should at least journal. I guess that's what this is in a way. Whether my friends are being honest or just kind is something that you can decide for yourself. I like to write but honestly, I've never written anything that really meant anything to anyone. Personal letters perhaps. Recently, I met a woman that is a writer. She does this part time while maintaining the complex management of her household. Her advice to me? Write everyday and don't give up your day job. Sounds familiar doesn't it? Sage advice to people that write, passed down through the ages.

In my daily life, I commute one hour each way to and from work. When I was younger, the time was spent mostly listening to the radio. Now-a-days, I spend that time just thinking about things. My life. Things I see on the interstate. Ideas, notions, perceptions, musings. Many times I've had, what I consider, profound epiphanies about life in general but they slipped away as I maneuvered through traffic or was distracted by the beauty of tree lined asphalt and well manicured medians. Someone suggested to me that I should keep a recorder with me as I drive and jot my thoughts down there for later recollection. I may try that. I guess it would be better than trying to write on paper and drive at the same time.

Anyway.

I suppose that's what this blog will be about as time progresses. Thoughts and musings while driving. I'm sure other areas of my life will find their way in here as well. That is if I can be faithful and consistent enough to write every day or so. I hope you'll come back from time to time and tell me what you think.