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Being an extremely non-linear account of my struggle to understand just what the hell is actually going on here!
<xBlogxPhilesx>
Who Links Here
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| Blogs are about change |
| 05.31.05 (5:26 pm) [edit] |
Last week I got into a discussion with a friend who is a working reporter for our local paper. The topic was blogging and what place if any it held in the profession of journalism. It’s a relatively new concept but one which is growing rapidly. I saw figures today that claimed there were 10,000,000 blogs on line. The number of active ones is a different question. Many blogs start out as a curiosity for a writer who has what at first seems like a promising idea but shortly becomes a chore.
In the traditional view I think it’s hard to make a case for blogging being journalism since the vast majority of bloggers do not have, among other things, primary sources, confirming sources or editors to review their work. It would certainly be a stretch to call what they write news as we have conditioned ourselves to think of news. On the other hand, the first car that rolled off Henry Ford’s assembly line wasn’t what our great grandparents thought of as personal transportation either.
Looks as if it’s time for another paradigm shift…
That’s my story and I sticking to it…..
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| On the road... |
| 05.27.05 (5:24 am) [edit] |
Posted 5/6/05 at 07:54:08 AM
...as it were, with apologies to Jack Kerouac, Willie Nelson. Charles Kuralt and anyone else who has ever used that phrase professionally.
Sitting here at my sister's computer in beautiful downtown Maylene AL. I flew down here for my mother's birthday and for Mother's Day. My mother is 88 today.
My niece has the strangest little dog, Barney by name. He kind of looks and acts like a Jack Russel terrier and is absolutely manic but cute at the same time.
(Maniacal cuteness...a concept which deserves more thought but probably won't get it.)
Barney looks like one of those TV dogs, the crushingly cute but scruffy ones of indeterminate ancestry that always seemed to pop up on television shows or in Disney movies and redeem themselves by saving some poor kids from a burning house when they bark at some stranger who happens to speak 'dog'. Lassie used to do that every week but all she could say was that Timmy was trapped in a cave. (Never did figure out why the dumb ass kid kept going back to that cave full of 10 foot rattle snakes anyway) Barney is much smarter than Lassie but in a street smarts kind of way so I am confident that if he gets the chance to rescue or sound the alarm he will be able to tell the dog talking stranger about a much wider menu of pending disasters. Barney is also much less vain about his appearance than Lassie. I wonder if Lassie's vanity comes as a result of being trained and owned by someone with a name like Rudd Weatherwax....that has to be a Hollywood thing.
Barney is also a better dog than Lassie because he has expressions on his face. Lassie never showed much more than a blank stare...kind of a Brittany Spears look.
Actually since Lassie has gone to the dog park in the sky to be with those people who she wasn't around to save I am beginning to wonder if there isn't something to be said for this re-incarnation business and Lassie has come back as Brittany...it could happen!!!
Barney's canine housemate is Shelby who is much older than Barney and seems quite tolerant of this frenetic little rescuer in training.
So that's the scoop (no, not that kind of scoop) on my sister's family dogs...I knew you wanted that information.
That's my story from Maylene, Alabama and I am stickin' to it...
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| And now the news from the world of sports.. |
| 05.27.05 (5:21 am) [edit] |
Posted 4/13/05 at 03:31:50 PM
On Thursday night, President Bush is scheduled to throw out the first pitch in the opening home game for the Washington Nationals baseball team. It will be the first regular season major league baseball game in Washington in 35 years.
In the spirit of bi-partisanship for which he and the Republican party have become so well known, the Oval Office has extended an invitation for a Democratic Party response much like the opposition response presented after every State of The Union address and after each of the President’s weekly radio addresses. He has invited the Democrats to send a batter to the plate for the opening pitch.
In the spirit of this proffered bi-partisanship DNC Chairman Howard Dean has reportedly canvassed all Democrats in both the Senate and the House of Representatives in an effort to find a volunteer for this singular occasion. Only Senator John Kerry has expressed any interest although his office said he cannot decide whether he wants to bat right handed or left handed. According to a spokesperson, theSenator is on the record as having been a right handed hitter before he was a left handed hitter.
Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert says will be behind the plate for this event since he has had so much practice handling the curve balls and change ups from the Oval Office over the years. Speaker Hastert did say that he would appoint two umpires to call the pitch, one Democrat and one Republican. If they cannot agree on whether the pitch was a strike or a ball it will be declared a “no pitch” and will have to be done over until a consensus can be reached. Team officials have contingency plans to reschedule the game at a later date should an impasse occur.
Finally, in recognition of the diversity of current national political leanings, the pitcher’s mound will be dyed red and home plate will be painted blue...
You heard it here first.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
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| Red Lake |
| 05.27.05 (3:09 am) [edit] |
Posted 3/25/05 at 12:40:26 PM
The story was there in the white pine forests of Northern Minnesota before March 21st.
Before Jeff Weise shot and killed his grandfather and 8 other people at Red Lake High School around 3:00 PM Monday, there was a story...it was about a community of about 5,000 souls with an unemployment rate estimated to be as high as 65 percent, a high school graduation rate near 60% and 40% of families living below the Federal Poverty Guidelines.
Few of us knew or cared until people died. It took children’s blood on the floor to attract the press piranhas who have descended on that small community of 5,000 as they scramble for 30 second film clips and sound bites that will be the core of their coverage of the deaths in the remote and reclusive Red Lake community. Certainly, unemployment numbers, poverty levels and drop out rates will be squeezed into the reports but they are numbers you and I would never see if people had not died.
Long after the 3 day wakes are over, long after the grass has started to grow again on new graves, those numerical signs of our failure as a nation to care about the well being of all, will still be there. A year from now, will we even remember what the term “Red Lake” means? Columbine is frozen in our minds, maybe even the stand off at Wounded Knee but what will become of “Red Lake”? Will we remember the unemployment and the people living below the federal poverty level there in Red Lake?
Astonishingly, the Oval Office has thus far been silent on the Red Lake tragedy. I wonder if that silence has something to do with the Administration’s proposed 2006 budget which includes $100,000,000 in cuts for Indian programs including health and education. The sincerity of a hand held out in consolation is a tough sell when the other hand is cutting money from programs designed to help the very people being consoled.
Maybe I just don’t understand what “compassionate conservatism” really means. Is it code for something else?
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| It's not your father's Oldsmobile... |
| 05.26.05 (3:06 am) [edit] |
Posted 3/16/05 at 12:18:39 PM
It occurred to me the other day that this web log, born out of personal stress, seems to have strayed a bit. A couple of writing topics have popped into what passes for my mind in the last two weeks. Since they didn’t really seem to have much if anything to do with relationships I didn’t write about them. Reading over the entries (skimming over, really) I looked for a common thread that might be a “third rail” to run on. The only thing which appears to be a constant is the struggle to cope with change. In the best of all worlds, we would understand and embrace change but for now, coping is enough of a hurdle.
Strange as it may sound, the Michael Jackson fiasco is a simple example. Once he was just a popular performer who wore a white glove on one hand and did a fairly cool looking “moon walk” thing that compared pretty well to Chuck Berry’s “duck walk”. That was a pretty unusual look for the time. Did you ever imagine that we might look at that image as a part of the good old days compared to the Michael of today, the pajama clad baby dangler that any sane parent would consider a threat to their kids?
Ask Google to define the word “paradigm” and you’ll get nearly two dozen different definitions but all with the same core description, a set of rules that provides a context for understanding and reacting to or with some aspect of life. It’s like a “home base” in a game of tag. You can go back there to gather your wits and plot your next dash to wherever….unless when you get to “home” it’s not there anymore. Someone has moved it and you missed the e-mail about the change.
Maybe you even see it move but can’t change directions quickly enough to avoid getting caught off base. You’re thinking about the cost of the war in Iraq and the 1,000 American casualties that was the last number you took notice of and Brian Williams comes on the evening news with the lead story that on the 9th of March the total went over 1500 dead. What happened…somebody moved my home base? Maybe your next thought is that you have another shock coming when the number hits 2,000; your paradigm has shifted.
One of the old saws about change is that the only people who like change are wet babies. That’s probably a bit of an overstatement but it is not a bad beginning in thinking about the ways people react to change. When my personal views of how life is or ought to be clash with a fresh reality, I struggle to adjust because it’s a slam dunk certainty that life’s rule book isn’t going to change to be in concert with my views. Do I charge the windmills like Don Quixote or accept that it’s only a windmill and ride on by.
Stephen Covey talks about distinguishing between our sphere of influence and our sphere of concern. His advice is to spend more time on “influence” and not so much on “concern.” As attractive and efficient a model as that appears to be, it is much easier to preach than to practice. What if, though, I could find a time and place like this to believe that maybe there really are windmills that are just begging for a good ‘throw caution to the winds, Don Quixote style’ tilt? That would be a good thing, for me at least. I can stay safe and sane in the real world and while having some fun with the absurdity and surrealistic side of life right here.
Thus the name change for this accretion of blather and bloviation…it’s an excuse , feeble though it may be, to ramble about with reckless abandon and without a bit of care for the value of your time. Fair warning to the windmills... Beware, you are not safe here!
The good news is that some things don’t need to change and among them is my closing thought:
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it….
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| The Shadows of my mind indeed... |
| 05.25.05 (1:52 pm) [edit] |
[image]JimBrodhead_530169 346.jpg[/image]
Originally posted on 2/3/2005
The UPS guy just came and delivered a CD from “slowazon.com”. I ordered it over 3 weeks ago and it finally got here. Into the CD player with it and it’s 1965 all over again. I am only 19 idealistic years old…at a free concert back in Cabell Hall at UVa. From the stage, the crystalline voice of Carolyn Hester floats above us, a sound so delicate we are afraid to breathe for fear of disturbing the air and shattering the sound.
It was the peak of the folk music era. We thought we were out there on the cutting edge of the free thinking sixties but nobody even had a car, much less a VW bus with flowers on it. A few were into a little pot from time to time but Budweiser was the drug of choice. Most of us at UVa didn’t so much do the sixties as watch them on the evening news. Charlottesville was a difficult venue for any movement but conformity. There were a few rebels among us but this was Mr. Jefferson’s “academical village”after all and professors were still known to excuse a student from class who was not wearing a coat and tie. Our biggest concern was keeping our student deferments so we didn’t have to exchange our UVa uniforms for olive drab.
Women were not admitted to the school until 1970 so ‘out of class’ activities were driven less by social consciousness than by testosterone. Downtown by the ABC store, black men would hang out, waiting for the under 21 students (the ones without fake ID’s) to give them a couple of bucks to go in and buy liquor for them. Each transaction was furtive as if we were selling secrets to a foreign power. We were nervous, certain we would get caught and I’m sure our “connections” were snickering at the dumb ass white boys with enough money to pay someone else to buy liquor for them. Most likely it wasn’t legal back then either but nobody cared enough to enforce whatever law there was.
So what does this little trip down memory lane have to do with my new Caroline Hester CD? Not much really except that the songs playing now lit up some corners of my memory.
I cannot remember now what my dreams for the future were in 1965 but that’s probably a good thing.
To paraphrase: “That’s my recollection and I’m stuck with it….”
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| Do drop in! |
| 05.25.05 (12:04 pm) [edit] |
Posted 2/1/05 at 12:36:43 PM
Can't believe I said that, given what is to follow:
OK, you’ve heard it before but it bears repeating. Some stories you just can’t make up and the account of what happened to Nina Gambone as reported on MSNBC sure is one of them.
It seems that someone or some system picked an inopportune time, at least from Nina’s point of view, to flush lavatory waste from an airplane. A frozen glob, chunk, lump or whatever aggregation term one might choose, fell on Nina’s car last week. It crushed her roof and smashed the windshield and now there seems to be nobody to blame it on. The FAA can’t do anything since the offending aircraft is unidentified. She got no help from the fire department either. They refused to help out with removing the “space invader” because, they said, Nina’s little package from the heavens was hazardous waste.
There is good news though; since Nina and her son were not in the car at the time there were no injuries.
I suppose the other good news would have to be that she lives in Massachusetts. Imagine having that happen in Key West where the temperatures are higher.
And from an insurance point of view, how about having to report THAT claim, maybe even having your premiums increase because of it. Seems unfair somehow for Nina to have the airline and the insurance company dump on her……
That's my story and I'm sticking to it....
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| Time!! |
| 05.24.05 (4:22 pm) [edit] |
The speed of light….really quick, right? Consider this. The space probe, Huygens landed at about 7:45 AM EST on the surface of a moon of Saturn named Titan. Titan is about 2.2 billion miles from us. The data sent back from the probe’s instruments will, of course travel at the speed of light, approximately 183,000 miles per second. It will still take the data 3 ½ hours to get here or in other words 1/3 the time it takes for the cable repair guy to make it from the cable shop to your home.
Let’s look at some other comparisons. Three and one/half hours also equals the length of time that passes
While your dog decides to take care of business on a frigid day
While water comes to a boil if you look at it
While you sit behind the car in front of you at a green light
While you are on hold for technical assistance on your computer
While Al Gore answers a question
While a heat pump raises the temperature of a room by 1 degree Fahrenheit
While you wait for your meal at Denny’s
While waiting to be seen in the average emergency room if and only if you are the only patient (Your results may vary)
Some other things are incredibly quick though. Researchers in California have defined the shortest recognizable period of time the as the ‘honkon’ which describes the interval between the traffic light in front of you turning green and the car behind you blowing its horn. You can look it up!
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
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| Oh no! Another one? |
| 05.24.05 (1:55 am) [edit] |
The urge to make New Years resolutions and load my conscience with lofty goals of changing the way I do things is seductive. Lose weight, work out, renew old friendships, read more yadda yadda yadda…..
We’ve all seen articles about resolutions and how quickly we ‘resolvers’ rationalize them out of existence. Maybe that happens because we set unattainable goals. Dreams are fine and we all owe it to ourselves to have a dream. Where, then, is the balance between having a dream and chasing after something quite impossible to achieve. We set ourselves up for having to come to grips with the concept of failure.
I think I’ll keep mine simple this year by setting a resolution that can yield some sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment by being broad enough that it creates opportunities for small victories along the way. Perhaps then, at the end of 2005 I’ll be able to look back and total up a partial list of successes.
So here goes:
Stephen Covey talks about the concentric circles of our lives in terms of spheres of influence and concern. His counsel is to spend our energies in our sphere of influence. That is so simple that it should be intuitive yet for me it’s very difficult to achieve. There are so many lovely windmills out there inviting a valiant but fruitless charge and I do want to hold on to my windmills. Maybe this year I can just put them in storage for the year and redirect my energy toward making more of 2005 than I did of 2004 in smaller but more direct ways:
So for 2005 my goal will be to make more of the year than I did of 2004 by
Being kinder to people around me
Wasting less time
Thinking things through more carefully
Paying more attention to the needs of other
Listening more actively
Judging others less frequently
I would say that I’ll report back at the end of the year but hopefully, if I am at all successful you’ll realize it by what you read here.
That’s my story and as always, I’m stickin’ to it…
Posted on 1/1/2005 at 12:47:07 PM
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| How did this happen??? |
| 05.23.05 (2:04 pm) [edit] |
Since I live alone, it’s always a challenge for me to get too worked up about decorating for Christmas. Perhaps it’s the looming chore of having to undecorate in few short months that makes the whole project seem so onerous. It’s not a “Bah, humbug” thing I don't think but just something with which I have never resonated. The two cats with whom I share living space seem content without it as well. They have no experience with tinsel so I figure what they don’t know won’t hurt them and it’s not as if they get a chance to gossip with any other cats in the neighborhood about my shortcomings as a Yuletide cheerleader.
Last weekend, though, a curious urge came over me to put up some lights outside on my balcony. Off I went to Target to shop for said lights and now my balcony is decked out with sufficient multi-colored flashing foreign made electrical devices to bring me in on the Tacky scale at a T-5 at the least. I can’t quite divine where this urge came from though. It’s not as if I sit and look at them for long periods of time. The cats do but they are probably only curious as to whether the lights are the pre-cursor to some feline concept of the apocalypse.
It finally dawned on me last night that my little light show could be seen by all the folks driving past my building on their way home from work. Maybe it will help edge a bit of the frustration of a crappy day at work out of their minds before they get home. Maybe then they can more easily feel the love from their kids who run squealing to the door to greet with a hug of unconditional love….reason enough, I suppose, for the lights to be hung even if they are tacky.
Now, I just have to avoid the radio and those damn dogs barking “Jingle Bells”.
Now, where did I put that red candle....
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it….
Posted 12/9/2004
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| The Sea Part II |
| 05.23.05 (1:57 pm) [edit] |
[image]JimBrodhead_481582 781.jpg[/image]
The Sea
Part II
And so the hopeful child returned,
Seeking the open arms of Mother Sea.
Full of yearning for rest and peace,
Needing comfort she could not describe.
Eyes wide with hope at the new day,
She felt the breeze of her Mother’s loving breath
Gently caressing her brow as if
To renew the soul with her healing touch.
Dim visions of dawn-lit gulls
Scallop-cut the air with wings of grace
While ripple washed jewels gleamed
And shifted beneath her feet.
Dolphin arcs teased her
With waves of welcome
Like cousins at a reunion
Who had left all care at home.
Spring’s grace-filled hope
For healing budded anew
Heedless of the Fall to come,
As if the leaf would never die.
But all she knew was of the air
And of the struggling earth
That bounded the soothing murmur
Of her Mother’s loving lullaby.
Mother Sea embraced her but a while,
Held the child’s hand to her heart
Hoping the rhythm of her love
Would ease the anxious soul.
For the doubting restless child,
The truth she sought waited not
Beneath or atop the waves,
But in the world she now must face.
Life within her waited, poised
To burst forth on a flood of
Liberating inner light and peace
And freedom from yesterday’s trials.
And the last wave breaking across her feet
Was her Mother’s gift of boundless love
For this part of her, this precious girl-child,
Whose tears she also cried.
November 2004
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| I don't know if... |
| 05.23.05 (11:44 am) [edit] |
I wrote this for you or for me...
[image]JimBrodhead_438454 816.jpg[/image]
Where careless force
Disturbs your peace,
May tranquility claim the day
And calm subsume your soul.
August 2004
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| A Short Story To Be Read To A Child |
| 05.23.05 (3:17 am) [edit] |
[image]JimBrodhead_706736 993.gif[/image]
Once upon a time, a very long time ago when animals and trees could talk, there was a beautiful white dove. Although she had the whole wide sky to fly in, at night time she always flew home. Day after day she would soar up into the clouds to explore and see all that she could see. Some days she would fly through great white clouds as fluffy and soft as cotton but other days the clouds could be dark and stormy.
When the clouds were white and the warm yellow sun was shining through, flying was easy and fun. It wasn’t so easy though when the dark clouds gathered. Then the little dove had to use all the strength in her beautiful white wings to fly through them. The winds around the dark gray storm clouds were as strong as they could be. They bounced the little dove around in the air and ruffled her feathers. One day in a storm she got so tired she knew she just had to find a place to rest. No matter how hard she looked she could not find a single tree to rest in. By the time the storm was over and the gray clouds had gone away she had been blown far far away from her old home
In the days that followed she tried very hard to find her way home. Each night just before it got dark she would find a rocky corner on the side of a mountain and rest until the sun came back up in the morning. Day after day in the warmth of the morning sun she would fluff her wings and soar up into the sky, always looking for her home. Sometimes at the end of the day she felt very sad and was afraid she would have to live among the cold rocks forever. But deep down inside she had a feeling that there might be a place of rest and safety just beyond the next cloud, a shelter where she could rest and be safe from the strong winds that came from the huge gray clouds. Day after day she flew on, searching and hoping that this would be the day she would find the home she longed for.
One day as the beautiful dove was flying along she saw a mountain far off on the horizon jagged and rough looking standing out against the sky. It was near the end of the day so she flew nearer to the mountain and began to look for another place where she could stop and rest. All the mountains she had seen in her long journey had been very tall and rocky. At first this mountain looked the same but as she flew she saw it was different because on the side of this mountain there was a very scraggly looking little tree growing out on the edge of a rocky cliff.
This sad looking tree had been clinging to its rocky little spot on the mountain through storm after storm for many years there on the cliff. Because it lived on the cliff it only had a small bit of rocky soil to put its roots in. With so little good soil to get water and food from it could never grow tall and straight towards the sky like all the other trees that lived below it in the valley.
The dove was curious about this crooked little tree and so she turned toward it. Closer and closer she flew until she found herself settling down onto one of the crooked little tree's twisted branches. She rested there for a few minutes as she looked the tree up and down to see what it was like. “It’s as good a place as any to spend the night”, she thought so she fluffed her feathers up against the chilly night air, and tucked her weary head under her wing to wait for the warm morning sun.
After a bit she became aware of a faint vibration in the branch where she was resting. She didn’t know what to make of that. And then it stopped. As she tucked her head back under her wing, she felt the vibration again. And then it stopped again. Once again she put her head under her wing to wait for the morning light. Then, there it was again...a vibration.
Since the vibration started every time she nodded off to sleep, the little dove thought maybe the tree was trying to tell her something so she remained very very still and listened carefully trying to hear what message this twisted little tree might have for her. She soon realized that it was talking to her.
It wasn't long before she began to feel peaceful and safe for the first time. Puzzled at this, she cocked her delicate head to one side as if to listen more closely for something from this poor stunted tree that might explain this new feeling of calm and safety. She felt the tree telling her that it understood she needed shelter and rest and she could stay as long as she needed to. If she would perch very close to his trunk he would try to protect her so that she could rest and regain her strength for the rest of her journey.
For many, many days she stayed, gaining strength with each passing day. And as she began to think it might be time to continue her quest she became aware that perhaps this was what she had been looking for, this was what her quest was. And so she decided to stay a bit longer.
One morning, many months later, the little dove awoke and looked around her and felt the tree's vibrations again. Now, the tree had not talked to her for a long time. As she listened this time ever so carefully she realized the tree was singing. While she listened to this beautiful tree she looked closely at the tree and noticed a wonderful change in her poor little tree. It had not gotten any taller but it had grown strong and its branches seemed a little straighter. As she felt the tree's song vibrating through her now rested wings she understood what had happened.
This tree had only needed a reason beyond its own pride to grow. With the little dove there to shelter and protect, the sad little tree wasn’t sad anymore and so it had forced it roots down through the cold rocks to the soil beneath them and found the nourishment it needed to grow strong because at last it had a reason to grow. It had another soul share the days with and to care for. So the little dove decided to stay there, in the gentle sheltering arms of her crooked little tree while the tree continued to vibrate its beautiful song of life through its branches and into the life of the beautiful white dove.
Even though this happened long, long ago and even though trees and birds can no longer talk, their ancient songs continue to echo, reminding us that having someone to care for and protect is surely the greatest purpose and source of strength any of us can have.
Posted on 11/16/200 at 08:35:41 PM
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| Nothing to do with relationhips but... |
| 05.23.05 (3:13 am) [edit] |
...let me put my personal cards on the table, Martha Stewart-wise: I’ve never much cared for her TV cooking program or her near manic addiction to style and detail.
On the other hand, if Martha Stewart had been Muriel Frobisher she would have gotten a “not guilty” verdict at best and 15 minutes of community service at the worst. So I guess that means I’m “Martha neutral.”
That being said, the question pops into mind, why did the powers that be decide that she should do her 150 odd days in the pokey in West Virginia? Oh sure the slammer in her home state may be a little crowded but is that any reason to send America’s Style Czarina to the hinterlands of West “By God” Virginia? The facility is nicknamed Camp Cupcake for crying out loud. CNN has pictures of a sample cell there. They looked fairly tidy but might need a doily or two…. Send her where she’s needed!
Also noticed that her company’s stock dropped by one percent when the Alderson, West Virginia prison was announced, implying that 1% of her company’s value depends on WHERE she’s going to jail. Furrowed brow of puzzlement at my keyboard…
Also on the radar now is the prospect of a Martha Stewart reality show after she gets out. And I thought “Miami Slice” was over the edge. If that's not enough, think of the potential for the Learning Channel shows..."Trading Cells", "While You Were Incarcerated"...boggles the mind does it not?
The other news story of note today is that the President changed his plans and has left for Florida a day early for the debate. The story from the spin factory is that he wants to observe the hurricane damage again. I’m not sure I’m buying that; more likely he’s not sure he can count on the Florida Supreme Court to cover his “six” again in 2004.
If I sound cynical, wonder why…
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it...
Posted on 9/29/05 at 03:38:31 PM
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| Sea Flakes |
| 05.22.05 (6:34 pm) [edit] |
[image]JimBrodhead_927121 720.jpg[/image]
Sea Flakes
Retreating ripples shift one and all,
Sunlight and wrinkled water
Shine each in turn as they tumble
Back beneath the swirling foam.
And in the scramble of tumbling gems
A teasing sparkle flirts with the sun
And settles for a moment,
Watching the wonder in my peering eye.
September 2004
Posted on 9/17/2004 at 09:10:37 PM
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| Moments of Resonance |
| 05.22.05 (1:45 pm) [edit] |
I was talking with someone the other night about this on line matching thing I am on. She asked me what I was looking for on there and I was kind of stumped for a moment. Someone to do things with, to share life days with? Was it as simple as that?
Then a phrase came to mind and I told her that I thought that what I was looking for was a person with whom I could experience “moments of resonance”…those times when everything that needs to come together for a perfect and probably unique slice of life does so. Athletes and performance artists sometimes call it being in the zone. I once heard k.d. lange sing an old Roy Orbison song, “Cryin” and even with just the sound of the radio I could tell that she had gone somewhere else and had become one with that song.
Sara Hughes, the 2002 Olympic figure skating gold medalist had that moment of resonsnce when she landed her first triple axle or whatever it was in her final routine. The instant her skates touched down on the ice, she knew she was there, knew that at that split second in time everything that followed was going to be flawless and I’ll bet money she also knew that no matter what the judging outcome, she would never be better than she was right then. You could see it in her face like the first light of sunrise…”I’m there…this moment is mine and I am going to wring every last ounce of energy and life out of it that I can.”
It can be so quiet you barely know it has happened…you feel it and don’t know it until later. As gentle perhaps as a butterfly on the windowsill or as complex as an orgasm that drains the body and subsumes the soul leaving only enough of you to lay there with your lover and breathe together .
That is the core…to find a person with whom I can experience a series of all sorts of moments of resonance….a coming together of spirits that happens without warning or preparation perhaps but yields the improbable equation, 1+1=3. A breaking wave, a shooting star, a dripping icicle…resonance…yep resonance.
Anyway, that’s my story and I am, by God stickin’ to it….
Posted on 9/15/2004 at 11:58:00 AM
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| The day after! |
| 05.22.05 (1:42 pm) [edit] |
Well, surgery day has come and gone for my oldest daughter and all went well. She is now the proud owner of a brand spanking new fresh off the showroom floor mechanical aortic valve. All went as planned with the surgery and the long term prognosis is excellent.
I had said here that the valve would not be replaced. On further reflection and discussion with the Doctor Ruth decided to go ahead with the mechanical valve rather than face yet another surgery at some point when the aortic valve demanded replacement. That was not really a matter of ‘if’ but of ‘when’ so she decided that there was no point in putting it off.
An interesting twist was that as we left her room after seeing her for a few minutes we ran into her pediatric cardiologist whom we had not seen in 15 years or more. Dr. Carpenter had found out that Ruth was going to have the operation there and wanted to check in on her. That’s what I call service after the sale.
Feel as if I should have some deep and insightful commentary on the whole experience but all that’s there at the moment is a deep deep sense of relief that this is now behind her. This little girl, born to be a mother, now will be able to continue doing what she does so well.
The tension level as we sat in the waiting room for those six hours it took for them to do the operation was replaced by giddiness as the pressure lifted after just a few minutes of conversation with the surgeon, who by the way looked to be about Ruth’s age.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
Posted on 9/8/04 at 01:17:27 PM
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| There's good news tonight... |
| 05.22.05 (1:37 pm) [edit] |
Better than the lottery, better than finding a $20 bill in your clean laundry...
My oldest daughter, the mother of my grandchildren, was born with an aortic stenosis. It was surgically repaired with something called a 'Ross Procedure' when she was 23. This procedure, we were told at the time has a 7 to 10 year life expectancy before it will have to be re-done. In her case they did not use mechanical valves for the initial valve replacement so that she would not have to take blood thinners which would have kept her from having children.
Last year she began to notice some fatigue and her annual heart check up indicated that the time was near that the procedure would have to be repeated. Since she had given birth to my youngest two granddaughters, this time they were going to use a mechanical valve.
Well, she went for her pre-op cardiac cath procedure today. As it turns out, they are only going to have to repair the aortic valve root and not the valve itself. It's a less serious operation amd she will not have to be on blood thinners.
I was really scared about this but now the sun is shining again on a very relieved dad.
They say that fathers are the daughter's dragon slayers...well bring those scaly fire breathing bastards on...I will happily kick their green dragon asses.
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it...
Posted on 8/24/04 at 06:14:37 PM
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| The Search |
| 05.22.05 (1:27 pm) [edit] |
Searching and listening through the days,
Searching for wheat amongst the chaff,
Listening for a bell tone in the white noise
That floods my consciousness.
The mountain peak beckons
Above the secret horizon,
Calling me to the search
For care in life’s chaos.
Is the search so precious,
It blinds me to the truth,
And masks the spectre of formless life,
Endured but not savored?
Posted 8/19/04 at 01:33:32 PM
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| It was a Saturday morning... |
| 05.22.05 (1:20 pm) [edit] |
...and as I puttered around my apartment I wondered how you were doing.
I gather chaff to fill the hours,
You are away from me
But not from my heart,
Not from my thoughts,
And not from feelings for you
That threaten to flood my soul.
Posted on 8/19/2004 at 12:20:08 PM
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| The more things change... |
| 05.20.05 (9:56 am) [edit] |
...the more they...blah..blah...blah
It took almost a year after my marriage ended in 1993 before I realized my basic truth that before I could ever again be in a life partnership I would have to become content as a single person, not resigned to being single but truly content. I had to be OK by myself before I would ever be good for anyone else.
I remember that line from “Jerry McGuire” where Renee Zelwigger said to Tom Cruise, “You complete me!” (At least I think it was her line.) That seemed to me then and still does seem like an awfully dysfunctional view. If I am not complete by myself, I had better not expect anyone else to complete me. Perhaps they can complete my life in the sense that they make it more full but I, as a person had damn well better be better be whole on my own.
It wasn’t until sometime well into 1995 that it dawned on me “Hey, I can do this!” and I did do it for the next 8 or 9 years but recently things have changed. The last year or so when I am out I see couples and I find myself envious of the togetherness some of them are enjoying and appalled at the way others who are obviously together are ignoring each other. I find myself wondering if I have regressed to a ‘can’t be alone’ state or am I finally mature enough (age 58, it’s about time, right?) to be able to sustain and thrive in a healthy relationship. I would like to think it is the latter, of course.
And speaking of movie lines, I much prefer Jack Nicholson’s line in “As Good As It Gets”. When Helen Hunt asked him why he couldn’t just pay her a simple compliment, he did those wonderful Nicholsonian facial contortions before he said, “You make me want to be a better man.” I think that’s the kind of partner I would like to find. (Not Nicholson, for crying out loud...the kind of woman who would make want to be a better man!)
Finally for today, a note of explanation as to why I write this stuff here. By and large, guys don’t have an outlet for these sorts of ruminations unless they have a female friend to talk to. I am very fortunate though, I do have a guy friend that I can have conversations like this with, but in general, guys don’t talk to other guys about the things I write about . Can you see Chuck lining up a putt on the 16th green while Larry adjusts himself, maybe spits once or twice and talks like this. Or Bubba and Junior, waiting in a deer blind for a big buck, passing around the Red Man and trading thoughts about NASCAR racing and their emotions.
Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
Posted 8/16/2004 at 03:47:29 PM
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| The Washinton Post has... |
| 05.20.05 (9:05 am) [edit] |
...a weekly feature entitled "Autobiography As Haiku". It's my first read every Sunday. Sometimes the short pieces there are humorous, sometimes not. This one was uncomfortably honest:
"I debate which path I'll take to the Metro. I can go straight and pass the man waving his paper cup, calling out "nickels or quarters." Or I can go through the park where the men eat food from the white, beaten-up van. The eating men remind me of babies drinking their mothers' milk. I want to go through the park. I want to feel their humanness and witness their existence. I want to acknowledge they were born and will die. I want to love them. But I go straight. The nickel-and-quarter man is much easier to ignore."
Originally posted on 8/15/2004 at 05:30:58 AM
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| Hang on... |
| 05.20.05 (8:58 am) [edit] |
...I'm changing lanes here...
Posted 8/14/04 at 06:27:40 AM
I love tag lines, those quotes people use after their signatures in e-mails or on bulletin boards. Sometimes there is attribution and sometimes not (a more polite way of saying we stole them from somewhere). They can be humorous, inspiring or a wake up call regarding things we may have neglected in our lives. I don’t know about women so much but I can tell you that guys need wake up calls from time to time.
What got me thinking about this was a quote I saw this morning on a most excellent blog, “The Illusive Life”. (link is just to the right on this screen) It went as follows: “Friendship is a single soul residing in two bodies” and is attributed to Aristotle.
What a neat measure to keep in mind and apply to our own relationships. Whether it’s a golfing buddy, a spouse or a relative, isn’t it a good idea to have some sort of mental standard to which we can refer as a gauge of how we are doing in our relationships on a day to day basis?
Using it is another matter I suppose. This one would seem to be most useful as a negative measure maybe in that it’s easier to tell what actions or behavior are not conducive to two souls becoming one.
And then there are the humorous tags. They usually wear out after a while and need to be changed. I’m using this one right now on a bulletin board:
“If you can’t be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.”
Sounds very English somehow.
From the same board another writer uses:
“Never debate with idiots, they drag you down to their level then beat you with experience.”
And this one I saw somewhere years ago on an e-mail”
“I am Dyslexic of Borg. Your ass will be laminated.”
Guess you need to have watched a few Star Trek episodes to appreciate that one.
Anyway, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it…
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| Reflections on a... |
| 05.20.05 (8:52 am) [edit] |
Posted on August 9, 2004 at 06:58:44 AM
...well spent weekend.
I took friends of mine and their kids to a minor league baseball game yesterday down in Richmond. What fun that was! The kids live in Lithuania and are visiting here for the summer. This was their first American baseball game.
We had a great trip, The weather was perfect, the seats were good, great in fact, and by the time the game started the sun was low enough that we were shaded nicely by the stadium roof. Lukas and Tina quickly caught on that for kids a ball game is not about watching the game but about getting a game ball as a souvenir. By about half way through the game they had realized that the place to be was down at the railing next to the field so they spotted a couple of unclaimed seats and planted themselves there. Neither of them was successful which is probably just as well. The chances of them both getting a ball were really slim so one of them getting one would have created another source of sibling discontent.
They had cotton candy and some kind of ice cream thing that looked like a cross between pelletized limestone and kitty litter. They seemed to enjoy that but then they are kids so allowances must be made I suppose.
I had a contact in the fan relations office who was going to put together a package of team goodies for them and also put their names up on the big electric sign board. Turned out that she was no longer working there so that fell through but they were giving away backpacks to all the kids so my two little Lithuanian tourists will go back to school this fall in Vilnius sporting Richmond Braves backpacks. I got them two “previously enjoyed baseball gloves which were a big hit with them well. They got them autographed by a couple of players and the team mascot, the “Diamond Duck”. Their English is very very good. They had even learned the words to “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” and sang it with us during the 7th inning stretch.
So all was well.
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it….
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| To thine ownself be true... |
| 05.20.05 (8:48 am) [edit] |
Posted on August 2, 2004 at 07:28:10 AM
And it must follow, as the night the day,
thou canst not then be false to any man.
A young acquaintance of mine was recently dumped by her significant other who apparently decided that he, age 37, no longer needed or wanted her, age 25, in his life. She was taken quite by surprise by all this and of course was hurt. I offered the following by way of support, with the caveat that advice is worth exactly what you pay for it. I have edited out two words to respect her privacy:
“I wish I had some recovery type advice that might be useful to you. The only thoughts I have to offer are that it’s better it happened now than 5 years from now and that if you look deep inside yourself at the vital woman you are, you will discover that he did not deserve a person such as you as a partner.
It’s OK, in fact it’s healthy for you I think, to be a little angry about this. Anger can be destructive if it gets out of control but a little bit is good and is restorative for the soul.
I remember looking at your little tag line that you use on the board, “I belong to ****” and being a little disturbed by it. I believe that we only belong to ourselves and that especially applies to women who are still blanketed, in many cases smothered, by the vestiges of a male dominated society. Anything which detracts from your humanity and your ability to live the potential filled life that you deserve is wrong. You may give of yourself as you choose but no one has a right to take anything from you.
Keep faith with yourself and you will certainly find the life that you deserve. You owe yourself and your Creator not one iota less.
Thinking of you and hoping that the healing has begun.”
Re-reading this I realized I may well have been giving myself advice…..
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
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| On the lighter side of the romantic news... |
| 05.20.05 (8:45 am) [edit] |
Posted on July 29, 2004 at 07:51:26 AM
A brief reference to on-line dating/match up services was in my initial post on this blog. The first time I joined one of them a thought was ambling around in the recesses of what passes for my brain. “What kind of socially bankrupt knot head ends up here, in a ‘place’ like this?” All the while I pictured the other people on there as mumbling geeks, compulsively fingering their favorite Star Wars lapel pin trying to appear as something they were not while they typing in a clever new signature line for their e-mails like “Live long and prosper.” They would have a full ashtray on their desk, a can of Coke long since gone flat and little bunches of cat hair hidden behind the door. Time stamps on their postings would usually be between 1 and 3 in the morning. Their bookshelf would feature a dog-eared paperback compendium of possible names for pets.
Oh, my God….that’s the group I have joined?
Well, I was wrong of course. There are really lovely people out there who apparently, like me, realize the on line matching sites are a great place to meet people and get to know a little bit about them without the subliminal screening based on things like bra size or a tight butt.
Now, here’s the weird part, the question that I just couldn’t get over. Why do so few people at these e-mixers use any semblance of imagination in their profiles at all? If I had a nickel, make that a twenty dollar bill, for every time I have read that a lady likes long walks on the bloody beach and cuddling by a cozy fire I would be on some Caribbean island somewhere drinking a cold Corona and trying to decide whether to bake or grill that fresh grouper filet for dinner.
Not only the narrative but the pictures they post! I saw pictures that would have been rejected for driver’s licenses by the Motor Vehicles department in 49 of the 50 states and the territory of Guam. Is this a test? “If you can overlook the fact that this picture makes me look as if I am the subject of a Central America wanted poster then lifelong true love is on the horizon.”
Put down the rocks and bottles because I’m not talking about beauty here. I just don’t understand how someone can be so oblivious to what kind of visual first impression they make.
More on this another day, if the Spirit moves me…..I’m tired of it now.
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| The Sea (1) |
| 05.20.05 (7:56 am) [edit] |
Posted July 27, 2004 at 11:47:49 AM
In April,I went to the beach for the weekend. While roaming the beach early one morning I took a picture that came out remarkably well. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in while. I printed it and then added this little piece to the picture. I can't post the picture here out of repect for the privacy of the lady in it but here is what I wrote to go with the picture. It started with the first line which is a quote of something she told me she felt when she walked to the ocean's edge for the first time in a while.
"Do you remember me?" She asked the Sea
"Of course I do, you are my child"
"How can you remember me?", She said
"There are so many of us who come to you."
"True" said the Sea. "Why do you come to me?"
"I do not know how to say it. I feel it though."
"What do you feel? asked the Sea
"Is it that you are home?"
"Maybe. When was it that you first touched me?"
"When? Don't you remember standing at my door?"
"I don't think so. Did I knock?
"You did not need to, I knew you were there"
"The spindrift across your feet was my welcome.
My gulls and terns told me of your innocence.
And shifting sand beneath you as the water flowed
Was my answer that you were my child."
And then the Sea murmured and shrugged,
Her glassy shoulders as if to sigh in gratitude
That her little one was still her child.
Innocent still, with outspread arms.
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| Introduction |
| 05.20.05 (5:50 am) [edit] |
Introduction
Posted on July 23, 2004 at 02:40:05 PM
After my divorce ten years ago it had taken me a while to get to the point of being content as a single person. So much so in fact that I remember thinking that I wasn’t really convinced I needed to meet anyone and that I could live the balance of my life as a single person. I do recall rationalizing to myself that if the right person came along…nothing is etched in stone.
This is my, no doubt overly emotional account, of my thoughts during the last month or so and my ongoing thoughts as they occur. If it is self indulgent, so be it. I have to put it somewhere, tell it to someone, get it off my mind lest it crush me.
I don’t really know if anyone besides me will ever see this blog. Most likely they won’t but even if I am willing to put my feelings and fears out there, I cannot make that decision for anyone else so I’ll scrub any detail that might compromise privacy.
It should not matter if my words are published; it should be enough, it seems, to write them down. But it does matter. Maybe it’s like the guy drowning his sorrows at the bar, bonding with the bartender.
I warn you ahead of time, it is sentimental and if a critic were to read it they might well tag the word “slop” on. Read at your own risk but while you are doing that, if you begin to feel as if this is so much silliness, try to imagine the sort of feelings that are so piquant, so real that even if they are feelings of sadness or loss you are still grateful for them because they tell you that you are alive. Remembering especially the peaks that are the product of my awareness and that infuse my soul with hope such that I know that no matter what happens in the future I will still say, “It was all good!”
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