Goodbyes and Hellos

It's easy to start, harder to stop. Most people begin forming habits without thinking about it. What's a habit but a groove worn into your mind and body, conscious and unconscious? (Merriam-Webster says : a behavior pattern acquired by frequent repetition or physiologic exposure that shows itself in regularity or increased facility of performance b : an acquired mode of behavior that has become nearly or completely involuntary, as in 'I got up early from force of habit'). I'm looking at habits while I think about resolutions.

A friend of mine told me yesterday that good lists of resolutions include decisions not to do certain things. Which reminded me of Johnny Cash's hand-written To-Do List recently purchased for $6,400 at a charity auction.

 

Now there's a list that includes things you can stop doing! I am going to include a few things I will say goodbye to as well.

Goals guide habits most fundamentally by providing the initial outcome-oriented impetus for response repetition. In this sense, habits often are a vestige of past goal pursuit. Habits become part of the problem when they are only vestiges of not-so-good goals, like "I think I'll be lazy today, sleep in and not exercise. Hmmm, that sleeping in felt good yesterday, and today is Saturday, why don't I just take weekends off?"

Habit has allowed you to tie your shoes without thinking, If you seem to forget after wearing slip-ons for half your life, you can recapture the ability to tie your shoe, by setting the goal of mindfully tying your shoes. Tying the shoe is a goal-directed behavior now, and no longer relies on the habit mechanism.

This implies to me that goals ought to be routinely adjusted to ensure the brain does not rely on habits for control of day-to-day activity.

So, with this motivation in mind, I will focus on developing a goal-directed approach, using higher goals and sub goals, and developing a higher level of mindfulness needed to act mindfully in pursuit of these goals. So today, I'm choosing Twenty-Eleven habits to which I will say goodbye.

TWENTY ELEVEN GOODBYES

• Sitting in the same chair,
  
• Walking to work the same way.
  
• Eating meals quickly.
  
• Eating left-handed.
  
• Overeating
  
• Evening sweet or salty snacks.
  

 

And some new activities for the coming year.

 

TWENTY TWELVE HELLOS

• Practice of meditation daily,
  
• Tracking mindful actions each day on calendar dedicated to that use.
  
• Mindfully performing daily exercises.
  
• Regularly learning new exercises.
  
• Initiating conversations.
  
• Smiling
  
• Kissing my wife (thank you Johnny Cash)
  

 

You can see it's a work in progress, but so am I.

 

Internet shopping vs. brick and mortar shopping

Count me among those who believe Internet shopping will never eclipse brick and mortar shopping. Oh, I don't think internet shopping has reached its peak, but there will always be brick and mortar store shopping. Here's my top ten list of the reasons--

No. 10. Whenever my wife wants girl time with our female house guest(s), shopping is the perfect means to ditch the husbands.

No. 9. No one ever had to stop for lunch while out internet shopping with said female house guest(s).

No. 8. Provided you are not foolish enough to offer it to a sales clerk when asked, you will not receive a lifetime sentence--er, subscription--to the store's email newsletter when you shop in person.

No. 7. The thrill of buying something that "must have been mismarked--it rang up even cheaper than I thought." You won't find that on the internet.

No. 6. The experience of instant gratification far outdistances the excitement of getting a package at your door.

No. 5. Sales clerks generally don't repeatedly fail to complete a transaction because the 16-digit code is incorrect, the security code has not been entered, an invalid email address has been entered, you/they have timed out, you have forgotten your user id,

No. 4. Your memory or typing skills don't produce any of the following barriers to just buying the darn thing: you have forgotten your password, your password has expired, your password is case-sensitive, your password does not contain a !@#$%^&*()+ etc.(although your vocabulary might).

No. 3. You can't read tabloids waiting in line at your computer.

No. 2. The ultimate compliment—the sales clerk admiring your purchases—cannot happen via the internet

No. 1. Returning items purchased on the internet doesn't require/allow another outing with lunch.
 

I think you get my drift.

Health Is…

We get awfully attached to being healthy. We even expect the earth to stay healthy, with that expectation fueling the environmental movement. "The earth will last forever if we take better care of it," they seem to say. Yet we know the universe is winding down and that our sun will someday burn out and go dark. These cosmic events are so comfortably distant we don't see the immediacy of it. But I have to admit I have always thought of health and death as opposites. Fact is, health and death define each other.

For years I have read much about Buddhism, primarily Zen and Tibetan Buddhism and Vipassana meditation. I have also spent a fair amount of time meditating, though not nearly enough to learn what I need to learn to understand impermanence, but I have worried the edges of my attachments.

Now, I regard myself as a much more healthy-minded person than my parents were, especially in the area of exercise. At my age, my Father had bad knees and usually came home, sat down and read the paper. He rarely moved from that chair. At this time of year, we recall how he spent each New Year's Day glued to the television, watching football. He was rarely physically active. My Mom was much the same, keeping watch on him. She was all about healthy eating, but not exercise. I eat healthier than my father did, and I exercise roughly five hours a week. I note my life expectancy is longer than my father's, but now I have to face the truth that health is merely a slower means of dying. I think the statement has some irony to it. We expect health to be the means to outwit death, but we know in our hearts there really is no escaping it. But still, the older we get the more we pursue good health as hard as we can.

As parents, we have assumed our thirty-something son will become more health conscious when he gets a little older, more mature, wiser, etc. We tell ourselves it's maturity. If he will only get a little more mature, he'll take better care of himself. I wondered why we seem to become more health-conscious as we get older. Not hard to figure, is it? We are watching death approach, so we are getting attentive to our health. Not so we can feel better, or live forever, we just want to slow the rate of dying. The Dalai Lama marvels at us humans who make plans and prepare for everything, but get squeamish about being always prepared for death. It's not attributed to him, but I am sure he'd agree, "Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which you can die." So, health is a rate at which death happens. There is no denying it, but how will you live your life differently once you really wrap your mind around it? It means more than trying to be healthier, doesn't it?

When Santa Is Generous With Airplane Time

On my 103rd flight this year, I got some extras. First, we got an extra stop. After circling Atlanta for an hour, we were running low on fuel. This gave us the opportunity to visit Nashville. Amazingly enough, Nashville looks exactly like any other city from inside the plane. Our pilot optimistically predicted we'd be back in the air in no time, which in pilot-speak is something a tad longer. We spent a very pleasant hour there, during which time we lost only one passenger, who bailed, realizing he would not make his connection and that Nashville is closer to his final destination than Atlanta. Most of us just shook our heads, thinking we would still make our connections and that he was just a pessimist.

This gave way to a pleasant conversation I had with my seatmate, a 17-year old from Milwaukee, on the merits of being fundamentally pessimistic and thus pleasantly surprised most of the time with how life plays out. I told him I barely remember being seventeen, but that I believe I had chosen pessimism at least that early. (I made a hotel reservation in Atlanta, assuming I wouldn't make my connection.)

It's not that we are negative, just that life is not a big disappointment if you don't see things turn out exactly as you wanted them to. Is this compatible with Napoleon Hill? Probably not. But I think the two can coexist. I have a book entitled What Would Napoleon Hill Do? And the topic is covered objectively in my opinion. To me, his whole segment on profiting by failure is an endorsement of a healthy pessimism. Pessimists are just covering their bets and maintaining an attitude that allows them to maintain when things don't turn out optimally. "Oh, I thought that might happen." Is an easier proposition to accept than "I don't believe this is happening!" Pessimists anticipate failure, not defeat. Hill even points out the language of defeat (not failure) must be one we don't understand, or we wouldn't repeat self-defeating behaviors all the time. Failure, on the other hand, offers lessons from which we can learn if we are prepared to do so. Pessimists are just better prepared to learn from failure.

But back to airplane time—after we discharged our pessimistic passenger, we promptly took off for Atlanta as promised by our optimist pilot. Who knew? We headed straight in to ATL, and landed just 35 minutes later. I quickly turned on my phone and tracked down the flight status on my connection. I had more than 20 minutes. With luck, and a gate less than a mile's walk away? I probably won't make it, I thought, but I might. We taxied in. It took us about ten minutes, about average in Atlanta. When we turned into the lane between the concourses, our old pal, the optimist pilot, comes on to tell us our gate is occupied, but he is sure we'll be assigned another soon. A full hour later, we arise from our seats to get off our plane, which has now been our home in the sky—and on the ground—for five and a half hours. At this juncture, I have plenty of time to make my connection—tomorrow. Merry Christmas

G-men’s Beginning

They waited a long time. In a sort of platoon of two dozen, they waited for "the season." How they came together is something from ancient earth, and beyond understanding to many. But they wait to take birth. Slowly it begins, a door opens, a search begins. The list is written down somewhere, of course, but by now it is part of memory that reappears each time the season begins. Each item on the list has been stored, but the supply must be enough. From time to time, the stores are drawn down between seasons, for good uses, but never in service of what the platoon awaits.

Whatever is found to be in short supply must be replenished, and it is obtained in ways that obscure its true source in ancient earth. But it is assembled just the same. There may be more than one stop in the journey to lay in those supplies, but it all must be done. All the while, they quietly watch and wait. It has begun.

What will happen in this process? How will we look? Names are considered. All considered must begin the same way. Some are ancient and traditional, such as Gerald, Geraldine, George, Georgeanna, Gina, Genevieve, Geoffrey, Gerard, Giovanni, Giselle, Giuseppe, and, of course, Ginny. Others come and go, like Geraldo, Genifer and Giancarlo. Still others arise like Gary, Gil, Glenn, Gordon, Goldie, Grace, Gabriella, Greg and Gloria.

The season has arrived with its onset of chills. The birthing team had quietly set the date. On the eve of the formative day, the day when all will take their immediately recognized form, the mixing begins. Their assembly comes in stages. This is where the characteristics they will display take root. There are sensory imprints—texture, body size, even aromas are more often than not determined at this stage.

Finally, the day arrives. They begin.

In this form of existence, they will be aware or conscious beings. As such, their awareness includes aspiration—one, to delight in appearance, decorating the lives of others, or, two, to attain completeness and benefit others by satisfying their desire. In either case, they will last less than an entire season. They know when they take this form what is in store, death of a sort—being consumed or discarded by season's end. They could not achieve their aspiration without doing so. But still this is seen as a favorable form of taking birth.

First they are rolled flat, then cut in a traditional shape. Their form is decorated, with face and features and clothing. There are buttons, large and round with a hard shell coating. Then the firing begins and they take birth, some for the first time in this form, others yet again. Soon eyebrows, hair, eyes and mouth arrive like frosting on a cake,

The secret to a favorable rebirth is one's state of mind at the moment of death. Much time is spent waiting for that moment, being consumed in service to others.

So do they think of this death and worry? By and large, they subscribe to what the sage said, "If there is a way of avoiding death, then there is no need to worry, but if there is not, there is still no need to worry." Oh, the life of a gingerbread man.     

Fiction is Harder than Non

It's been eight days between posts, but I have an excuse. I've been working on a fiction piece, a story I plan to tell a particular group. The trouble is I am unable to simply let go of the audience and just write. The voice I use to write is overtaken by the critic's voice that continually asks what will the audience think of that. or is this a story you can tell them?

Maybe the 2 voices use the same channel and it's like my DVR, if I'm recording on more than one channel, the TV doesn't want to let me view a show without cancelling one of the recordings. While both voices are useful, I need to suspend the critic for intervals. But there are times I know I need both voices at once. for instance, when I listen to the critic's voice I still need the writing voice for the rewrites that take place on the fly to satisfy the critic.

I know, I know, I hear you saying it--he's no longer of sound mind--hearing voices. But still....

What I want to do is write the story, perhaps several stories in one, and then edit it (if I need to do that) for a particular audience. Saying it isn't doing it, though. Each time I sit down to write I go off on a tangent looking for more information, hoping solid sources might discourage the critic. I tell myself--if I just had a simpler explanation for this, or a clearer analogy for that, or an underlying theory that no one would question, I wouldn't hear the constant carping from the critic.

Why doesn't this happen when the subject is non-fiction? When it's non-fiction, the critic is drowned out, or at least subdued. He can disagree with me and I am unperturbed. In fact, when the critic asks a question, arguments spring forth from my head that protect me from the critic's carping, even providing more material for whatever I am writing about. So why doesn't it work for this piece of fiction?

Part of the problem is the premise of this particular story is hard for the critic to accept. But it is fiction, I say, so fantastic or not, it's allowed. I should be free to bend rules/reality however I want. It just makes me want to go back to non-fiction, where we bend reality and pretend we aren't. We call it "opinion."

Lunching Today

I did something today that my wife has been doing for years--I went to lunch with a couple of friends. We ate stuff we aren't supposed t0 (I even had a pint of beer) and we just talked about whatever came up. One friend watches old TV shows all the time. He told me "I never watch anything I haven't seen before," attributing the remark to Groucho Marx (I think he had it confused--Marx famously said in A Night At The Opera "I never forget a face, but in your case, I'll make an exception." Anyway, he was trying to explain his viewing habits and the penchant for buying DVDs of TV series and movies.

I decided he needs to create a blog for all those of us who don't have the time or the inclination to watch TV so much. He could do all the watching, then blog about which ones we ought to see and what to look for. Or he could blog about what he liked, didn't like about it. He could tell us about earlier work that people on shows today did before now.

We even spent a little time telling jokes, and I made a nuisance of myself making bad puns. We all agreed we should do this more often and I looked across the room at a group of old(er) geezers breaking up their lunch like an old habit. Hmmmm, not sure I'm ready. Just like I'm not sure I'm ready for a bicycle helmet. I see too many older guys doing it.

Moving from CD's to mp3s--Withdrawal is Painful, But...

I decided to do it about two months ago. I am unloading all my CD's by moving everything into my iTunes library. The last time I made a transition like this, it was not voluntary, and it really wasn't a transition, exactly--more like a fait accompli.

I had an average-sized record collection for someone who was a college student in 1969 into the early 70's. It was a mix that reflected my changing tastes in those days--there were the Temptations, the Beatles, the Moody Blues, Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull, Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Rod Stewart, etc. It was "temporarily" being stored in the basement while we were between stereos and had two very young children (two and five)who would have been light sleepers--and that music was supposed to be played loud, you know.

So, my collection had been assigned to the basement. They were LP's, 33 &1/3 RPM's. I had them in a wooden record cabinet-the kind that you would set your stereo on top of. As luck would have it, we had what was termed a 30-year rain (probably more like 100), and our neighborhood had an old shared storm water/sanitary sewer line. So, when all that rain filled up our sewer lines, what backed up onto our basement (about four feet deep) was mostly raw sewage. Draining the swamp took a few days and clean-up consisted in throwing out what was there and bleaching the floors and walls. My record collection was in the usual album covers, made of cardboard, swollen with sewer water and would likely have to have been chiseled out. So, a fait accompli, no more record collection in LP's. By the time I was able to think about buying music again, it was the 90's and music came on cassettes and something new, CD's. I had a brief period where I bought a few cassettes, but even I could see that had no future, so i eventually acquired CD's, not a huge supply, but probably bigger than my LP collection. So far, I have invested about six hours uploading CD's into my library in iTunes. I have been choosing which ones to upload by my tastes, which have evolved. One consistent thing though--my wife doesn't like any of them. Withdrawal is only one of the pains involved, you know.

I Can't Deny It

This is harder than I thought. I wanted to make sense of denial as a life strategy. In high school, I read a biographical novel about Sigmund Freud and became seriously interested in psychology. I once struggled through two of the books he wrote--The Psychopathology of Everyday Life and The Interpretation of Dreams. The bio was much more interesting. I eventually gave up the idea of majoring in Psychology (the only thing a Psych major had to look forward to was ten more years of school). But an understanding of defense mechanisms stayed with me (probably as the simplest means of coping with life as I know it). I've spent a fair amount of time analyzing my life and my perspective on the world. When I was 55, I took the Strengths Finder (a self-assessment bestseller at the time that has been redone a couple of times) and it said one of my primary strengths is that I'm analytical. If a problem calls for analysis, I'm your man.

So, here I am, recognizing denial when I see it. But, my denial is better than Freud's, I am making good things out of it. (<-DENIAL). I have rationalized (Oops, there's another one, RATIONALIZATION) my denial, saying I am really making something better out of it (<-see Freud on SUBLIMATION). Maybe I should just explain it and you will see it for what it is (if I could remember my dreams, I'd offer them up as material for interpretation, Dr. Freud).

I read lots about neurosis and defense mechanisms, and it boils down to the ego defending itself from the id, the unconscious source of all our urges. The anxiety produced by acknowledging all those urges is lessened when we just deny the whole thing or blame it on someone else. But don't worry, as a defense mechanism, denial becomes more difficult to maintain as one matures. Its use requires much energy and the mind looks at other possibilities of defense.

You see, I am facing a physical challenge, disease-wise. It seems it will someday become serious, but for now, I am able to deny it (except for a symptom or two that keep popping up). The great thing about denying any limits it places on me is that I can exercise more than I have since I quit running twenty years ago. You see, virtually everyone I talk to about my challenge tells me that exercise is the best thing I can do to postpone the more serious onset of symptoms. So, I tell myself this is really not denial, I am embracing it, right?

But, I bought a book on exercise specifically aimed at people who have what I have, and it only made me think like this--"Oh, that's not going to happen to me, I'm exercising." Sounds like denial to me. But the very fact that I'm denying this is helping me, right. Maybe this is what they meant when they said denial was more difficult to maintain as we mature. what doesn't make sense starts to make sense. Anyway, it's denial and ... I can't deny it.

Thanks Again

How many Thanksgivings have you been on this planet? Can you remember a consistent answer to the question that always arises? What are you thankful for? (Excuse the dangling preposition, but the only alternative that comes to mind is this one--what is that for which you are thankful? Yuck!)

Back to thanks, some were related to visits--thanks for safe travels, for bountiful tables and for visiting relatives or friends. Some related to life-events—births, adoptions, marriages, engagements, graduations, new jobs. And then there are things—new homes, new cars, raises, bonuses, and more.

So what really counts? I mean, what could you do without, and still be grateful? Do without travel and with less food? Sure, and maybe you could do without the new jobs, bonuses, raises, new cars and new houses? Probably could. Now, you still need a job and a roof over your head to be thankful, don’t you? Not always, if you have a spouse with a job and/or resources to get you through the rough patch, you may be able to make do without the job and focus on something else (like being thankful you have a spouse). Being without a roof over your head is another question—be it ever so humble, there’s no place like, etc. So, I am thankful for having a home.

But most of the important things I have been thankful for are people in some form or other. New additions to the family—babies, children, fiancées/spouses—are especially important to Thanksgiving holidays. Successes that happen for family members are somehow more things you can savor again at Thanksgiving. My son has a job (thank you, Lord), he’s been promoted and complimented on his performance (again, thanks). My daughter and her husband have jobs, and their two children are growing and healthy and strong (thanks again and again and again).

When I recall some of the happiest Thanksgivings, I don’t really remember the whats we were celebrating, but I can picture the whos. My favorite measure of a good Thanksgiving is the size of the group of friends and family you assemble, so I’m certain what I am thankful for are the people in my life, those I can be with and those I can’t. So, thanks again.

What I Want for Christmas

Every year it comes back around, the inevitable question. This time, I was given a full thirty minutes before my daughter arrived with the two grandchildren, all of them looking forward to a great afternoon. The grandkids had me looking after them (always a treat for them), and Bridget had her mother and a head start on Christmas shopping. Hence, the question, and I had no immediate answer. I mean, I had a vague recollection of thinking about it once before when she made a veiled reference, but...

How about a cure for all the illnesses that everyone I know seems to be coming down with? A year of two free of the natural disasters that seem to be showing up more and more frequently? Peace on Earth? No Iranian nuclear program? The end of drug wars around the world that seem to be growing, the more we enforce our own silly laws that seem to inject super profit margins into what otherwise would be simple commodities (poppies, marijuana, etc.). None of that's possible, I'm afraid. It's just more wishing for cosmic Christmas events that just won't happen. So, let's take it down to the personal level.

What can I change? Oh, I can be more charitable, who can't? Still, I wouldn't do much of anything differently, maybe try to be closer to my siblings and friends--but geography is what it is, and we all stay with our own children and grandchildren if we are lucky enough to have them.

Give me the good sense to savor what comes along, good and bad. To see this world as perfect just as it is, and to make my way in it holding onto compassion, generosity, and patience in the hope of helping others make their way. OK, that's what I want for Christmas.

Which leaves me with the question, what do I want for Christmas, really.

A New Meet The Press

This might sound like political discourse, a subject I steer clear of due to my allergy to (select one, or--better yet, all--offal, debris, dreck,effluvium, junk, litter, garbage, rubbish, spilth, crud, sewage, slop, swill, wash; detritus, remains). Anyway, I just want to sound off on something. Why do TV producers (and, by extension all of us, since the producers are doing their best to provide content we want to consume so that they can sell commercials to people who want us to consume other stuff), so why do we continue to allow politicians to use up our precious time saying the same old thing to each other, and demonstrating their practiced abilities to ignore anything uttered by their opposite numbers? I mean, really, do I need to hear another Democrat complain that the rich aren't paying their share? Or a Republican say "no" to any adjustment of tax rules that might remotely be insinuated to be an increase in taxes? I am watching Sunday Morning, and Bob Schieffer comes on to tell me, excitedly, about the scheduled appearances on "Meet The Press" of one pol from each side of the Super Committee.

Speaking of which, what is so "Super" about anything Congress does these days? The imagery is about as bad as that of the "czars" Presidents have been appointing in ever-increasing numbers (sorry, you Republicans, that is not a slam against President Obama, in my lifetime, the first two "czars" were the drug and the energy czars, appointed by Richard Nixon). No, "Super" does not come to mind when I watch the pols at work or on TV.

But back to Bob Schieffer--I propose that no more politicians be invited to appear without a vigorously enforced set of ground rules. I don't have them all, but two or three come to mind--No Republican is allowed to object to an idea or position based on the notion that he or she is opposed to all new taxes. In turn, no Democrat is permitted to complain about one group of another not paying its fair share. Neither side may use the terms "class warfare" or "corporate greed." You are free to propose a few more ground rules, but it is my fervent hope that persons appearing on "Meet The Press" would begin to demonstrate the ability to 1) Think on their feet, 2)Listen and respond without evading the question, 3)Defend a position with reason and not rehearsed twaddle, .... Well, you get the idea, discourse.

Discourse, there's an overused term. Merriam-Webster, and I am not making this up, offers this as the definition of the term discourse--archaic : the capacity of orderly thought or procedure : rationality. They call that one "archaic," as in no longer in use. They must be watching "Meet The Press."

Idea-lings and Sleeping On It

I awoke at 3:00 AM today. It's a privilege my age and circumstances have bestowed on me of late. On these occasions, I have the opportunity to do some of my clearest thinking. I fear losing that clarity by morning, although there is no real evidence of this to which I can point (At this point, if you have forgotten it, you have to wonder if you can recall enough to regret it, don't you?). Anyway--this is what got me out of bed--5 paths lay before me. Two of these paths are already existing opportunities which I have either joined or applied to join. I will continue to pursue them. The other three are just idea-lings, partially-formed ideas or seeds of thoughts.

Yes. I've heard the expression, "Just sleep on it." But I am not so sure that is as good as writing on it. "Writing on it" gives me access to lots of different thought directions. I sit to write and the idea-lings grow in my head. They sprout questions I can chase while I'm at it (Oh, I'll just google that and see what I can find). Chasing the questions produces a harvest of next steps that begin dropping all over the place. I rake them in and put them on lists (God, I love my lists). And so it goes until I feel I can sleep again, like now. Good night idea-lings.

Moving Forward--Am I in Italy or Holland?

The path just never seems very even or predictable. It's more like trudging up a hiking path to the crest of some hill, in a mist. It meanders right and left, in circles at times. Occasionally there is a sharp turn or even an obstacle that makes you turn back and restart at the last fork. But, once in a while you take a few steps right in a row and it feels like progress, or else you have wandered off the path altogether. Still, you face forward and move again.

But the temptation to look back and estimate how far it is back to safety doesn't go away and you wonder--is this the right way?

I am at a crossroads again, and the old procrastination is setting in. I know the next steps to take. They flashed into my head all at once yesterday. But, what if this isn't the right choice? How do I know? Well, the answer can be found in one of two ways--try it and see where it takes you or stall until it passes you by. Either way, it will come and go. The up side of letting it pass you by is there is no risk of failing, or so you tell yourself. The down side, you will never really know. The up side of trying it is you learn a few things and find out the truth about what it is like. The down side is you might fall on your face.

At issue is whether or not to pursue a role as an advocate for research on a specific physical challenge I have. Part of me wonders if this is the right path and part of me says it's perfect.

One thing I am committed to is to find and use every tool I can use to fight my challenge and that sure fits with my pursuit of the role of research advocate--I will learn more and can help others discover and use those tools as well Denial is a self-limiting strategy.

In the midst of all this, I heard a man offer an analogy about life's challenges. "It's like you spend years dreaming of and planning for a trip to Italy, then you take off and land in Holland instead. You can spend your time complaining you are not in Italy, or you can look around and see what Holland has to offer." I was blown away. My approach up to now has been limited to fighting my particular challenge and denying it. Now I am not ready to stop fighting it, but denial is no longer an option. Welcome to Holland.

Giving Back to the Tribe

My friend John wants to move to Oklahoma. He's applied for a job there, but doesn't really hold out much hope for being chosen. He talked with me about his hopes and his prospects for succeeding.

John is focused on what he can contribute to the organization if he succeeds. He visited the site not long ago and listened to members of the management team there express their number one concern--no one in the local labor market seems to have the skills they need. John, who grew up in Oklahoma, knows a few things about the Choctaw Nation's manufacturing training programs that customize training for manufacturers in the hope of getting jobs for young members of the tribe. It's free. Nobody knew anything about it. You see, all of the managers there are from somewhere else. John, who is part Choctaw, grew up in Oklahoma. He knows where to find resources like that.

John is also the kind of guy that puts in the time to learn what he has to in order to have certification to enter any part of the facility. Why? He'd rather be accessible to hear about what's on people's minds before they get mad enough about them to look him up in his office.

What he dreams of is putting the facility's needs in front of the Choctaw's manufactring resources and launching a development program that helps tribal members get some of the best jobs in the state. He says it would be a great way to "give back to the tribe." His notion set me to thinking. He could probably see the gears turning, and John, being the kind of guy he is, turned the conversation to me and my thoughts and the conversation moved on.

It made me think some more about "giving back to the tribe." What is my tribe? When will I wake up and get moving on giving back? How can I best do that? John even had a few suggestions. But enough about me.

Back to John--it turns out there is someone who is in line ahead of John. She is likely to be chosen because she needs it as a development opportunity. There is a cynical corporate expression for such choices. She will just be "punching her ticket," by holding a place in this role for a year or two in John's dream job. Not that John is bitter, he only observes that it isn't very likely to want to tackle the job when he's sixty.

Me, I'm rooting for John and for "giving back to the tribe."

Errors vs. Perfection

OK, I watched a world series game. It wasn't my fault. We had a house guest from St. Louis. She wanted to watch, my wife didn't. So, there I was. I watched professionals make errors (St. Louis, mostly). I'm reflecting on the fact that these guys are the one-in-a-zillion players who make it to the show. Literally, every kid playing baseball dreams of making it to the major leagues, and there are millions of them. Yet, they make errors.

Does anyone know how hard it is to even catch a ground ball? at 3rd base? even in American Legion ball? My best man, Denny Michael, played third base in American Legion ball and had a black eye (maybe 2?) in the one summer he played American Legion because the ball came at him so fast. And I thought he was the quickest player I ever knew. Here I am--40 years later and I've lost track of Denny. But I still remember that black eye. With that said, it is amazing that people can catch a grounder, much less a pop-up in all those lights with all those people watching...

Now the Cardinals hung on to win in a truly amazing contest that seemed to be over three times before David Freese hit his 11th-inning home run. But even Freese made an error, dropping an "easy pop-up." Is it pressure? Sure, that has to be part of it. But the pressure these guys have endured to get there was a steady diet anyway. And, they have played 180 games this year and practiced while warming up for all those games. And, in getting there, they fielded enough grounders and pop-ups to get 4,860 outs (roughly, considering a few extra-inning games and rain-shortened games).

But I guess that's why they play the games, nobody's perfect.

No News Is Good News

This week I have been enjoying satellite radio in my rental car. Nothing but music as I drive--that and the Garmin Lady (with the Australian accent) telling me where to go, which I don't mind, since I have become dependent on my Garmin GPS to go places. But the point is, I have been able to ignore the news for the past several days. I needed the relief after the twin abominations I must have seen a dozen times toward the end of last week. Did you see them?
The video of the still-alive Moamar Ghadafi being beaten moments before some low-life shot him in he head. It was gruesome and offensive.

On one of the shows I allowed myself to be subjected to, the newscaster, moments after showing us that glorious moment, actually remarked upon how amazing it was that even children stood in line to go and see Ghadafi's corpse on the floor of a freezer. This after he subjected all of us, and our children probably, to the spectre of the free Libyans abusing their prisoner as he bled from a head wound.

But that was not all. Fox News (which I usually have a lot of respect for) repeatedly shared video of an ugly incident here at home. Two girls in a brutal fight, being watched and followed around by several adults. Authorities were trying to file charges against the adults for not just failing to stop the fight, but apparently arranging for the two to meet and have their fight. More ugly television and for no other reason than to offend. Whew, I turned away from the TV on Saturday and avoided any TV news. When I am traveling, I rarely turn on the TV, so it has helped that I am on the road. I don't hear radio news, either--thanks to the satellite radio in my car. I listen to jazz on Watercolors, which I guess some would find boring. But it looks as if I will be able to avoid any news until Thursday, and that's a welcome relief.

The Beginning of The End?

In the dying afternoon
leaves burnt by the sun
tell of winter, nigh too soon.

The light changes and in quiet moments you notice. Where I am it was a magnificent day. There was a moment when it all seemed so fragile and short-lived. Not that seasons are difficult to bear here, I know of worse places.

We humans like to think we are self-aware, and that sets us apart, but we expend a lot of mental energy holding fast to denying the obvious fact of our finite existence. We do this in spite of the current of the seasons that runs around us each year. Who knows, it may be the fact that the seasons cycle back to a new beginning each year that convinces us somehow that we are above this cycle and, therefore, not subject to our own. But look around and there is evidence to the contrary that we ignore seemingly without effort--the deaths of our grandparents and parents, the aging of our bodies and our minds. But that's enough. Back to breathing in and breathing out, it's October and it is splendid.

Honesty

Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue.
Honesty is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you.

Billy Joel's lyric--or did he write it or just sing it? I just checked. He wrote it himself. Do people really expect honesty? Do you consider yourself a straight arrow? How straight? To tell you the truth, I didn't expect honesty from Billy Joel--to believe the lyrics were his own. Covering another's composition is a compliment after all, but we only refer to it as "covering" another's song if they made a hit of it, right?

According to Wikipedia, a cover, is a new performance or recording of a contemporary or previously recorded, commercially released song or popular song. It can sometimes have a pejorative meaning implying that the original recording should be regarded as the definitive or "authentic" version, and all others merely lesser competitors, alternatives or tributes (no matter how popular).

So, is what you are living a "cover" of an act or lifestyle you have seen others perform? Oops, was that a little too profound? Has someone else already made a hit of it? Was the other a true original, definitive or authentic version?

I think it's like a friend of mine said this morning. It's just the best you can do, whether it's perfect or not. You prepare (or not) to the extent you can and then you show up. Some days, no matter how hard you prepare, it doesn't come off as you would have liked. But, that may still be plenty good. Some other days, you have no choice but to wing it and it comes off as perfect to those who hear it. But, of course, the little voice inside you calls you an impostor. So what? Ignore the little voice, and be what you are.

So, why does Billy Joel want honesty? Everyone is so untrue, even to themselves (Impostor!). Well, the whole source of this little post is that I was less than honest in something I did today. My sense is that the organization I am dealing with has been less than perfect with me, so I am justified in being a little less than truthful with them. Atop the slippery slope, I am. But I'll forge ahead and do what I can, and I'll guess Billy Joel was just talking to himself--mostly what he needs he must get from himself, then he will succeed.

Fixing Stupid

"You can't fix stupid." Sounds kind of arrogant, but my friend is not that way. He was just making a point, Some people just don't think and there's nothing you can do to make them. Or is there? What seems so obvious to me, isn't necessarily as obvious to everyone is it? Do drivers who stop when they have the right of way just not notice their surroundings on purpose? Well, no... Did the assistant my friend was talking about really not know that a sample kit for a marketing campaign should include samples? Do flashes of just "not being there" strike everyone at some time or another? I hope they do, since it happens to me more than I'd care to admit.

I looked up the source and it turns out to be the raunchy comic, Ron White. In context, his remark was about marrying for looks. Briefly, he points out while plastic surgery can fix defects to a degree and offset the effects of aging or excessive weight gain, you can't, etc.

But it was a week for stupid, it turns out. I went to a play in Atlanta called Gray Area. The setup for the story is a long-time critic takes a shot at Civil War re-enactors, and three unusual re-enactors from somewhere in the South decide to do something about it. They kidnap the critic, not for ransom, but to engage him in a debate about the far-ranging topics of Civil War re-enactors, the War of Northern Agression, racism and the Confederate flag. It's a farce, but it makes you wonder if the only way to get someone to sit down and listen is to kidnap him and take him into the woods.

It's a commentary on the state of civil discoursse in this world. In the program, the producer points out that many otherwise intelligent people simply shut down when faced with a diffferent opinion. Instead of discourse, people resort to name-calling. He writes "...I see people attacking each other and, more often than not, regarding the other person as stupid. Stupid has never been a conversation enhancer. Stupid has never mended a bridge. Stupid is a conversation ender. Actually, stupid becomes an argument escalator."

So, let's make a stab at "fixing stupid." Exercise a bit of patience, even some empathy, and don't even think stupid.

When Is An Opinion A Conviction?

At dinner with some friends, we were talking about interacting with people who didn't back the same politician or movement that we as individuals do. We were not necessarily all on the same side, but we were all able to summon up examples of people we would not want to talk with about--fill in the blank--religion, politics, elections. I observed that I have a hard time disliking people for opinions they held and I did not share. It's true, I can engage them and hear them out, but I can't get angry, upset or aggravated about it anymore. On the other hand, I encounter lots of people who feel the need to change me or my mind, even to the point of trying to provoke a reaction from me.

I run into so many people who are that way that I have concluded it is something in the way I was brought up. I am never inclined to proselytize or force my opinion on others and am careful about where I express them, although my wife probably wouldn't agree, she thinks I like to say things for shock value. As if my opinions are shocking...

One of my dinner companions observed that she feels the same way, but there is one exception in her mind, and that was abortion. She said she feels so strongly about it that she could never be close friends with anyone who did not agree with her on the subject. She then adroitly avoided pursuing the subject by restraining her impulse to ask us our position on the matter. Even as strongly as she felt on the subject, she didn't chase it down among friends.

Evidently, she is still more closely aligned with me on the whole matter, but it did make me wonder if distinction was as simple as the difference between opinion and conviction. Here's what Merriam-Webster had to say: an opinion is a belief stronger than impression and less strong than positive knowledge, and a conviction is the act of convincing a person of error or of compelling the admission of a truth.

Sooooo, I guess I just have opinions and all these others have convictions. I kind of like my spot--my opinions evolve as I see more of the world and listen to what others can tell me. If I were carrying around a load of convictions, I don't think I'd be as happy, somehow.

Wynton Marsalis and Eric Clapton--It took a moment

OK, I have loved almost everything Eric Clapton has done as he has grown up, or older, if you prefer. The one project that never took for me was Clapton and Steve Winwood. I always liked Winwood as a solo performer and Traffic was truly an experience for me, but I guess I never did earn my hard rock stripes. Most of Clapton and Winwood was way off for me.

But set that aside--Delaney and Bonnie and Friends, Riding With the King and more--were all finds for me, and I still listen to them. I saw a brief piece on the title collaboration and I was sold. But I wasn't prepared for what sounded to me like Dixieland Band stuff and it was a tad off-putting. About the 4th cut, "The Last Time" was the turning point for me and I never looked back. It is a ride not everybody may be ready for, but just try it and don't give up until you have heard at least five cuts.

It has set me to thinking about people and things I found off-putting at first. I have a friend or two that I have known for twenty, thirty or forty years or so that I didn't appreciate the way I do now. Truth be told, they probably exhibited more patience getting to know me more than I had to for them. Give people a chance to grow on you is one lesson I have learned. Am I ready to do it again?

What else is there in my life today that I had a hard time with a first? I remember distinctly a year or so when I dreaded Sunday nights--I had to face going to work on Monday and I was deeply depressed on those nights. But we had a newborn baby and I had a wife who made a leap of faith marrying me and moving twice to follow my career, so I just had to make it work. Not more than two years later, I was hooked. I loved what I did. Go figure, just give it some time and you will learn and grow and take great satisfaction from the most surprising things. Am I prepared to do it again?

I hope so....

Occupying My Mind

You know, I just can't help myself. "Occupy Wall Street" is a topic I should probably avoid, but it keeps intruding on my mental space. In part because the media keeps spending its time bubbling over "the movement." Now they are comparing it to the "Arab Spring," and I think the comparison bears some examination, but I'll get back to that.

This movement is getting a lot of attention, but its lack of a clear message bothers me. Not because I am in favor of "corporate greed," whatever that is, it sounds like something bad. And it's not because I favor increasing he gap between the richest of the rich and the poorest, I understand opportunity for everyone is the cornerstone of our society. I just think people ought to be clear about their goals.

Nothing about this occupation in Manhattan, which is now spreading to other places, tells me their purpose. What about clarity? Can anyone bring forth in a few simple sentences what these folks are for? I just hear about what they are against and I don't hear what they want us to do. Do you know what happens to a movement that has a lot of energy and no clear purpose? Their movement gets co-opted. Just today I heard (for the first time) that these people are protesting labor laws in the U.S. Where did that come from? Well, the AFL-CIO and a few of its largest member unions have endorsed the movement, so now you hear the media report they are occupying spaces to protest corporate greed, super-rich people and bad labor laws. For a month, these folks have been out there occupying and they didn't even know they were protesting bad labor laws until this week. Oh, and the President and former House Speaker have endorsed the movement, too. I guess the movement will be picking up some more purpose pretty soon.

I promised to get back to the "Arab Spring" comparison, so here goes. There is growing unrest in Egypt again. Leaders of the spring time revolution there have found the leading generals in the military have quietly strengthened their hold on power in Egypt. The movement that only knew it was against Mubarak has been co-opted. Mubarak is out, but no gain for the people of Egypt.

I find a funny kind of parallel here between the occupying movement and an article I picked up yesterday. I ran across the author in my effort to become a better writer. Her name is Suzette Martinez Standring, and she has a web site (www.readsuzettecom) where she offers help to people who want to write. She has spent a great deal of time interviewing award-winning columnists about how to write well. Distilling their advice, she talks about half a dozen qualities of good writing. They are:
- Focus (What is your entral message or goal?)
- Clarity (establish your premise and build your message, cutting out anything that fails to move your point forward)
- Connection (Evoke emotion and compel interest)
- Fixes (don't complain about issues without offering solutions)
- Vitality (be aware of the impact rhythm and cadence of words you use)
- Integrity (be accurate and truthful)

While you have all that time on your hands, how about taking Suzette's advice and creating a message while you still have people's attention?

Tomorrow, We Could Be Yesterday

Christopher McDonald, who plays Tommy Jefferson on the TV series Harry's Law,uttered those words on an episode I watched the other night. It's not a program I watch much, but his words struck a chord with me. His point, aimed squarely at people in their 50's and beyond, is that when you're in the midst of things in your current occupation, feeling stressed and not having much fun, you need to remember to savor this moment.

Soon enough, I will be the guy who used to be me. But today, I am in the middle of it, in the game, and I don't want to wake up 15 years from now asking why didn't I really make it fun, live in the moment and savor it? So when challenges are laid before you, jump in and have some fun. It won't last forever, but you might just miss it when the ride is over.

The real gift is to learn to apply that thinking and habit to every new challenge you run across, whether it's plying your present trade or tackling something new in your second half of life. Have fun making the attempt and don't focus on the stress or the difficulty. Savor the lessons you learn and thank God you got off your behind and reached for your dream, whatever it is.

But, what if you take on some kind of ordinary work to pile up a little money to visit someplace you always wanted to take? Do you just put up with it, or do you look through the prism of savoring all of it? If you have learned the gift of habitually savoring it, you won't be wasting time, you will be full of the present, on the verge of arriving at that destination you set out for when you tackled the work to get there.

So, beyond thinking it, how do I make this a part of me? What is my normal reaction to the stressors in my world? Worry, frowning at the world, snapping at people around me, feeling the urge to walk out? What have I taught myself to do about these reactions? Some are good (taking a deep breath, taking a walk, getting a good night's sleep, getting some exercise), some less so (having a good stiff drink--or two, blaming others, escaping into some other wasteful activity, tears). What if I try a twist on the expression I have used sarcastically in times of stress--"Are we having fun yet?" Having fun is another way to savor the good and the bad, to make what's heavy and dragging you down just part of the experience today, because tomorrow, we could be yesterday.

My Other Blog

Posted today on my other blog--http://meandpd.blogspot.com

Friday at Five

Have I mentioned I work from home? :>) Now stop that, it really doesn't become you. It's not all the time, and I travel a great deal, so there is some compensating aspect to the overall picture. It's not all fun. Let's have a show of hands from all of you who think travel (on business, mind you) is a lot of fun. Not these days. But let's get back to the work-at-home experience.

With no interruptions from people showing up at the door, or stopping to chat at the coffee pot, you can get swallowed up by work. Happened to me today--I started writing an outline for a little talk I have to give soon, and the next time I looked at my watch the day was almost gone. It gives me pause, when things like that happen. What's going to engage my attention like that in a few years? Reading a book? Playing a word game? Not likely.

I don't find myself looking forward to the day when I don't remember what day it is. Life has had a shape for all these years that I have been working. I once thought working from home would be a form of transition to my second half of life. I would get used to a life without commuting (it's true I have, but it has been replaced by travel to some extent and travel doesn't have the rhythm that commuting has--books on tape for the drive or a favorite radio show at drive time). When I commuted 60 miles eah way, I could have those things. when I took a bus downtown, I did homework for graduate school. I haven't been able to make travel work out that way.

Anyway, I missed commuting in a few small ways, but having the time back overwhelmed those misgivings. The thing is I have found I could get absorbed just as easily as when I was in the office, and I had fewer interruptions. So what happens is that Friday at Five sneaks up on you. How do I get that kind of absorption in my life after I leave the first half?

A Declaration of War

Some of us have seen Caddyshack a few too many times, but Bill Murray just keeps me coming back (Later, he made an unforgettable tribute to coming back in Groundhog Day, but that's another story). Back to Caddyshack and Bill Murray's lunatic groundskeeper, you will remember his campaign against the groundhogs at the Country Club. In the end, he blows up half the golf course, yet fails to get his man, er, groundhog.

Well, with that in mind, I ignored the invasion of a groundhog in my yard the first spring after we moved in. I knew I did not have the time to do battle. By midsummer he had disappeared, driven further underground by the heat? Only to return in the Fall, By Spring, he had invited his whole family to move in, and I started to reconsider peaceful co-existence as a policy of governance in my yard. I learned that they feed off lawn insects, so I treated the lawn for bugs a couple of times, it couldn't hurt.

In the mean time, I took to checking the lawn and garden aisles at Lowe's for weapons in my border skirmishes. I learned about the small poison pellets. You used the cone-shaped plastic bottle the pellets came in to create access to a tunnel, then dropped in a few pellets. Doing this, you could imagine your adversaries dropping dead as they feverishly burrowed around looking for a bug to take the awful taste out of their mouths. It's more pleasant than hand-to-hand combat with the little critters. In the end no real deterrence came as a result. The groundhogs were thriving.

I saw, but just didn't feel I wanted to try, the traps. A spring-loaded kind of mechanism you are supposed to push into one of the tunnels and catch the enemy walking along unsuspecting---and wham, the steel trap chops him in two. A yard warrior can then count coup over his fallen enemy when he pulls the trap from the ground.

"Wouldn't work for me," I said, I now had a whole tribe living under my lawn. "Knocking off one or two just won't cut it, I need a weapon of mass destruction." This Spring, I invested several hundred dollars in some sod (along with several hundred dollars a month in water to get it to stay alive. My yard has looked fine all summer, but the weather is cooling, and the early signs are that Groundhog Nation has returned. The good news is I have declared war with a modern weapon at my disposal. So, this afternoon I put on my best Bill Murray camo outfit and deployed my secret weapons--SONIC SPIKES. They are solar-powered, giant spikes that emit sonic pulses that are probably ear-splitting to groundhogs. They are said to drive out the enemy within 7 to 14 days. Stay tuned--War has been declared.

It's About the Beach

I worked from home today, and thank heavens! I would have missed the visit from the Census Bureau, and our federal government would have had to spend another several hundred dollars it doesn't have to complete its American Community Survey. It seems the "U.S. Census Bureau chose my address, not me personally, as part of a randomly selected sample." I was "required by U.S. law to respond to this survey."

Yes, a U.S. Census Bureau worker appeared at my door and handed me a letter to this effect. I had twice received forms in the mail with a notation in bold print, all caps, "YOUR RESPONSE IS REQUIRED BY LAW. I didn't ignore them exactly, I picked the second edition up and put it in my computer bag and carried it to Manitowoc, Wisconsin and twice to Rockford, Illinois. I had picked it out of my computer bag the day before, winced and told myself--"You have to put this on your to-do list, and get it done, this week, at least."

But my wife came home and said, "can you take an hour off and walk on the beach with me? I need the exercise." So we drove over, parked the car and walked past the beach grill and bar to our walk. After our 45 minutes on the beach, as we walked past the grill, we decided to stop for a grilled grouper sandwich. Sitting in the afternoon sun on a crisp October afternoon, I was all about the beach. By the time we arrived home, my to-do list was not in the picture. The next morning, shortly after I had finished answering my emails and a couple of expense reports (and updating that to-do list), here was the U.S. government at my door, in the person of a pleasant middle-aged woman with her hair tied up in an officious-looking bun handing me a letter. The letter went on "to emphasize that any information you give our representative will be kept confidential. By law, the Census Bureau cannot publish or release to anyone any information that would identify you or your household." Whew!

Her first question--"do you remember getting two letters in the mail?" After apologizing profusely, I invited her in and answered a few questions. As she left, I apologized again. She just said, "oh, if it weren't for this, I might not have a job anyway." So, there it is, in miniature, the federal deficit and I am in the middle of it. It's all about the beach.

Craig's List and Today's Economy

Did you see the USA Today article today about desperately unemployed advertising services via the free classifieds on Craig's List. It's almost like the roadside "will work for food" sign holders. A step above, but just another data point on how upside-down our world has become. USA Today calls the free classifieds a portal into the misery of people trying to find jobs, especially the people approaching three years without a regular job. These are people willing to do an sort of work or odd job for money, and they have turned to Craig's list to make contact.

I've written before about how many jobs are filled each month, even in these times of no job growth. Some number of people are leaving jobs and being replaced, even in the worst of times. Don't believe me? Go to the Job Openings and Labor Turnover report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics and see for yourself, Even in the worst months of this recession, there are literally millions of jobs available. But, those jobs are not available to the long-term unemployed and to those who failed to graduate from high school.

Feel sorry for yourself, go read this article Copy and paste he following into your web browser:
http://www.usatoday.com/money/economy/story/2011-10-03/jobs-craigslist-unemployed-economy-classified-ads/50647040/1

These are some folks that need work to feed themselves and their families. instead of just feeling sorry for themselves, they are doing something. You can't help but admire them.

Antebellum Homes, Fried Shrimp and Convertible Rides

Yesterday we drove the 2-seater convertible up to Beaufort, SC to see the Beaufort Shrimp Fest. It was the first cool sunny day of Fall, and it was October first. the only problem--they just invited too many people. Everybody and his uncle was there. Getting to a booth to have some shrimp looked like an ordeal. We walked through the park and it was shoulder-to-shoulder all the way. People would just stop to talk to someone or decide on a booth to try and everything would grind to a halt. There was no way around them. You just had to stand there. Now I like shrimp well enough and there was the promise of some cold beer to wash it down. The waterfront has a fine view of the Beaufort River (which isn't a river at all, it is a tidal strait, full of Atlantic seawater, plain and simple. More about that later). But it was a little ridiculous. We toured a shrimp boat, but it was packed with people and you could hardly get near the boat's captain, who was there to explain a little about a shrimper's life. In short, the fest was trying our patience.

Then we saw it--The Prince of Tides--a tour boat with a dozen or so people sitting on the benches taking it all in from offshore. We went and got some tickets, and I bought a beer and we were on board for the 90 minute tour of the river. I had to share the beer because we could not find a place in that crowd to buy herself a soda.

We had a fine boat ride, we saw many of the antebellum homes from the ocean side, heard about The Great Skeedaddle-when the city's residents all ran away when the Union forces overwhelmed the fort at St. Helena Island and sailed in to occupy the City of Beaufort. With the residents gone, the Union army turned many of these homes into hospitals as many as 14 were hospitals. In post-bellum days, Beaufort boomed. Because of the Union occupation it was largely intact, and it was a center for all sorts of trade and exports of farm products. Most all of that was wiped out when the Great Storm of 1893 submerged nearly all of South Carolina.

Soon we ran out of land and homes to talk about and our crew turned to the lively eco-system of the Beaufort River. We saw both the top and bottom of the food chain. The top of the food chain are the dolphins, which consume 25 lbs of fish daily. At the bottom are the microbes that live on the detritus from seasonal comings and goings of spartina grass that grows on the tidal waters.

Later, we went to the Wren, a restaurant with unique interior design and an in-between menu for people who (like us) are too late for lunch and too early for dinner. It was tasty. All in all, a very special day.

S-Cubed?

A friend of mine told me a story today--she talked about "S-cubed"-sharing, searching and I don't know the third one. I just know I am in the sharing stage. Learning to express myself and not hold things within. Not that there are hidden things/thoughts/feelings that shouldn't be held in, but rather that expressing yourself is becoming whole. If you don't let it out or express it, you aren't whole and you aren't becoming what you can be. Interesting thought, another thing that comes up for me is that I would normally have stopped short once I forgot what the 3rd "S" stands for. Not today, I HAVE to write something today.

I guess I could have emailed her to get it, but here I am anyway. Google had some hilarious alternatives from science students' society, to sexual selection switch to the volume of a cube of one side of "s" dimension. After 14 pages of Google results, I decided my friend had just shared something of her own self, and that I am one of a relative handful of people privileged to know it.

Anyway, searching means looking for what will move you in a direction (Update: I went back to Google and tried a modified search--15 pages later, I am back). So beyond just sharing what is inside, you are searching for what you want--what is your passion--what will make life better. Makes sense (Update: I just sent her an e-mail asking her for a clue). I am giving up for today!

Another piece of her message I will need to think through was this: 50% Work you care about and 50% Play you like=100% passion. Thanks, Alison and let me know what the 3rd "S" was!

OK, I am back,and I know what the 3 S's are! (no, my memory is not improving--she answered my email). Say, share and search. I think I was there. I am saying it, and sharing (via this humble beginning as a post) and searching is what this whole effort is about--finding my voice. Hmmmm.

More Service Anyone?

What is "service?" I read a sign on a monument yesterday, it said "To All Who Serve." Of course it made me think of the Minor coincidence, not more than a few hours earlier, I mailed a donation to a firefighters' association I know. I had been on the receiving end of a solicitation call on a day I had been thinking of my father, who was a firefighter for thirty years, another coincidence.

Anyway, I asked myself if I might ever fit into that category--one who serves. I volunteer a tiny bit right now but it doesn't seem to amount to enough to fit any definition I could see for one who serves. There is another organization I volunteered for, but my work schedule must interfere with their calling me so far. I think I will have to remind the director I am still around and would like to serve. But, it strikes me that unless she needs a very active board member and/or part-time manager of the organization, I won't feel involved enough to be one who serves there for very long. I suspect that organization doesn't have a plan to carry itself beyond status as a kind of neighborhood clique anyway. While I will aim for more involvement, I will have my doubts until it grows some. Sounds kind of like sour grapes as I re-read it now, but that's just how I feel.

But I want to serve and don't know just how. I live in an area where there are many who volunteer, so volunteering often turns into a crowded field. I have this urge (as I always have had) to do something no one else is doing. I may not find it soon, but I am on the lookout.

I've noticed some people in government service who think they might be public servants, but their approach strikes me as self-serving--which is sort of the opposite of "All Those Who Serve" in the monument I saw. Maybe we would have some true public servants if it didn't take so much fund-raising to enter public service, or maybe if it weren't possible to make a career for life out of it. I have a friend who told me he truly believed that term limits would leave the country in the hands of the special interests, since they would be the only ones who knew the ropes in Washington or (pick one: city hall or the statehouse or the state capital, etc.) I think we could overcome that--the senior senator could be tasked to get the junior senator acclimated, or the congresspersons from any given state could make it the business of their caucus to orient the newly-elected. Egad, I am talking about politics--I apologize, really.

Another consideration about being one who serves is that I might just want to supplement my income during this second half of life. That complicates things, I know, but I think service that is really valued is not always free and that "voluntary" service should be valued. Talk about making the search difficult, now he wants pay at a not-for-profit (or is it a non-profit?). So, Dear God, if you're listening up there, give me a few hints. I'm sorta lost here.

Never Be Listless

(I was thinking of doing a rant on the joys of traveling, but nobody likes a whiner, and what I do would be a lot worse if I had to drive all that way, so I am ok with travel even when it's not timely.)

I have been thinking about the value of lists, especially to-do lists and lists of accomplishments--they are the same thing most of the time. The exception is one of those days where all you got done was making the list in the first place. I make lists each week, and, of late, for any trip I take. Now you might think my attachment to lists is related to a weakening memory, but I just get too much satisfaction out of checking off the completed items to believe that. It's that positive feeling that keeps me coming back, not just to keep from forgetting.

I also spend less time deciding what to do next. I usually put some priority on the list--A means "do it today if there's time." B is "do this tomorrow or the next day, just not today," and C is "some day, maybe." Initial listing of the C's doesn't include the "maybe, but after transferring a C from one old list to a new one a couple of times, the maybe just shows up in my head. A lot of my C's turn into "never going to do's," but they would haunt me if I didn't use the power of the list to reach that conclusion. Turning into a "some day, maybe" is the first step. Sometimes I will promote a C to a B to try to get it done. If I move it back to C, that is usually the second stage of preparing to drop it altogether. So lists can help me decide what not to do, too.

I usually put a sheet nearby to capture the fleeting urge that is incipient motivation, if it occurs to me I need to do something AND I put it on my list, then I am motivated enough to do something. For example, there's .... Oops, now I have to dig my to do list out of my briefcase--I have something to add to this week's edition.

Dancing in the Dark

Learning to dance seems so important to the amateurs on "Dancing with the Stars." I am starting to worry about one of those distant promises I may have made--I think I may have said I would take dancing lessons in my second half of life. It seemed like a long way into the distant mists of time--out there somewhere. But I just had another birthday, and there's a "6" in my number somewhere. It means that a certain person will be reminding me of a conversation (maybe more than one, I really don't recall) we once had about ballroom or shag or something-or-another lessons. I have never been described as graceful, but I can ice skate, and I did it well enough to play hockey for five or six years. In fact, I think on my first date I took a girl ice-skating. It didn't last, I was a way better skater than she was.

But I digress--I never made a varsity team in any sport but football, and, trust me, football in 8th grade required little grace of a lineman or even a linebacker. So, how do I learn to dance? On the above-mentioned TV show, it looks like a full-time job. How do I make any progress taking a few lessons? Is it really that hard? If it is as hard as yoga, I am going to need a lot of encouragement.

The first obstacle will be within me. I know I am self-conscious when I try to learn dance steps. Dancing in my teen years was sort of formless anyway, so doing it wrong would be hard for anyone to tell. But these lessons imply that there really is a right way to do a dance. That also means people will quickly notice I don't know what I am doing.

Another issue will be my tendency to think too much. Whilst my partner is on to the next move I will be thinking--"OK, now i take 2 steps back with my left and one forward...OK..let's go.." At that point my dance partner will be stopped, waiting for me to move, etc., etc. I am over-thinking it right now, aren't I?

Then, there's the left from right thing. She swears I always want to go left when everyone else goes right, probably because I am partly left-handed. I write left-handed, throw right-handed, and kick right-footed. I also eat left-handed and play ping-pong left-handed.

But, maybe what I need is protection. The eyes I worried about seeing my awkward steps, what if.... I know what to do, take lessons and practice in the dark--no one will see the missteps, except herself, but I have her number anyway. So--it will be dancing in the dark.

Music and Learning New Things

Not starting with a title makes this easier at times. Just start by putting some words in play and the rest will happen. I am returning to something I used to do on a much more regular basis--listening to music.

I wonder about today's most popular mode of listening, though. I was in downtown Chicago about five years ago on a weekday morning and everybody was wearing ipod earbuds (could have been iphone earbuds, too, I guess). But the point that strikes me is that it is a solitary experience. Each person is in his/her solitary world, listening to music.

Now, I am sure my wife prefers not to listen to the music I enjoy, but I am just as sure she doesn't want me to shut her out and move around with earbuds on all day. I haven't resolved that just yet, but I have a new gadget that will allow me to listen to what I want to in one of the final places where I can control what I listen to--my car. Now mine is old enough that there is no place to plug in an mp3 player--heck, it has no CD player, cassette player, etc. But, you can't plug in your earbuds and drive. You're likely to run someone off the road singing along to "Under the Boardwalk" or "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." So, I bought a little gadget for myself for my birthday. It plugs into the lighter (yes, my car is old enough to have a cigarette lighter, not a power source) and into your ipod--my apologies to all you competitors to Apple, I just have an ipod--and set the radio frequency for an empty spot and turn on your music. Cool.

I don't spend a lot of time in my car, but I do spend lots of time on planes--another place I can control what I hear. Putting in the earbuds can work there, but I need something wireless. I have adjusted to the bluetooth for my phone, can I get one to function with an ipod? I am going on the prowl for such a device. Hope I don't get tired of music... It looks like I am going to have a bagful of gadgets and chargers to make music happen that is bigger than a suitcase.

Learning new things, just one more--spell check says "earbud" is a misspelling, preferring "ear bud." I prefer "earbud" and Merriam-Webster is on my side.

A Year Of Writing

If I am to discover my voice, it will happen here, this year. I will write something each day, some days more than others, and some times editing a work in progress. I will write about what I see, hear, think about and feel on a variety of topics. This should be a challenge, since I haven't written anything here since February, but...

Today is my birthday, and I don't feel much like waxing philosophical. But I did look at the obits today and spotted a 69 year old who passed away. Don't get the wrong idea, I don't spend time looking there every day, I just landed there with my eyes open and that entry caught my eye. I never really think about whether there is a limit to the time I might have left. Instead I usually think of how much I have left to do. Among those things, is an unfulfilled wish to write--essays, speeches, fiction, anything at all. So here I go.

Today I thought about how much yoga is teaching me. The importance of remembering to breathe; to rest between periods of effort; humility, as I find myself unable to successfully complete a pose or stance (my teacher would scold me for that one--attempting is success, never making the attempt is failure); the fascinating process of muscle and brain "memory" that allows improvement with each day's effort. There's more, but I just realized I need to go tackle "Jim's daily dose" of yoga, as my teacher has dubbed it. See ya.

What A Pain

My friend John spent New Year’s Eve this year in the cardiac unit at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Atlanta, while I was on a road trip. In light of the privacy issues involved I will call him “John Smith” for two reasons—to save him any embarrassment about the personal details I will be sharing, and because that is his name, John Smith. When I made it home and heard about his hospital stay, I called to see what had happened.

It all began when John ate a little too much and may have drunk a bit too much at a party the night after Christmas. He woke up at 3 AM with chest pains. He lay there for a while, he said to me later, “I was just laying there thinking that all this pain—just to let me know I had overdone it—is serving no purpose at all. I knew when I went to bed I had overdone it.”

John finally got up and spent the next 14 hours at a nearby hospital. The staff there found nothing wrong. When he left, they suggested he might want to follow up with a cardiologist. “I still see nothing for certain,” the cardiologist said after yet another battery of tests, “but just to make sure, why don’t I do a heart catheterization? Can you be at the hospital at 4:30 AM tomorrow?” Now, John’s a skeptic and his first thought was that this guy seemed in a hurry to make some money. He considered not doing it at all, but in the end he went ahead with the procedure.

I knew where this was going, and I was sure I’d be more than a little uncomfortable if I didn’t crack a joke or change the subject. Discussing events that remind me of my own mortality gives me the willies, it’s probably my age.

But a joke was out of the question, so I decided to share the story of my friend Adam, who works these days in Naples, Italy. He and John both knew a lot about two New Years things—being hospitalized this New Year’s Eve and fireworks. You see, John, when he’s not hospitalized on New Year’s Eve, by midnight has had a few too many and is happily shooting off fireworks out in front of his house. Adam knows about New Years fireworks from a different perspective.

In Naples, Adam decided to make some lasagna two days before New Year’s and cut off the end of his thumb. He was slicing onions, and he left a lot of his thumb on the cutting board in the kitchen as he ran for his phone. The paramedics took him and his thumb to the hospital. In the ER, they did what they usually do when you cut off that much of your thumb—they threw away the piece of thumb and told him he’d need skin graft surgery. Although they couldn’t perform the surgery until New Year’s Day, they admitted him right away. Adam said, “They told me at this time of year, you take the bed when you can get it and await your turn in surgery. If you don’t take the bed, by New Year’s Eve all the beds in the Hand Surgery Ward are filled up with young people who celebrated the New Year shooting off illegal fireworks.” The chief of surgery morbidly observed, “Dozens of them will blow their hands off at midnight.” Sure enough, Adam met some of them before he could get his turn in surgery.

Now that was a masterful job of brightening the mood, wasn’t it? John said, “Thanks for telling me about Adam. Now I know how it could have been worse, I could have blown off my hand shooting off fireworks, then had this problem. Now, will you let me finish my story?”

It gets worse. It seems that cardiac catheterizations are done with the patient fully conscious and following the process on TV monitors along with the doctor. What fun! Fifteen minutes into John’s session, the cardiologist has matter-of-factly showed John two blocked arteries, a nearly ruptured blood vessel, and indications of a problem with John’s right carotid artery. He wrapped things up early by saying, “I can’t finish this, I need to get you to surgery.” But he needed to look at those carotid arteries first, again with John conscious and observing the process. Less than 24 hours later, John had a new stent in his carotid artery, two new heart bypasses, a foot-long incision in his chest and piano wire wrapped around his sternum to hold him together.

OK, he’s gotten to me now—I am starting to feel pain in my chest, and I am standing stock still, petrified. “I could have died,” John told me, “but it was really odd, I wasn’t the least bit afraid—in fact I was fascinated with all of it.” My friend John Smith is now what they used to call “a little touched in the head.” The world is suddenly “fascinating” to him. He has had a guided tour of the inside of his chest, followed by an up close and personal look at the arteries supplying blood to his brain, and double bypass surgery. Fascinating, my foot.

Oh, and that pain he was bemoaning on the night after Christmas? It turns out the cardiologist calls John’s kind of problem “a widow-maker.” It often blows up with fatal consequences and no warning. That pain without a purpose? It saved his life.

Transmogrification in Chicago

Transmogrification noun: the act of changing or altering greatly, often with grotesque or humorous effect.

I grew up in Chicago, a while ago. I spent a little more than half my life so far there. That experience has given me a special perspective on transmogrification and it's time I shared it with you.

Not everyone knows this, but the Chicago Bears were among the founding members of the NFL and today they remain the only franchise in history to accumulate 700 wins. But my years in Chicago coincided with perhaps the lowest point in their storied history. Sure, they won the championship in 1963, but just my luck, that was the year before my parents allowed a TV into our house. After that, the Bears spent 13 long years without reaching the playoffs, and only twice had a winning record. Why? Well, I think it was a growing scourge I call QB transmogrification, visible to the naked eye only during playoff games.

The Bears finally made it to the playoffs again in 1977, and the first in a series of strange events took place. After leading the Bears to the playoffs, their quarterback, Bob Avellini, threw four interceptions against the Dallas Cowboys, setting a team record for interceptions in a playoff game--in a word, he was transmogrified. In 1979, the Bears were once again in the playoffs. This time, QB Mike Phipps was driving the team for the winning touchdown, only to throw his 2nd interception of the game in the end zone--transmogrified.

In 1982, the Bears drafted another quarterback, this one from Brigham Young University, Jim McMahon. McMahon had a knack for playing the game and was soon succeeding like few others had before him. He quickly established himself as the starter.

But the transmogrifications continued. In the playoffs following the 1984 season, with starter McMahon out for the season, backup QB Steve Fuller was sacked 9 times and threw an interception. The Bears were shut out, Fuller transmogrified. But why am I calling all of these events "transmogrifications?" What would you call it when a Bear suddenly and grotesquely turns into a goat?

I moved away to Atlanta the following Spring. What do you think happened next? Along came the 1985 Bears, led by Hall of Famers Dan Hampton, Mike Singletary and Walter Payton, with colorful QB Jim McMahon and track star-turned wide receiver, Willie Gault. They finished the season 15 and 1, and went on to win their first Super Bowl. My punishment.

It took 21 years, with numerous quarterbacks undergoing transmogrification along the way, but the Bears once again reached the Super Bowl in 2006 on the strength of their defense and a marvelous rookie kick returner by the name of Devin Hester. There the Bears' QB, Rex Grossman, coming off a breakout season in which he threw for more than 3,000 yards and 23 touchdowns, transmogrified just the same. He fumbled twice and threw two interceptions, one for a touchdown. The Bears lost.

Then, in 2009, the Bears made a blockbuster trade for a new quarterback, Jay Cutler. The following year, they hired a new offensive coordinator, Mike Martz, and signed three free agents, including Julius Peppers, committing $100MM to the task. The investments paid off. The Bears were crowned champs of the NFC North, and last Sunday, they played for the conference championship and the right to return to the Super Bowl. You probably already guessed this, but that quarterback, Cutler? He transmogrified--this time into a pussycat, leaving at the half with an injured knee. Their 3rd string guy, Caleb Hanie, came in and took over the goat--I mean quarterback--position, throwing an interception to a 400 lb. nose tackle he "didn't see" standing in front of his intended receiver. The 400 lb. guy ran it back for the winning touchdown.

Transmogrification is all over the entertainment sector these days, with the Twilight series and a new TV show "Being Human" about a ghost, a vampire and a werewolf sharing an apartment.

But there's one more grotesque change that takes place now and again, you can guess what it is. It's me, I change from an ordinary human to a Bear (fan, that is) and I sing--

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the
way for victory.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so
fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled
the nation, with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears and let them
know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of
Illinois. Chicago Bears, bear down.