I Don't Know What I Want, But What I Got Ain't It

The title of this post has been running around in my head for several days, not specifically as a blog title, but more a walk-around generally overwhelming feeling in my life. Not sure I can describe it any better than that. Just mostly that I'm not happy and that if  'things' were different, I'd feel better. I get really uncomfortable now when I find myself feeling this way, particularly because this isn't the first time I've had this feeling, and the times before have led to life changes.

These were not necessarily good changes or bad changes, but dramatic changes that have seriously impacted my life and the lives of those around me. Each time I have believed that I could no longer abide whatever situation I was in, be it school, job, career or marriage, and that somehow the change would make me feel better, more satisfied with my lot or happier...whatever that means.

And each time it works out that way, for a while....then each and every time I find myself back at the beginning of the circle, feeling lost and unhappy and on the verge of leaving more wreckage in my wake. Every time the price gets higher. The toll on my health and sanity is greater and the damage to the people I love, and those who love me back, seems immense. I am really tired of hurting others, friends both old and new, and people I have yet to meet.

Every time, I approach the cusp with more knowledge, but alas, quantity of information has never equated to quality of wisdom. This time I am looking through the lens of life lessons garnered the hard way. Five years into a sobriety I never imagined possible from the inside of the bottle, yet found to be more than workable with the help of God and the support of people who believe in me, I struggle with choices that have the potential to put me back on the track to imminent self-destruction.

There comes a point where I must admit that what I am seeking isn't somewhere else. I don't want to spend my days peering into windows and turning over rocks looking for something I can't even describe to myself...trusting that somehow I will recognize what I seek when I see it. A friend who knows I am a seeker once asked me, "What are you looking for?" I couldn't answer then and I can't answer now. Sometimes I feel like my destiny is just that. To forever search, always believing that the answer is just around the next corner, or waiting in the arms of a new lover.

I have looked so many places in my life and time...... into this drug or that, into booze and sex, serious retail therapy, psychotherapy, group therapy, cult therapy, even begged for God to fill my heart and life, but nothing sticks. Relationships that seemed destined to endure have become traps ......a maze of walls built insidiously and insanely, brick by brick, with a mortar that time has cured rock hard.

Now I am afraid I will step on board the express train to the next destination, turn, and suddenly realize as I am carried away, that whatever it was I was looking for is standing on the platform with a tear in its eye, waving goodbye. I need some serious guitar time.

Strange Dream

Last night I had the most vivid and strangest dream that I can recall.

I usually do not share my dreams because I so often don't remember them, and I usually don't like the interpretations that others assign to them...anyway for what it is worth, here it is:

I had driven to an office and was waiting in the waiting room. I was given a large manila envelope, which I was to deliver to someone. I drove to either a car dealership or the offices of a home builder/contractor where I delivered my envelope, and was given another, fatter one to return.

I drove back to the original place, and delivered the second envelope, then I was given a third envelope to deliver to yet another location, but on the outside of that envelope, there were instructions which said I wasn't to deliver it until tomorrow.

 As I was waiting in the waiting room, I watched the people who were coming and going. At one point, a door to an inner office opened and out walked a beautiful woman. She looked a little disheveled and rumpled, as though she had just been making love to someone. As she walked out I could see inside, and there was an attractive man sitting in a chair. He also looked as though he had been fooling around. They seemed like they fit together.

People were coming and going, with more going outside than coming in. I walked out and was standing at the edge of a large field of green grass. On the far side, I saw many of the people that I had seen in the office. They appeared to be playing a game or exercising, but in a most unorganized manner. One person would do something, like jump up and down or run a bit, and several people would follow those moves, then one of the followers would do something different and several people would follow that person. The net effect was that everyone was getting some exercise, but in a highly disorganized way, except that there seemed to be rules that everyone understood.

It looked like fun, and I figured I could use the exercise, so I joined in. I followed for a while, and then I began to do my own thing. I was spinning around, but I had metal weights in each hand. The weights had edges sharp enough to hurt someone if they got too close, and I was careful to stay away from anyone I might injure.

I stopped spinning, and discovered that I had the ability to lean at impossible angles. I could lean back, with my heels touching the ground, my body straight and the back of my head only inches from the ground. Someone came over and asked me how I could do that. I explained that it was easy, that anyone could do it if they just put their mind to it.

I also told them that by concentrating, I could leap into the air and stay up an incredibly long time. To demonstrate, I leapt across the field, and just floated in slow motion, defying gravity. The field transformed into a very large empty room, like a gym with high ceilings. I was able to fly through the room, above the heads of the other people. I wanted to encourage them to fly too, but I was so amazed at being able to fly, I was speechless.

I awakened briefly, and when I fell asleep again, I was in an operating room where an abortion was being performed. The doctor removed the child from inside the mother, still attached by the umbilical cord. This was not a fetus, but a very small baby. The child's eyes were open and from where I was standing, I could see one blue eye. The doctor prepared to cut the cord with a pair of shears. I wanted to cry out 'Stop!', but I couldn't. Then, with a single snip. it was done. I was sad.

Wanna Play?

A friend recently asked me a question. Am I competitive? Well? I answered the question but continued to think about it. I’m kinda funny. When someone asks me a question and wants to know my opinion, I need some time. Oh, I can always spout something immediately, but I need time to process before I can give a really accurate response. That delay itself can and has created misunderstandings and uncomfortable situations in the past.

So? Am I competitive? Well it means more than one thing doesn't it? In some contexts, being competitive means you actually have the capacity to succeed or win the race or sell your product at the same or lower price or offer more advantage than someone else.

But I think the question this time was along the lines of plumbing the depths my desire to win or finding out just how important coming in first is to me.

I have never been a professional athlete, but I have played various sports in a competitive environment. Sometimes I was more than aware that I was not ‘competitive’ in the first sense, but that did not diminish my desire to do my best. I did well in several activities, bowling and ping-pong to name two, and closing a game rolling a ‘Turkey’ in the tenth frame generated a fist pump and high five along with an adrenaline surge which could just as well fuel an internal ‘Primal Scream’ when a well placed slam kisses the very corner of the table and slides past a hopelessly out-maneuvered opponent. 

I love to play card games and board games, and of course those are all set up in a win/lose format. I prefer to win, and if my opponent loses with an entertaining demonstration, so much the better. That being said, I enjoy playing for the sake of the game and camaraderie….the wins and losses seem to even out, and it really doesn’t matter, anyway, Right? Whoops...except in chess.....  ;-)

When I was a younger person, I recall feeling that my ‘worth’ was somehow tied to being the winner, and felt bad if I didn’t finish first. But don’t we get set up for that? Those of us who know the agony of being chosen last when sides are picked are well aware of the perceived value of being competitive. And the incredibly ridiculous salary that so many professionals bring home is evidence of the truth in that.

These days, I compete mostly against me. I tell myself it is for personal growth and self-improvement, but I’m really taking inventory, looking for signs of physical or mental decay, and at my age, finding such is all but inevitable.

I don’t like winning at someone elses’ expense, but how would I feel if the competition was for food or shelter for my family, and my ability to ‘win’ was a matter of life or death for them? I might find I was a much different cat.

Bottom line? Bring it on. Let’s dance….:-)

Firsts and Lasts

Getting in the shower last night (and doesn’t a shower in the evening feel great, specially if you are going to climb in between clean sheets!) I began thinking about 'firsts' and 'lasts.'

When we begin life, our world is full of 'firsts' and we aren’t even aware of many on them. Our first words, first steps are things someone else remembers well, but we ourselves, not so much. Other things we not only remember but perhaps anticipated….the first day of school, or the first time we were able to tie our own shoes.

Then came the bigger events we really anticipated with varying degrees of joy/dread. First date, first period, first car, first job, not necessarily in that order…graduating from high school or going off to college, getting married, having kids of our own. Most of these we saw coming, often long before they actually arrived with time to prepare. Others, like our first speeding ticket or first auto accident we didn’t see coming at all…though others may have known it was only a matter of time.

The last time things from those years ended in one of several ways. Some may have ended quietly, almost unnoticed like the last time we used a sippy cup. Others with great fanfare, like graduating from diapers to big boy pants, tho perhaps if we live long enough we learn we don’t really stop using them we just pause for a while. Some early 'lasts' may come with tears. Parting with the blankie can be tough.

What seems to get past us are the last times we don’t notice at the time. As I get older 'firsts' are farther apart and 'lasts' are much more frequent. Sometimes we do something, then don’t do that same for a while then realize that for some reason we can’t do it again. Opportunity, ability, health or situation..all can change and spell the end of this or that.

The last time I went skiing, it never occurred to me that I was saying goodbye to that thrill as I drove down the mountain. The last time I flew an aircraft, I never dreamed that I wouldn’t be back at the controls. The last time we drive ourselves or the last time we make love, we usually don’t realize that that was it.  When we finally figure it out, it's too late.

Sometimes it is the last time we speak with a friend, and sometimes we wish that if we had only known, we’d have done it differently. But we who have been there and done that…we know, and hopefully leave no regrets…..

Bus Rustler

This tale bubbled up from the depths of the swamp that used to be my mind on the way to work this morning, and I don’t have the good sense to keep it to myself.

Several years ago, I traveled to Denver on a business trip. I flew in on Saturday to have a free day to explore, which I dearly love to do. I decided Saturday evening that I would like to go to church the next morning. I was scheduled to use a company vehicle during my stay, but I wouldn’t be able to get access until Monday. This meant I was dependent on public transportation.

So I have three problems to solve, find a church, locate the church and get to the church on time.

Being a relative stranger to the area, this was a bit more difficult than it appeared. I had to know where I was, where the church was, and how I could integrate those locations with the availability of the city bus. Now, realize that this tale predates Google Earth, or at least my ability to use it. So…to the phone book. I was looking for a Lutheran church, and an ELCA Lutheran church at that. The phone book listed several, with their addresses, but being a stranger, I had NO CLUE where they were, or which one was closest. I did have a paper map…yeah, yeah I know, you didn’t realize this was pre-history.

Anyway, I determined that St. Marks on Del Mar Circle was the closest, and that there was a bus that would pick me up within a block of my hotel and take me to Del Mar Circle. Whoo Hooo. I’m set.

Armed with my trusty paper map, a paperback book and a bottle of water, I set out to go to church. The bus comes by, right on schedule, and except for the driver, I have the entire bus to myself…kinda like a giant limo. I sit up front and chat with the driver for the half hour it takes to get to Del Mar Circle.

Now, I know the address of the church, but the circle thing throws me. Del Mar Circle is about ¾ mile in diameter, and there are six churches scattered along its circumference. The driver has NO CLUE which church might be St. Mark’s either. I gamble and hop off in the midst of a cluster of three churches, and of course none of them is the church I am looking for.

Now, if you do the math, ¾ times pi equals about 2 1/3 miles, so St Marks could be just over a mile away, at the most, if I go the right way. Crap shoot. I pick a direction and begin to walk. In less than a minute, a car stops beside me. The driver, a woman, rolls down the window and asks me for directions. Her luck is obviously on par with mine. The person she chooses to ask for directions is a total stranger not only to this part of town, but to the whole damned state! No, wait. Her luck is better than mine because she happened to pick a fella with a city map in his back pocket. We figure out her dilemma, she goes on her way, and I resume work on mine.

Turns out my luck is good and bad. The bad news: St. Marks is exactly opposite the place where I got off the bus. Couldn’t be any farther away….but….the good news is it didn’t matter which direction I walked……

I get to the church about 10 minutes before the service begins, I go inside and sit down. Here is where the fun begins. Lutherans are just like other folks, but more so. By that I mean everyone always sits in the same place every Sunday. When I picked a seat, I was displacing somebody. So they had to sit somewhere else and that created ripples throughout the sanctuary. Couple that with the fact that I was a stranger……well I felt like the hole in the doughnut. There was clear space all around me. Maybe this is how it is supposed to be…makes it easier for the Pastor to spot Newbies. Which he did. He stopped by to greet me, and also pointed me out during the service…like nobody had noticed the stranger in their midst.

The service ran a bit long, and I didn’t hang out for coffee because I had a bus to catch. Got to the bus stop and checked the schedule. Crap. According to the schedule, the bus had come by 10 minutes before. Sigh.

I sat down, took out my book and began to read. Lo and Behold, the bus drives up and stops for me! I get on board and see a rather harried looking woman driving the bus with a piece of white paper in her hand which she seem to be referring to every couple of blocks. As I often do, I strike a conversation with her. She is a brand new driver and has never driven this route before. She is following a hastily scribbled turn by turn description of the route and becoming more and more confused by the minute. That’s why the bus is late…works for me! I, of course am a total expert, because I just came from where we are headed. I assume the navigation chores…sort of an unpaid civilian adviser to the Denver Transportation  Department.

I now realize I missed a great opportunity to take that bus all over the city, but I wanted to get back to my room to watch the game. In retrospect…it would have been fun, but I didn’t want to find out what the City of Denver does to Bus Rustlers.

TED

I've known about TED talks for a while now, a number of years, actually, but I never took more than a casual interest in them. If a link took me to a YouTube video of  a TED talk, and if the subject interested me, I'd watch, but that was the extent of my involvement.

Over the last several weeks, a job function has tied me to my desk, but it has not required much of my mental faculties. I used the time to stream a number of TED talks.

If you are unfamiliar, TED stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design (a thorough history is available on Wikipedia), and currently consists of around 2000 recorded lectures on an incredibly diverse range of subjects.

It is amazing to explorer the breadth of subject matter addressed here. I found lectures which inspired, lectures which surprised me, and more than a few which frightened me. But the overarching theme that meant the most to me is the proof within these talks that our younger generation is producing some incredible minds which are doing some incredible thinking, asking questions and finding answers that are so far outside the box that........well, the promise for the future is bright indeed.

If you are ready to be enlightened on your own schedule, visit TED.com.

A Good Day

Something happened that I wasn't expecting.

To be sure, it was something I wanted, but I was not so bold as to expect it.

It wasn't even planned. It just happened.

It started and grew in a natural and positive way, and as all really good things do, it ended too quickly.

But if anyone ever asks about that particular day, I will tell them that I finished the day with a wonderful memory......and eleven cents. :-)

Milk Carton Boy

I was raised by a single mom in an era when that was the exception, not the rule. She honestly tried her very best and although her love for me was never in question, she fought mental illness and debilitating physical problems all of her adult life.

The summer before I was to enter the 6^th grade, people who loved her convinced her to sign herself in to a mental health facility. The next question, of course, became “What to do with me?” I spent a month with my aunt and her kids in a distant state, then flew across the country to live with my dad and his family, sorta kinda.

He had remarried (to the Wicked Witch of the West), and sired two rug rats. I was pretty inconvenient…again. The decision was made. I would go to boarding school, a Military Academy at that. As I reflected later, the depths of her desire to keep me away were indeed deep. The private school was relatively expensive and they were not rich.

At the end of the summer, I was prepared to matriculate at San Rafael Military Academy. I had a footlocker; uniforms both Olive Drab and Dress Blue; and all my clothes had tags sewn in. I was to begin this new stage of my young life in two days.

I was staying with my grandmother, a wonderful lady full of love and fun. She lived fairly close to the new school and was a convenient place to stage all my stuff. About six o’clock in the evening the phone rang. It was mom.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Hi Mom. Wow, I’m surprised to hear from you. I didn’t think they would let you use the phone in the hospital. You’re not? Where are you? You’re here? Sure I want to see you. Ok, I’ll stand by the mailbox on the curb so you can find us. Then, in a few minutes….Hi Mom! Cool! I didn’t know you had MayBeth with you! MayBeth was her sister-in-law and I had a secret crush on her from the moment I first saw her. Yeah, I’d like a soda. Sure I’ll go with you to get one. I didn’t know the soda they were taking me to get was halfway across the country.

I got in the car, and before I knew it, we were on the Freeway headed for the Great State of Texas. Did I feel kidnapped? Not  really.  After all, I was with my mom. We had done so many road trips together over the years that a moving car was like a second home to me, and I was always up for an adventure.

Things went pretty smoothly from my perspective, but there was stuff going on of which I wasn’t aware. Mom planned to cross the state line in Needles. There are only so many highways that leave the state. By this time my dad had figured out not only that I was gone but also that my mom was the perp. If you know who the ‘Unsub’ is, do they become simply the ‘Sub?’ In any case, the APB was out, and the local cops pulled us over in Needles. Turns out I was the ‘Droid they were looking for,' and I was taken into protective custody. Mom and MayBeth were not arrested, but I got a ride in the patrol car.

It is interesting being in protective custody, at least it was back in the day. First of all, let me say that I was no stranger to the inside of a jail. My mom used to date a county Sheriff. She would visit him in the evening as he worked at the local lock-up. I would go along and while she was visiting, I would play draw poker in the cell block with the inmates. So yeah, I knew what the inside looked like. For the Needles Mounties, I was a bit of a problem. I wasn’t a criminal and hadn’t done anything wrong, so they couldn’t just throw me in a cell and forget about me, but I might be a kidnapping victim, and until that was sorted out, I needed to be ‘protected’ from everybody, it seems.

So what does a small town cop do with a ten year old? I slept in a cell by myself, but during the day I had the run of the station. I became a self-taught expert at taking my own fingerprints. I recall the ID form to be filled out when someone ran afoul of the law. Ten fingerprints and a space to describe any identifying tattoos; location and picture or words. That may be when I decided to forego ever getting a tattoo myself. The sheriff had a deal with the local doughnut shop, and brought in breakfast and lunch from their selection of day-old goods at very reasonable prices. Doughnuts and milk for breakfast. Doughnuts and milk for lunch, then a nice nutritious hamburger for dinner.

The whole Custody thing was a mess. Mom had physical custody of me as a result of the divorce, and when she went into the hospital, I was just sent to my dad’s. As far as I know, there were no modifications to the custody order, so she had as much claim to me in California as she did in Texas.  So was I really kidnapped? Or was she just picking me up under the old “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission” thingy.

On the third day, Mom won some sort of legal tussle and they released me into her custody. Lickety-split, we were across the state line into Arizona, and home free. I heard later that my dad arrived in Needles to collect me hours after we crossed the border.

The balance of the trip was unremarkable. I returned to Texas and back to regular school. Two years later, Mom was committed to the same institution, I repeated my trek west, finally did enter the Military Academy for a year, and have lived in California ever since.

Mom? She only left the State Hospital to go to a rest home, where she died at the age of 57. Her “Treatment” consisted of numerous Electroshock Therapy sessions. I was never able to have a normal conversation with her again.

Boxing Day, 2004

I stumbled across an interesting set of videos last week on YouTube. If it turns out your interest is piqued, the title is “Tsunami, Caught on Camera.” The content was assembled, in the main, from amateur video captured by individuals who survived the onslaught.

The tsunami in question is the Indonesian Tsunami of 2004. It was caused by a large earthquake off the coast of Sumatra on the morning of December 26, or Boxing Day as it is known in some parts of the world.  For perspective, the massive tsunami which devastated the coast of Japan in 2011 is estimated to have taken between 20,000 and 30,000 lives. The Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004 killed 10 times as many, with estimates ranging from 260,000 to 290,000 dead.

Over a quarter-million fatalities.

Much of the footage was captured by tourists who were staying at resorts in Indonesia, Thailand and Sri Lanka. Of course they are the ones standing around with cameras all day so it makes sense that they become our cinematographers. Unfortunately, they also became the victims and in some cases the casualties.

The images are by turns stunning, compelling, mesmerizing, awe-inducing, horrific, terrifying, mystifying and confounding. As I watched, unable to turn away, I was astounded by the power of Nature’s fury, the very inevitability of the unstoppable water as it swept away everything in its path. I was amazed that so many people seemed completely unaware of the warning signs of the impending destruction. As the water receded to an incredible degree, the video showed many who followed the ocean out only to be gathered up by returning waves and swallowed in a heartbeat.  

Although the scenes were actually not as dynamic as the recent video from the Eastern Japanese coast, I found them even more disturbing because of the nature of the places depicted. Most were resorts on beautiful tropical beaches. When we go on holiday, we don’t expect to have our lives changed forever or suddenly ended by a so called Act of God.

All of the commentary was from survivors in the form of interviews, years after the fact. Most of the people had stories of their personal struggle for survival, and stories of the struggles of those around them, some of whom survived and many that didn’t. Particularly poignant was the testimony of a young mother on vacation with her family who had her 5 year-old daughter swept away by the flood and then came very close to drowning herself. Imagine, if you will, swimming for your life with your child’s arms wrapped around your neck one instant and just….. gone the next. If you survive, you spend the next days or weeks trying to find your child, praying she will be alive and unharmed while you look through thousands of photos of the ones who didn’t make it hoping against hope that you won’t find her there.

So many people lost not only their homes and jobs, but many lost their entire families as well. I am not sure how one continues following such a tragedy. I hope I never have to figure out the answer to that one.

Oblah Dee .......Oblah Dah

I spend some time thinking every once in a while. We all have the same lessons to learn. And when I learn them, I often forget that I am not the first person to figure this or that out. All I can claim is that I finally got it.

I’m gonna hitch a bit on a blog I wrote for another venue. Remember the dreaded “Grading on the Curve?” That infamous bell shaped curve that defines so many aspects of our lives? Here is one angle I was thinking of recently. Take your knowledge, your physical skills and your mental abilities and distribute them along the time line of your life. If you are somewhat normal and live the expected number of years, you’ll find that your skills and abilities will follow the curve. From birth to death, you are either increasing or decreasing.

Sure, there is a smooth spot at the top, and you may ride the crest for quite a while, but it really is either up or down. In the very beginning, you don’t even notice your progress, but you are assimilating experience and knowledge at an ever increasing and quite astonishing rate. I always think of my learning and my experience as measured by milestones. Do you remember when you first rode a two-wheeler by yourself? Your first kiss? Your High School graduation or your first driver’s license?

I have always been a bit short-sighted. When I graduated High School, I didn’t envision my College graduation. When I first rode my bike around the block, it never occurred to me to look forward to driving a car or riding a motorcycle. That first kiss? Didn’t ever imagine being married. At the wedding, becoming a parent was the farthest thing from my mind. Now that I’m a bit older, though my eyesight is getting worse, my vision seems to be improving. The lens of experience, I guess.

As I grew, I collected experience, knowledge and skill, bit by bit, one piece at a time. I eventually reached a zone of relative competence and have cruised there for a while. If you will envision a metaphor with me, picture walking up a rounded hill. In the beginning, the slope is gentle, but as we have just begun our walk, we are full of energy and enthusiasm encouraged by our very ignorance. As our ability to learn and do increases, so do the challenges. Farther up, perhaps the hill is less steep, but the air becomes more rarefied the higher we go and the going does get tougher. We approach the top, and buoyed by our work to this point, we can do what we must fairly easily. At the top, our tasks, though they still take time and energy, are almost effortless.

The surprise waits a little farther. Gradually things become even easier, but……is that because we are even better, or has the slope crested and started down? At first it may be hard to tell. We are full of ourselves, matured as human beans, competent to handle most situations and able to enjoy life and the fruits of our labors. However, the rock we stand upon, that bell curve full up with our skills and abilities, is diminishing. The area under the curve is becoming smaller and smaller.

Maybe the first thing we lose is just a step. Perhaps I can’t quite catch up with that fastball, or some motion I used to make routinely now elicits a twinge of discomfort. An injury may cause us to be a taste more cautious. A restricted back-swing knocks 50 yards off the drive. Perhaps every face doesn’t always have a name attached the way it used to, or, dare I say it, maybe I get just a little bit lost on a familiar road?

At some point you begin to realize that the walk is just a bit too easy; the slope is helping you to walk just a little bit more quickly than you really want to, and it takes effort to slow down. It’s like driving down a hill: at first it’s just enough to lift your foot from the accelerator, any steeper and you begin to use the brakes. (OK here my improved vision kicks in and I can picture myself sliding, on my back down an enormous slip n slide, arms and legs flailing wildly, grasping at anything to try and slow down.) Maybe somehow our equilibrium fails and instead of a nice smooth curve into the flat line (Ooh, there is an interesting and appropriate analogy!) we trip and simply fall off the hill, straight to the bottom, not to be confused with illness, injury or accident at an unfortunate moment dropping us to zero before our time.

Another way to look at the whole thing is this. We spend a bunch of time adding…adding skills, adding knowledge even gathering stuff. Then, one by one, things are taken away. In the end you will leave just as you arrived.

My point is this: when you receive a gift, appreciate it. Be it a gift of time, space, or love, treasure it….live in the moment and savor each precious tick of the clock. You never know which tick will be your last.

Oh! Did I tell You About...........

Here is one I don't talk about much. My SO is a wonderful person, but she does have an interesting quirk.

She has never met a story that she can't improve. Literally and literarily, every time she tells a story it changes. Eventually it becomes bigger than life, and I find this incredibly amusing. Once she gets started, I sit back and marvel at how creative her manipulations become. If I have heard the story before, I have a baseline, a benchmark or starting place to mark and measure the width and breadth of her inevitable prevarication.

The funny thing is that she seems to be more solidly grounded in the improved tale than she does the truth. Every retelling drifts further and further from fact towards fabrication. She seems to believe the story and will even swear to its veracity.

Here is an example:
One day the kids borrowed her car for a while. We ran errands in my vehicle and stopped in at Trader Joes. As we parked, we saw her car in the parking lot; the kids were next door at the Wherehouse. She thought it would be funny to move her car. I have a bit of a mean streak and readily agreed, so we did move it several rows over, then went in to Trader Joes. As we were checking out, the kids rushed in looking for us, saw us at the check stand and came over to let us know just how unfunny our prank was. We laughed. End of story. OK...that's what really happened.

Now for the improved version: Everything is the same up until we moved the car. At this point we hide in the bushes and wait to see their reactions, and you wouldn't believe the looks of astonishment on their faces when they come out and find the car missing *laugh out loud and slap thigh for emphasis* "You should have seen the looks on their faces! It was hilarious!" She has even quoted dialogue between them on occasion(I guess the bushes were pretty close.)
A simple change and maybe it does make a better story......she surely does enjoy telling it more.

Anyway, it has created a new hobby for me. When she starts, I just relax and wait to see what new paths our old adventures have taken since the last time. I'm always amused and often amazed at what we have done.

Of course I can only testify about the ones to which I've been an accomplice. The stories that scare me are the ones where I wasn't........ 

Some Days are Golden, Some are Maroon

OK… now I feel like a Maroon.

I am away. On a business trip. A looong way from home.

Business finishes early, but my reservations are cast in financial concrete. Back at the hotel, I wander down to the concierge (that’s what you call the afternoon manager at Best Western when you need to ask him a question) and inquire as to the location of the nearest decent steak house. Being a good concierge and obviously concerned for my expense account, he suggests that the nearest Red Robin might be just the ticket. I counter with the concept that when you stray from a given establishments forte menu item, you are treading on a very slippery slope. Does Red Robin even serve whole meat without feathers? He finally begins to get my drift and does make a reasonable offer. I consider it.

Before dining, I head down to the business center to print tomorrows boarding passes. The computer requests my password. Back to concierge. “Oh, yes! I’ll give you the password, but it won’t do you any good. The Internet is down.” I explain that I have just come down from my room where I checked my e-mail. That Internet was working fine. “Well, we have a different Internet down here and it isn’t working at all!” He’s right. 

Hmmmmm

I abandon the whole steak plan and walk a half-block to Wendy’s for a forbidden cheeseburger with bacon. Maybe his Internet will be fixed when I get back.

Delicious. And 'Ain't Happening'...No printer for you, Kemosabe.....

Back in the room, I stand admiring the In-Room-Spa sized for four. I am traveling alone this trip, more’s the pity, but not wanting the Spa to go unappreciated, I decide to fill it and flounder around by myself. I can turn on the water from the floor, but it is impossible to actually touch the water to say…. oh… feel the temperature or whatever without actually being “in the spa,” so to speak. To avoid obvious later disappointment, I disrobe, and clamber in to check the water. At my age you don’t ‘step’ into a spa…clambering is the most generous description that can legitimately be applied here.

At the risk of giving the whole plot away at this point in the story, let me say that my rental car is a technological WunderKar. The radio doubles as a rearview TV when reversing. And it picks up music from outer space. To start the thing, you simply push a button. When you are finished driving another push of the same button shuts it off…..

Back in the Spa. I am standing buck nekkid, ankle deep in the tepid water of the ‘just clambered into' Spa when hotel phone rings. This strikes me as rather odd because nobody who needs to call me knows exactly where in the Sam Hell I am. 

Again, Hmmm.

I execute the Much Vaunted but Seldom Seen ‘Reverse Clamber’ and slosh my way to the insistent instrument. Hello? 

“Good evening, Sir! This is the Front Desk." 

Hardly ever a welcome call unless expecting a package from UPS or the Pizza Boy. 

"We are attempting to locate the driver of a car in our parking lot which has been sitting with the motor running for several hours. Which vehicle is yours?” 

With a sinking feeling I confess both Make and Model. 

With a barely concealed squeal of glee, she replies, “Well, Sir, I believe it is yours!” She is delighted because finally she can can quit calling rooms, and now I know why they ask for your auto's curriculum vitae at registration...Information I chose not to provide...... as a security measure, of course.....I stare at the "Keys" to my WunderKar sitting on the dresser, I think about the button on the dash.....Krap!

I start to explain that I am part of the WunderKar test team conducting “Long Term Idling Tests” at Best Western altitudes, but I can tell that her Geezer B.S. Radar is finely tuned and she’s not buying any of it.

I thank her, dry off from the ankles down, dress, sorta…..and slither down stairs, praying there is no thundering crowd to cheer me on the last 20 yards. I'm sure when she disconnected, she shouted "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner!" Funny, I don't feel exactly like a winner.....more like a Maroon.

Oh…the quadruple In-Room-Spa solo act…don’t bother…….it's just no fun by your self, and if you doze off (highly likely at my age), your Kindle gets to test the Submarine Clause in Amazon's warrantee.

Geez....Ida swore I pressed that danged button the second time…….mumble…mutter….mmmmph ........

Hmmm...wonder if the boss will notice I used $80.00 in fuel on a twenty-mile round trip?

p.s. A big tip-o-the-hat to the Manager of the local Guitar Center who graciously allowed me to get a solid 'Guitar Fix' this afternoon playing his $3000 instruments so far from my babies.....There is this one Martin I played, it was like soft butter in my hands, and such a bargan at only $1999........nnaaahh, I dasn't........

Easter Observations

Easter Sunday today...Lent is officially over.

On Good Friday, the youth of my Church presented a shadowbox performance of the crucifixion. Most dramatic to see Jesus arching his back in agony with every blow of the hammer driving the nails through his hands.

Also on Good Friday, I saw a man dressed as Jesus, wearing a thorny crown, blood dripping from his brow, dragging a large cross down the sidewalk near the Rescue Mission. He was accompanied by a Roman Centurion. I appreciated the demonstration of Jesus' sacrifice, but the only folks there to observe have probably had it up to here with sacrifice. They drag their entire lives down the sidewalk every day. He should have been dragging that cross uptown. Those are the people too comfortable to understand.

Maundy Thursday celebrates the Last Supper and Jesus' commandment to love on another. It passed with no foot-washing here this year. I attended MT services in our National Cathedral several years ago quite by accident. I entered the Cathedral to take photos not knowing the service was in progress, when I realized the fact, I decided to stay. During the appropriate part of the service, you get in line, wait your turn, then sit and have your feet washed. If you choose to take a turn at being the washer, simply touch the shoulder of the person who washed your feet. You then kneel, take their place and wash feet until someone takes your place, or until the last person has clean feet!

In my Bible study last year, our Pastor made it quite clear that the word 'feet' in the Bible was most often a euphemism for the genitals......hey.......wait a minute.......

The Strat

I indulged myself this week. I bought a guitar…well to make that statement more accurate, I should say, “I bought another guitar.” This brings my current total up to eight. Very few people that I know truly understand the why of it all, and all of them are keepers of multiple instruments themselves.

I’m not sure I can ‘splain in a way that is meaningful to a layperson, but let me say first of all that I am blessed to have the means to be able to maintain such a collection. That certainly hasn’t always been the case, and I am bright enough to know that it may not be the case tomorrow. I remain humble and thankful.

Well crafted instruments are a wonder, like anything else that is really well made, the quality is obvious to anyone with the knowledge to appreciate it  Although looks can be deceiving, fit and finish, or the feel and smoothness and effortlessness of operation can’t be faked. This is especially true of guitars. A poorly made guitar may well be unplayable at the worst, or simply difficult to play at best, requiring too much effort to form chords and sounding bad even at their best.

This is so unfortunate for people who would like to learn. They are unwilling to spend the money for a good instrument when they are unsure if they have the ability to learn or if they will even stick to it. So they buy a $100 instrument. They end up with a beast that savages their fingertips because the strings are so hard to depress and often quit, happy that they did ‘waste’ a bunch of money. Sad.

If you are a musician you know the feel of a good instrument. One that almost plays itself. If it is a keyboard, every key falls readily to hand and is radiused perfectly. The amount of force required is perfectly balanced…just enough resistance to avoid accidentally depressing a key, and perfect linearity, the volume increasing in correct proportion to effort.

In a guitar that is just right for you it is similar. The spacing of the strings is just right, not too close together, not too far apart. The effort required to form chords or play discrete notes is the same where ever you are on the neck. The strings require only a light touch to hold depressed…no death grip required….. and the intonation is correct from top to bottom  and end to end of the neck.  The strings will easily bend to alter pitch when you ask them to, but stay well behaved otherwise. The sound will be pure and clean, with no buzzing of string against random fret, and enduring sustain that leaves you marveling at the sound.

My guitars? I have one that is sized to travel, an easy carry-on, small but with surprising presence, a joy to play but inexpensive enough to not hurt so much if lost, stolen or destroyed. I have three 6-string acoustics. The first and my oldest is a nylon stringed pure acoustic on permanent loan to my youngest daughter. The second is a steel stringed acoustic electric that I keep tuned to an open G for Hawaiian Slack Key practice. The third is a concert quality steel stringed acoustic-electric for gigs. I have two 12-string acoustics, the first of which is a real beast that I have had for too many decades. It is pretty much unplayable with terrible intonation and finger killing action. I keep it for sentimental reasons. The second is the first guitar I bought after I quit drinking five years ago as a reward. It is a beautiful acoustic electric with buttery action. I love its full sound and often gig with it. The last two are also my newest, pure electrics, fine quality professional instruments, one for rhythm and the newest one for leads and rhythm. It is indeed a joy to hold and behold. Playing it is like driving a Ferrari. You don’t hold it, you wear it, and you don’t play it, you think it. It is happiest when it is playing with you and it shows……

Deja Vu All Over Again

I learned something again.

I mean that in all possible ways: another learning experience, a re-learning of something, knowledge once known but lost, a learning of something new, having an epiphany, or any other way you care to parse it.

I am fascinated by how our knowledge of a subject colors our view. When I was first learning to land an airplane, the single thing that grabbed my attention was exactly how quickly the world was getting bigger in the windscreen. The view was mesmerizing. What? I'm supposed to be doing something here? As I became more and more familiar with the process, I learned to make the decisions and perform the actions required to ensure that the arrival was less than earth-shaking.

When I began to play a musical instrument, my first pieces had only two or three notes, then they began increasing in complexity as my skills and knowledge increased.

My point is this: when I first see something unfamiliar, I am often so overwhelmed by the event that it is impossible for me to really absorb the details. When my experience increases, I begin to see things in a different light. I can start to appreciate the nuance and subtlies in greater depth.

This leads to other questions. When do you know enough? Is there always a deeper layer of understanding, always more to learn if you are willing to invest the time? I think perhaps there is.

I had a small epiphany of my own last night. I was transcribling (Not a typo…well, it began as a typo until I saw the truth of it) some music.....the Halelujah Chorus (and believe me, that is some music), anyway, as I was entering the notes for the organ part in my MIDI staff, I could hear the pitches at the same time. I knew on a logical level that the grouped notes formed chords and chord inversions, but listening to them caused me to think about them in a different way.

In my novice naivety, I had always assumed that the keyboardist read every note and figured out which finger went where each time. What I suddenly saw was that each chord could be read as a word, the notes analogous to the letters, and performed by the fingers as a unit as easily as we pronounce a word after we have learned to speak. Wow.

We don’t learn to speak in full sentences, and we don’t learn to play in complete passages. My first instrument was the Cornet, followed by the Saxophone, both instruments that normally form only one note at a time. When I learned guitar, I learned chords, but I learned them individually as hand and finger positions, not as discrete notes. The big deal is thus: if I know a chord, say a C major, and I need to play a C6, unless I have learned the C6 I can’t do it. I have no clue which note(s) I am playing in my chord is(are) the one(s) that need to be modified to change the chord. I just know that when I do this it makes a C.

So…one thing I have not done is to really learn to play melody lines on my guitar. I can read music Ok, I just never took the time to learn where to find the notes on the guitar, There are a lot of places to find the same note on the fret board – some are more useful than others.  I’m taking the time now…crap….if I was only half a century or so younger…this would be so much easier!

The Gift of Storytelling

I met a young lady the other day. I was in one of my favorite restaurants, enjoying my lunch and reading an e-book on my kindle. The young lady in question is on staff at the restaurant. She asked how I liked my e-reader, and a brief conversation ensued. Turns out that she is an aspiring author, but it goes deeper than that. The lady is tee-totally in LOVE with writing and all things writerly.

I asked if she participated in NaNoWriMo 

http://www.nanowrimo.org/ 

(if you are not familiar, this is an organized challenge, open to anyone who cares to play. The month of November is designated ‘National Novel Writing Month,’ and the goal is to write a novel of at least 50,000 words between the beginning and the end of the month.

She admitted to having won (you win by completing the task) 4 times, and last year doing a double……yep, 100,000 words! I certainly admire her ambition and sticktoitiveness. She has a website and a blog and she is all about writing. All about Writing. I read several of her blog entries, the comments and replies to comments many from friends and supporters, other writers offering encouragement. All about writing. I attempted to have a meaningful conversation. After all, I'm an avid reader, but I quickly realized that my experience as a reader did not qualify me to speak with any knowledge about the craft of writing.

Now, I love to read, always have, and I obviously enjoy writing or this meager blog would not exist, but I’m not in LOVE with writing. But…there exists a whole community of folks out there who are. Many also love to read, but their passion, yea their addiction, is writing. If they aren’t writing they aren’t happy. They study writing and writers. They attempt to master the craft of storytelling. They are fascinated with plots and characters, genres and styles…..and how and where to get published. They are fascinated with being authors.

I have no hard facts to back this up, but based on my knowledge of superstars in other endeavors, for every really successful artist or athlete there are literally thousands of individuals who want to be just as successful, rich or famous. And, as fame and success rarely alight on beginners, so must aspirants often support themselves by doing something other than painting, playing second base (or second fiddle) or writing. Hence the staff position at the restaurant. A filler job until the novel takes off.

This underscores for me just how lucky I am. I could not put together 50,000 words that anyone would pay to read if my life depended on it. The only subject I can paint well is a house, but it will look best if someone with a better eye picks the color. I could never hit major league pitching or drive a golf ball 300 yards. I can, however, design things mechanical, things that function and do their jobs with efficiency and beauty. I can imagine the way a thing needs to be made and then build it or communicate my design to those who can build it, I LOVE doing it and I get PAID to do it.

I didn’t sign a 25 Million Dollar, 6 year contract. I won’t read my works to throngs of admirers, or sign copies to become treasured heirlooms. I won’t be chatting with Dave or Conan on late night television. But I will go home at the end of my day knowing that I enjoyed my job today…knowing that I used my God-given talent to do something special. I’ll be pleased with what I have done today and I’ll look forward to tomorrow’s challenges. I am a lucky man.

So write on, dear friend. Let your passion guide you and put everything you have into what you LOVE to do. Do what pleases you with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might, and the Universe will find a way to reward you. Be Happy.