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.