Life should start at an advanced age and end in the womb. Somehow, Nature got it all backward. If we started life with the wisdom gained through longevity, young people would be blindingly brilliant as they edged closer to their pre-existence. People who start life with the exceptional experience of a long period of growing experience and who build on that experience as they grow younger would excel!
I recognize the problem, of course, in that the experience of a long life wouldn't be available if we began life as elders with no experience. That's not my problem. That problem belongs squarely in the lap of the people who are going to solve this dilemma. My job is big picture thinking...I leave the tactical crap to my minions. Speaking of which, where ARE they? I haven't seen them in years...maybe they've gotten progressively younger and are...gone.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The Office
Night comes early these days, these days of winter in north Texas. The spine-snapping cold forecast by the meteorological brain trust has, so far, failed to materialize. This makes me happy, though I do feel that I've missed far too many winters in recent years. Living in north Texas used to guarantee actual seasons (well, good facsimiles thereof), unlike the odd wintertime cold of the tropical climate on the Texas coast where I grew up.
When I was a child, I went swimming in a salt-water bay, went fishing in the bay and in nearby waterways, and visited the spectacular world protected by the Aransas National Wildlife Preserve...or whatever it's called at the moment. That was a strange life, though I did not know it at the time. I didn't know enough to realize that warm tropical winters, punctuated with blue northers that could freeze one's soul, were odd. I know it now. But they were odd only in the sense that the periods of cold seemed out of place on the tropical coast. Now, they rarely occur any more. And that's truly odd.
North Texas winters are getting less predictable in some ways, more predictable in others. It's a safe bet that, every year, there will be at least one major "ice event" and lots of unpleasantly cold, rainy weather. Unpleasantly cold, in north Texas, varies according to the humidity. It's not a safe bet these days to assume that we will have more than a very brief period of weather that can be realistically called "winter weather."
The early nights of North Texas send me indoors early these days, so I miss both the dropping temperatures of the evening and the light of day fading so quickly into darkness. I miss that. I really miss that. Time to explore the world, whether close or far away. I understand the office far too well...time to explore the world beyond.
When I was a child, I went swimming in a salt-water bay, went fishing in the bay and in nearby waterways, and visited the spectacular world protected by the Aransas National Wildlife Preserve...or whatever it's called at the moment. That was a strange life, though I did not know it at the time. I didn't know enough to realize that warm tropical winters, punctuated with blue northers that could freeze one's soul, were odd. I know it now. But they were odd only in the sense that the periods of cold seemed out of place on the tropical coast. Now, they rarely occur any more. And that's truly odd.
North Texas winters are getting less predictable in some ways, more predictable in others. It's a safe bet that, every year, there will be at least one major "ice event" and lots of unpleasantly cold, rainy weather. Unpleasantly cold, in north Texas, varies according to the humidity. It's not a safe bet these days to assume that we will have more than a very brief period of weather that can be realistically called "winter weather."
The early nights of North Texas send me indoors early these days, so I miss both the dropping temperatures of the evening and the light of day fading so quickly into darkness. I miss that. I really miss that. Time to explore the world, whether close or far away. I understand the office far too well...time to explore the world beyond.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Indian Recipes...for no reason other than I want to post them
You may know I have an almost unnatural adoration of Indian food. You may not know it. I do. I do not consider it unnatural, though...I think I must have been infused with Indian blood during an early-life transfusion. At any rate, my point is this: here are some very interesting recipes that I have not tried, but certainly will (and I hope I introduce you to some interesting Indian food blogs in the process):
Ginger~Garlic~Coriander Paste--From Mahanandi: Cooking With Consciousness
A is for Aloo Gobi--from One Hot Stove
Red Soup--from Saffron Trail
Ginger~Garlic~Coriander Paste--From Mahanandi: Cooking With Consciousness
A is for Aloo Gobi--from One Hot Stove
Red Soup--from Saffron Trail
Spine-Snapping Cold
Spine-snapping cold is what snaps my spine. And 'they' say it is coming back to the wilds of North Texas.
Remember that, next time you find yourself wondering.
Remember that, next time you find yourself wondering.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Tears
My wife and I have unspoken conversations, some days. We each wonder why the other is so easily moved to tears. We each wonder why the other wilts and cries and finds pain in what we hear about someone else's pain, the pain of someone we've never met, never even heard about. Maybe that is good. Maybe the fact that we mourn for people we don't know is a sign of goodness. I don't know. Maybe it is a sign that we aren't suited for this very, very hard world. I'm not an old man, but one day I hope to be. And if I become that old man, I will be an old man who cries at the drop of a hat. It's embarrassing on the one hand, simply hard to explain on the other. Which is it? Is it just strange, or is it an indication of a unique weakness or a unique emotional link to a hard, hard world?
A good blogger friend wonders the same thing. Why can we not control the tears and the pain, particularly when it is not our pain, not our hardship that we encounter? I wonder, too. I wonder why a 53-year-old guy sometimes cannot be stoic the way 53-year-old guys are supposed to be. It's embarrassing to melt into a sobbing mass when a 13-year-old would be able to deal with it on a more adult level.
I want to have a conversation with someone who can understand the point of the conversation...someone who is equally uncomfortable with the uninvited tears and the uninvited emotion. We can share what it's like to be full-blown adults who cannot help but wither into tears at the most inopportune times. Someone must have dealt with this and conquered it. Geezers are not supposed to be simpering wimps. I have that on good authority.
I recognize, of course, that I am just wierd in some sense...I am a full-blown adult who has wierd cry-baby impulses. Such is life. I have to deal with it, or find a cure. No one has stepped forward with a cure, so I have to try to make this character flaw into a potential strength....but I could use your help.
Off topic: I had a reply tonight from someone to whom I had written a message after learning of his father's death. Damn, that is so hard. Fathers and mothers are powerful people, powerful forces in our lives. Their loss is painful. Another reason for me to weep. Maybe my tears are OK, after all.
A good blogger friend wonders the same thing. Why can we not control the tears and the pain, particularly when it is not our pain, not our hardship that we encounter? I wonder, too. I wonder why a 53-year-old guy sometimes cannot be stoic the way 53-year-old guys are supposed to be. It's embarrassing to melt into a sobbing mass when a 13-year-old would be able to deal with it on a more adult level.
I want to have a conversation with someone who can understand the point of the conversation...someone who is equally uncomfortable with the uninvited tears and the uninvited emotion. We can share what it's like to be full-blown adults who cannot help but wither into tears at the most inopportune times. Someone must have dealt with this and conquered it. Geezers are not supposed to be simpering wimps. I have that on good authority.
I recognize, of course, that I am just wierd in some sense...I am a full-blown adult who has wierd cry-baby impulses. Such is life. I have to deal with it, or find a cure. No one has stepped forward with a cure, so I have to try to make this character flaw into a potential strength....but I could use your help.
Off topic: I had a reply tonight from someone to whom I had written a message after learning of his father's death. Damn, that is so hard. Fathers and mothers are powerful people, powerful forces in our lives. Their loss is painful. Another reason for me to weep. Maybe my tears are OK, after all.
Peace Offering
I just had to show you this photo from Burning Silo. I encourage you to read the post and the comments.
Eclectica
I took the easy way out last night. I posted an earlier attempt at poetry in lieu of posting a blank page or posting something new and awful. My decision to plagiarize myself was testament to something, but I don't know what. Today, I'll break the shackles of dullness that have gripped me these last few days. Here's what I'm thinking and seeing at the moment...nothing earth-shattering of particularly orginal here, just my world through my eyes.
Read about Leo Prieto, one of Chile's staunchest advocates of technology for the masses. Aside from building what he believes will be a much better social networking site than Craigslist, he advocates for One Laptop Per Child (OLPC).
The Futurist, the magazine published by the World Future Society, offers up its top 10 list of forecasts for 2007, none of which are, in my view, particularly earth-shattering, but some of which do strike a nerve with me. I was particularly interested in the forecast that huge numbers of Generation Y will migrate outside the U.S.
The New York Times expresses its editorial opinion about the $500 million Bush presidential library that is to be built at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. I shudder at the idea of a memorial to the Bush presidency where I live, but would welcome it if Bush rescinds Executive Order 13233. A library in which the massive mistakes and blunderings and lies of this administration are finally opened to public review would serve the country, though the identity of the donors of the $500 million they're saying it will cost should be public record.
A new budget airline, Sky Express, will launch on Monday in Russia. According to The Moscow Times, internal flights in Russia have dropped from 130 million annually to 20 million annually during the past 20 years, due to cost, among other things. The new budget carrier expects to help reverse that trend.
I've been to Halifax, Nova Scotia just once, about nine or ten years ago, but really enjoyed my short time there and I'd like to go back for a longer visit. Interesting, they call it the Halifax Regional Municipality...don't know why, but I like that.
In keeping with my commitment to encourage conversations about ways we can make significant differences in our communities, I'd like to ask readers of today's post to tell me...either publicly on this blog or privately via email to musingsfrommyopiaATyahooDOTcom...what you do to have an impact on your community. I think we sometimes do not realize the impact we are having until we give the topic dedicated thought. And we can learn from one another.
I've been intrigued by the Snap.com previews of site links, so I am giving it a try.
And that's enough for me before my second cup of coffee.
Read about Leo Prieto, one of Chile's staunchest advocates of technology for the masses. Aside from building what he believes will be a much better social networking site than Craigslist, he advocates for One Laptop Per Child (OLPC).
The Futurist, the magazine published by the World Future Society, offers up its top 10 list of forecasts for 2007, none of which are, in my view, particularly earth-shattering, but some of which do strike a nerve with me. I was particularly interested in the forecast that huge numbers of Generation Y will migrate outside the U.S.
The New York Times expresses its editorial opinion about the $500 million Bush presidential library that is to be built at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. I shudder at the idea of a memorial to the Bush presidency where I live, but would welcome it if Bush rescinds Executive Order 13233. A library in which the massive mistakes and blunderings and lies of this administration are finally opened to public review would serve the country, though the identity of the donors of the $500 million they're saying it will cost should be public record.
A new budget airline, Sky Express, will launch on Monday in Russia. According to The Moscow Times, internal flights in Russia have dropped from 130 million annually to 20 million annually during the past 20 years, due to cost, among other things. The new budget carrier expects to help reverse that trend.
I've been to Halifax, Nova Scotia just once, about nine or ten years ago, but really enjoyed my short time there and I'd like to go back for a longer visit. Interesting, they call it the Halifax Regional Municipality...don't know why, but I like that.
In keeping with my commitment to encourage conversations about ways we can make significant differences in our communities, I'd like to ask readers of today's post to tell me...either publicly on this blog or privately via email to musingsfrommyopiaATyahooDOTcom...what you do to have an impact on your community. I think we sometimes do not realize the impact we are having until we give the topic dedicated thought. And we can learn from one another.
I've been intrigued by the Snap.com previews of site links, so I am giving it a try.
And that's enough for me before my second cup of coffee.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Spirit
Something I wrote, from 2005; I think it merits a replay:
Spirit
Parched, cracked earth.
Empty skies and endless horizons.
Cold, savage winds that carry with them sharp, brittle shards of sand that
bite into skin like claws.
Relics of stunted trees, long-ago crippled by too-much wind and too-little water.
Rusted, broken barbed-wire fences, the decaying work of people with a lot of spirit and not enough money.
Screeching hawks and searching buzzards.
Everything is raw, pointed, sharp here.
Shelter is rare.
Amid this desolation is striking beauty.
It is the beauty of absolute isolation and the purest of privacy.
The core of nature rests in these stretches of mile upon mile upon mile.
We can think here. We can understand ourselves, and each other.
And then spring comes.
Torrents of rain, flashes of brilliant lightning.
Water changes the land, and it changes us.
Gray and brown transform into shades of pale green.
Grass grows where even seeds shuddered before.
Pink flowers stab the sky and yellow petals shower the earth.
The land replenishes itself and strains at its boundaries, bursting with energy and color.
Colors do not mask the desolation.
They enhance it and make it palpable.
We can think here. We can understand ourselves, and each other.
Spirit
Parched, cracked earth.
Empty skies and endless horizons.
Cold, savage winds that carry with them sharp, brittle shards of sand that
bite into skin like claws.
Relics of stunted trees, long-ago crippled by too-much wind and too-little water.
Rusted, broken barbed-wire fences, the decaying work of people with a lot of spirit and not enough money.
Screeching hawks and searching buzzards.
Everything is raw, pointed, sharp here.
Shelter is rare.
Amid this desolation is striking beauty.
It is the beauty of absolute isolation and the purest of privacy.
The core of nature rests in these stretches of mile upon mile upon mile.
We can think here. We can understand ourselves, and each other.
And then spring comes.
Torrents of rain, flashes of brilliant lightning.
Water changes the land, and it changes us.
Gray and brown transform into shades of pale green.
Grass grows where even seeds shuddered before.
Pink flowers stab the sky and yellow petals shower the earth.
The land replenishes itself and strains at its boundaries, bursting with energy and color.
Colors do not mask the desolation.
They enhance it and make it palpable.
We can think here. We can understand ourselves, and each other.
Blognotes
A couple of days ago, I was willingly tagged with a meme by The Fat Lady Sings. I will certainly respond and will post my answers to the questions she posed (and answered herself), but it may be a few days. I have to be in the proper mood to think about and right about my answers.
In the interim, I'm been doing more than my usual short-range blog-watching and have encountered interesting new blogs and have re-encountered some blogs I found long ago that are particularly interesting. I've added several to my blogroll. Many of these blogs I encountered because of their proprietors' posts on the ones I regularly visit.
During my meandering, I was entertained and informed by Birdie, a writer and journalist who lives in Las Vegas, New Mexico. She has already left comments on my blog. I ran into Gary, who's from Nelson, British Columbia. Gary is involved with Amnesty International and whose blog has some interesting links (take a look at his publication links).
I keep getting sidetracked...I'll tell you more later.
In the interim, I'm been doing more than my usual short-range blog-watching and have encountered interesting new blogs and have re-encountered some blogs I found long ago that are particularly interesting. I've added several to my blogroll. Many of these blogs I encountered because of their proprietors' posts on the ones I regularly visit.
During my meandering, I was entertained and informed by Birdie, a writer and journalist who lives in Las Vegas, New Mexico. She has already left comments on my blog. I ran into Gary, who's from Nelson, British Columbia. Gary is involved with Amnesty International and whose blog has some interesting links (take a look at his publication links).
I keep getting sidetracked...I'll tell you more later.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Leonard Cohen...A Favourite
Recently (last month, I believe), a chance visitor remarked about a post I made about Tacoma Trailer, a wonderful instrumental piece on Leonard Cohen's The Future album. Here is Gary's post (he left his name, but I have no idea where he posts, whether he posts, or why he happened upon my blog):
He's right, of couse, and says it better than I. Thanks, Gary, whoever you are...my only guess is that you are not from the U.S.A., considering that Tacoma Trailer is your 'favourite' piece of music. I appreciate your commment.
My favourite piece of music. It sums up everything I feel without using a single word. I love how the piano almost fumbles for the notes to express itself. ahhh lovely
He's right, of couse, and says it better than I. Thanks, Gary, whoever you are...my only guess is that you are not from the U.S.A., considering that Tacoma Trailer is your 'favourite' piece of music. I appreciate your commment.
Moscow...Dammit
I've never had any interest in going to Moscow. St. Petersburg, maybe, but Moscow has never been at the top of my list. But I'm on track to make another of my famously short trips...this time, to Moscow. It's not until May, but it's already got me on edge...I don't like horrifically long flights and being in places where my lack of language skills immediately brands me, correctly, as unable to communicate. My trip will take me from Dallas to New York to London, then from London to Moscow. I will arrive in Moscow on a Wednesday...I will leave on the following Sunday. This is silly and stupid. Despite not having a deep desire to go to Moscow, at least I should take advantage of the need to go by doing a bit if sightseeing. I already have the ticket. I am stupid. What's worse, I will fly from Dallas to New York to London to Moscow and will return Moscow to London to Chicago to Dallas. Madness!
I explored, ever-so-briefly, flying to Colgne, Germany and from there taking a 2-day train trip to Moscow. I should have done it. That would have been a real trip! But then I would not be able to use my short and unsatisfying trip as a reason to pout and complain and as a resource for woe-is-me posts for months to come.
I explored, ever-so-briefly, flying to Colgne, Germany and from there taking a 2-day train trip to Moscow. I should have done it. That would have been a real trip! But then I would not be able to use my short and unsatisfying trip as a reason to pout and complain and as a resource for woe-is-me posts for months to come.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Thanking the Bloggers
I read other blogs and feel so fortunate that I am able to connect, albeit long distance and indirectly, with people who share some of my sensitivities. Would that it were so for all the world. Tonight, I am feeling blue for no good or apparent reason, so I will just get through it and be lively and alive and alert and happy tomorrow or another day. That's what we do, isn't it? We just move through it all until we're grounded again and feeling like we're where we should be, in both place and thought.
I do not have insurmountable, or even particularly burdensome, problems. I suspect most of us don't. But we can certainly allow the stumbles and slips and falls and distractions make us believe we are enduring the unendurable. We are wimps (at least I am). We'll get over the roadbumps...or we'll die in the process. Such is life and death.
I appreciate the following blog posts that have, in one way or another, helped my mood tonight migratge from annoying self-pity to appreciation for others' wisdom. Please, if you read the posts of these often-wise bloggers, thank these good people for their willingness to share their ideas, their thoughts, their prejudices, their aspirations, and their lives. I am grateful to them for occasionally letting me share their thoughts and emotions.
Learning to Sequence
Perils of Caffeine in the Evening
Burning Silo
What Do I Know?
Journeys with Jood
The Fat Lady Sings
Harp & Sword
Pissed Off Patricia
Everybody Knows
Living the Scientific Life
Grumpy Old Man
Shakespeare's Sister
One other point. Last night. Bush. Another argument for euthanasia. "Oh, I forgot our promise to New Orleans!" "Oh, I forgot 'mission accomplished.'" "Oh, I forgot we're in Iraq because of imaginary weapons of mass destruction."
I want him out of office. I want him to stop leading this country to annialation. Thank you, bloggers, make him stop!
I do not have insurmountable, or even particularly burdensome, problems. I suspect most of us don't. But we can certainly allow the stumbles and slips and falls and distractions make us believe we are enduring the unendurable. We are wimps (at least I am). We'll get over the roadbumps...or we'll die in the process. Such is life and death.
I appreciate the following blog posts that have, in one way or another, helped my mood tonight migratge from annoying self-pity to appreciation for others' wisdom. Please, if you read the posts of these often-wise bloggers, thank these good people for their willingness to share their ideas, their thoughts, their prejudices, their aspirations, and their lives. I am grateful to them for occasionally letting me share their thoughts and emotions.
Learning to Sequence
Perils of Caffeine in the Evening
Burning Silo
What Do I Know?
Journeys with Jood
The Fat Lady Sings
Harp & Sword
Pissed Off Patricia
Everybody Knows
Living the Scientific Life
Grumpy Old Man
Shakespeare's Sister
One other point. Last night. Bush. Another argument for euthanasia. "Oh, I forgot our promise to New Orleans!" "Oh, I forgot 'mission accomplished.'" "Oh, I forgot we're in Iraq because of imaginary weapons of mass destruction."
I want him out of office. I want him to stop leading this country to annialation. Thank you, bloggers, make him stop!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Indian Soup...for the Geezer's Soul
Indian soup again. I get into ruts. But they are good ruts.
I made a nice, comforting Chana Dal/Tomato,Garbanzo soup today. A few variations from last week's version, and, I must say, it's spectacular! Last week's version (which I did not describe in this blog) was actually more involved, because I put about half the soup mixture in to a blender and then returned it to the pot. Not this time. And I accelerated the spices a bit. Here's the recipe I used this afternoon...I call it by the unique name of John’s Chana Dal/Garbanzo/Tomato Soup:
1 cup chana dal, cooked for 1 hour in 3 cups water in a large pot
1 tablespoon of olive oil
2 tablespoons of cumin seed
1 tablespoon, minced ginger (1-½ inches fresh ginger)
1 small onion or ½ large onion, diced into large pieces
1 tablespoon, minced garlic (or 3 cloves crushed in garlic press)
½ tablespoon turmeric powder
1 tablespoon ground coriander
½ tablespoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garam masala
2 cans 15oz. tomatoes
1 can 15 oz. garbanzos
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
yoghurt (about 4 tablespoons, or more)
Mix turmeric, coriander, cayenne, coriander, and garam masala together in small bowl and set aside.
In coated saucepan, heat the olive oil until hot but not smoking; put cumin in pan and stir until it begins to toast.
Add onion, garlic & ginger and cook until they begin changing character.
Empty saucepan into potl in which chana dal was cooked (leave the water).
Add cans of tomatoes and garbanzos and the dry spice mix and stir well; heat for about 10-15 minutes
When ready to serve, spoon soup into bowls and squeeze juice of ½ large lime or 1 small lime over soup and then add a dollop of plain yoghurt.
Play with this recipe. It's incredibly easy and tastes wonderful. This week's version was spicier, tarter, better than last week's. I just play with ingredients and volume. I suggest making a double recipe, depending on how many are eating it. I could easily devour a full receipe personally...2 people should double the recipe.
This soup could cause me to become vegetarian. That's the problem with such soups. Devout carnivores could be transformed against their wills.
I made a nice, comforting Chana Dal/Tomato,Garbanzo soup today. A few variations from last week's version, and, I must say, it's spectacular! Last week's version (which I did not describe in this blog) was actually more involved, because I put about half the soup mixture in to a blender and then returned it to the pot. Not this time. And I accelerated the spices a bit. Here's the recipe I used this afternoon...I call it by the unique name of John’s Chana Dal/Garbanzo/Tomato Soup:
1 cup chana dal, cooked for 1 hour in 3 cups water in a large pot
1 tablespoon of olive oil
2 tablespoons of cumin seed
1 tablespoon, minced ginger (1-½ inches fresh ginger)
1 small onion or ½ large onion, diced into large pieces
1 tablespoon, minced garlic (or 3 cloves crushed in garlic press)
½ tablespoon turmeric powder
1 tablespoon ground coriander
½ tablespoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garam masala
2 cans 15oz. tomatoes
1 can 15 oz. garbanzos
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
yoghurt (about 4 tablespoons, or more)
Mix turmeric, coriander, cayenne, coriander, and garam masala together in small bowl and set aside.
In coated saucepan, heat the olive oil until hot but not smoking; put cumin in pan and stir until it begins to toast.
Add onion, garlic & ginger and cook until they begin changing character.
Empty saucepan into potl in which chana dal was cooked (leave the water).
Add cans of tomatoes and garbanzos and the dry spice mix and stir well; heat for about 10-15 minutes
When ready to serve, spoon soup into bowls and squeeze juice of ½ large lime or 1 small lime over soup and then add a dollop of plain yoghurt.
Play with this recipe. It's incredibly easy and tastes wonderful. This week's version was spicier, tarter, better than last week's. I just play with ingredients and volume. I suggest making a double recipe, depending on how many are eating it. I could easily devour a full receipe personally...2 people should double the recipe.
This soup could cause me to become vegetarian. That's the problem with such soups. Devout carnivores could be transformed against their wills.
Friday, January 19, 2007
No Man Is an Island, Entire of Itself
Life goes on, at least for the rest of us. The death of someone close to us has an impact, I think, on our inborn sense of immortality. Each death we experience chips away at that irrational sense of forever.
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
John Donne understood it in a way that I only recently began to understand. Each death we experience conspires to inform us that the next death may be our own. We learn from death around us. We learn that our sense of immortality is wrong-headed. We learn that, despite how it feels to us today...life ends, it always ends.
All of this should not be reason for solemnity. It should be reason for celebration. Celebrate what we have. Live it up! Enjoy what life we have! Give other people the joy they, and we, deserve!
Crap, why does this sense of awareness too often emerge only after it's too late for someone? Or, to be more precise, after it's too late for us to express that sense of joy to someone?
Tears flow so easily sometimes. And that needn't be the case. We...I...just need to be better to people we love while they're still here to love.
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
John Donne understood it in a way that I only recently began to understand. Each death we experience conspires to inform us that the next death may be our own. We learn from death around us. We learn that our sense of immortality is wrong-headed. We learn that, despite how it feels to us today...life ends, it always ends.
All of this should not be reason for solemnity. It should be reason for celebration. Celebrate what we have. Live it up! Enjoy what life we have! Give other people the joy they, and we, deserve!
Crap, why does this sense of awareness too often emerge only after it's too late for someone? Or, to be more precise, after it's too late for us to express that sense of joy to someone?
Tears flow so easily sometimes. And that needn't be the case. We...I...just need to be better to people we love while they're still here to love.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Vacation for the Rant
I'm not much in a blogging mood today, though I've posted a few comments on other blogs. Thanks to those of you who have left comments and condolences on the death of my mother-in-law. I think I'll take a brief respite and give my ranting a vacation, brief though it may be. Bev, Isabelita, kathyf, b-anne...thank you for your kind words. I'll be back after this brief break.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Dealing With It
I've not written much, if anything, about my wife's battle with breast cancer. It's a raw, painful, and unpleasant subject. I should have kept a journal during the time she faced that horrific battle against cancer. She dealt with a total mastectomy of her right breast, followed by a torturous course of horribly debilitating chemotherapy. She came out of it fine. She survived. I survived. I would not have survived a different outcome.
Before she began the chemotherapy, she told me she had decided not to go through it. Hearing her say that...remembering her say it...was like a knife slicing through my heart. I felt like I had died and the pain had just gotten worse. Thankfully, she changed her mind. She went through one of the darkest periods of her life, dealing with a progressively horrific experience, and came through it victorious, successful, having beat the cancer. But it was a godawful time. I can't help becoming quite emotional at the thought of it.
One day, I shall write about my perspective of dealing with my wife's illness. It was so damn hard, in some respects. In other respects, though, it was not a challenge...I just felt like I have to do what I have to do to help her get through it. I was probably not the best person to help her deal with it. That will haunt me forever. I was not as unconditionally supportive as I should have been. I let my own pettiness get in the way of being selfless.
It's still too hard to write much about that time. But I am so fortunate to still have my wife with me. Our love has continued to grow through the tough times. She deserves better than I gave her during that tough time, though. I don't quite know how to deal with that fact.
One day I will write more about how I felt and how I observed my very strong wife deal with something that I probably would have been unable to face with such courage. And now, she faces something else, her mother's mortality, and I don't quite know how to deal with it. She had a different perspective than I. The bottom line is this: her experience, her emotions are the things she needs to deal with, not my interpretation of what is appropriate.
My wife rarely reads my blog. She may never even happen upon this page. I'm not writing this for her. I'm writing it for me, to help me understand and deal with things that are just damn tough for me to deal with.
Before she began the chemotherapy, she told me she had decided not to go through it. Hearing her say that...remembering her say it...was like a knife slicing through my heart. I felt like I had died and the pain had just gotten worse. Thankfully, she changed her mind. She went through one of the darkest periods of her life, dealing with a progressively horrific experience, and came through it victorious, successful, having beat the cancer. But it was a godawful time. I can't help becoming quite emotional at the thought of it.
One day, I shall write about my perspective of dealing with my wife's illness. It was so damn hard, in some respects. In other respects, though, it was not a challenge...I just felt like I have to do what I have to do to help her get through it. I was probably not the best person to help her deal with it. That will haunt me forever. I was not as unconditionally supportive as I should have been. I let my own pettiness get in the way of being selfless.
It's still too hard to write much about that time. But I am so fortunate to still have my wife with me. Our love has continued to grow through the tough times. She deserves better than I gave her during that tough time, though. I don't quite know how to deal with that fact.
One day I will write more about how I felt and how I observed my very strong wife deal with something that I probably would have been unable to face with such courage. And now, she faces something else, her mother's mortality, and I don't quite know how to deal with it. She had a different perspective than I. The bottom line is this: her experience, her emotions are the things she needs to deal with, not my interpretation of what is appropriate.
My wife rarely reads my blog. She may never even happen upon this page. I'm not writing this for her. I'm writing it for me, to help me understand and deal with things that are just damn tough for me to deal with.
Loss
I'm not good at dealing with this sort of thing. My wife's mother is, according to the nurse looking after her, nearing death. A day, maybe two, are left for her, according to the nurse. I asked my wife if she thought she should go back to see her mother right away. She does not think so. I don't pretent to understand others' emotions at such times, but I can be surprised. And I am. I already feel a sense of loss; a very odd feeling, almost surreal.
We're all so different. Were I in my wife's shoes, I would be on a plane tonight. Everyone copes in a personal way.
We're all so different. Were I in my wife's shoes, I would be on a plane tonight. Everyone copes in a personal way.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Ice, Lunch, Blogger Friends, Snow, Soup, etc.
Finally got to the office after 11:00 am today, leaving very late thanks to a coating of ice on our driveway and news media reports of Dallas' crazies driving like lunatics on ice-laden freeways. We picked the right time to go, discovering that most of the worst of it had melted, evaporated, or simply disappeared.
As usual, our Aussie staff member was the first one to brave the frozen streets and made it to the office before anyone else. We felt like we owed her a meal in appreciation, so we took her and our other admin, who has resigned and is leaving this week and who pales badly in comparison to the Aussie, to lunch at a Thai restaurant. We do need to do something special for Aussie...and only Aussie...to express our appreciation and our admiration for her dedication and hard work.
I learned tonight that one of my favorite bloggers has included me in her list of 'recently read, seen, or heard - and enjoyed'> blogs. I am humbled and appreciative of her inclusion. And I urge readers to visit Bev's blog, Burning Silo. You will be enriched by it and exposed to wonderful photos, fantasitic information about the natural world, and...how else to put it...wonder. Take a look all over her website and you will be impressed and appreciative of her sharing nature.
Another of my favorite sites is moving to a new location and I encourage you to move along with it. Phil has decided to exit Salon with his blog, Perils of Caffeine in the Evening, for more attractive environs. My own recent 'update' to a new, unattractive color scheme pales in comparison.
One of my favorite sisters-in-law lent me Snow, by Orham Pamuk, while we were in Mexico over the holidays. I've been intended to read it ever since last Christmas, when I picked up a copy while everyone else napped and read the first chapter and was transported by it. I mention it because I see the book sitting here on my desk, looking accusingly at me for failing to have read it by now, and I know I must return to it soon. My brother and sister-in-law, I am convinced, own most books that have been published since the 18th century. They rent storage facilities in Portland, Oregon, to store massive numbers of books that they are slowly relocating to Mexico to their new home. I once collected books like that, but I got help and have overcome it. It's fun to watch others deal with the dementia, though, and benefit from their investments through literary loans.
I don't recall whether I've mentioned this and am far too lazy to check...I spent a good part of this cold and dreary weekend making soup. I like soup, at least I like soups that like me back. For example, I like the roasted cauliflower soup that I made over the weekend. It should have a different name, because it also included garbanzo beans, lots of spices, and heavy cream (I used low-fat half & half, instead). I also like the wonderful soup that I created by thoroughly abusing someone else's recipe for a basic Chana Dal. I was in no mood for a bland Chana Dal, so I added lots of 'stuff' to it, turning it into something that was delightfully spicy, wonderfully filling, and (probably) very good for me (i.e., low fat, low sugar, low everything else). I'll share it with you if I get sufficient interest (i.e., if anyone asks). Obviously, I was in the mood for Indian soups over the weekend. I am ready to do more.
We watched the 2nd pair of 24 season premieres tonight. I find the program compelling and interesting, while simultaneously a bit racist annoying. But, overall, I really like it. I've watched it for 4-5 years (since the first season), and have discovered that I like it (as does my wife) quite alot, despite the fact that it is so utterly, completely, and fully irrational and improbable. Maybe that's part of the appeal. I rather dislike that it's on FOX, but I'm not willing to boycott a channel only because its political views are horrible.
It's cold, still. According to my computer's report from weatherunderground.com, it's 28 degrees. Windchills take it down to 12 or 13, thanks to a high wind. But it's warm inside in the geezerhood, so I'm happy!
As usual, our Aussie staff member was the first one to brave the frozen streets and made it to the office before anyone else. We felt like we owed her a meal in appreciation, so we took her and our other admin, who has resigned and is leaving this week and who pales badly in comparison to the Aussie, to lunch at a Thai restaurant. We do need to do something special for Aussie...and only Aussie...to express our appreciation and our admiration for her dedication and hard work.
I learned tonight that one of my favorite bloggers has included me in her list of 'recently read, seen, or heard - and enjoyed'> blogs. I am humbled and appreciative of her inclusion. And I urge readers to visit Bev's blog, Burning Silo. You will be enriched by it and exposed to wonderful photos, fantasitic information about the natural world, and...how else to put it...wonder. Take a look all over her website and you will be impressed and appreciative of her sharing nature.
Another of my favorite sites is moving to a new location and I encourage you to move along with it. Phil has decided to exit Salon with his blog, Perils of Caffeine in the Evening, for more attractive environs. My own recent 'update' to a new, unattractive color scheme pales in comparison.
One of my favorite sisters-in-law lent me Snow, by Orham Pamuk, while we were in Mexico over the holidays. I've been intended to read it ever since last Christmas, when I picked up a copy while everyone else napped and read the first chapter and was transported by it. I mention it because I see the book sitting here on my desk, looking accusingly at me for failing to have read it by now, and I know I must return to it soon. My brother and sister-in-law, I am convinced, own most books that have been published since the 18th century. They rent storage facilities in Portland, Oregon, to store massive numbers of books that they are slowly relocating to Mexico to their new home. I once collected books like that, but I got help and have overcome it. It's fun to watch others deal with the dementia, though, and benefit from their investments through literary loans.
I don't recall whether I've mentioned this and am far too lazy to check...I spent a good part of this cold and dreary weekend making soup. I like soup, at least I like soups that like me back. For example, I like the roasted cauliflower soup that I made over the weekend. It should have a different name, because it also included garbanzo beans, lots of spices, and heavy cream (I used low-fat half & half, instead). I also like the wonderful soup that I created by thoroughly abusing someone else's recipe for a basic Chana Dal. I was in no mood for a bland Chana Dal, so I added lots of 'stuff' to it, turning it into something that was delightfully spicy, wonderfully filling, and (probably) very good for me (i.e., low fat, low sugar, low everything else). I'll share it with you if I get sufficient interest (i.e., if anyone asks). Obviously, I was in the mood for Indian soups over the weekend. I am ready to do more.
We watched the 2nd pair of 24 season premieres tonight. I find the program compelling and interesting, while simultaneously a bit racist annoying. But, overall, I really like it. I've watched it for 4-5 years (since the first season), and have discovered that I like it (as does my wife) quite alot, despite the fact that it is so utterly, completely, and fully irrational and improbable. Maybe that's part of the appeal. I rather dislike that it's on FOX, but I'm not willing to boycott a channel only because its political views are horrible.
It's cold, still. According to my computer's report from weatherunderground.com, it's 28 degrees. Windchills take it down to 12 or 13, thanks to a high wind. But it's warm inside in the geezerhood, so I'm happy!
Chill
Nothing new on my mother-in-law. I hope that means she is improving or, at least, not getting worse. I'm stuck in my house due to an inch of ice on my steep driveway, but will make an effort soon to go in to the office. My clients don't approve when I am unavailable. It's particularly unsettling for me this morning because I cannot log in to my office computer using GoToMyPC...my office computer must have conked out. So, in I go, in just a short while, as soon as my wife is showered and ready to face a frigid, frigid day.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Twins
I do not know how to say "caterpillar" in several languages. Moreover, if you ask me how to say "waffle" in Portuguese, I will be unable to respond with the correct information. I can't be unique in this. Isn't there anyone else out there who shares these characteristics with me?
And how about this? Do you agree the following sentence is constructed well?
"We are a lot alike, but in different ways."
But do you also agree that it makes no sense?
See, we're almost twins!
And how about this? Do you agree the following sentence is constructed well?
"We are a lot alike, but in different ways."
But do you also agree that it makes no sense?
See, we're almost twins!
Memories of Flight
I used to fly much more frequently than I do now. My less-frequent forays into the sky do not make me long for more air travel. Quite the opposite, they make me appreciate how much of a pain the ass travel has always been for me and they make me appreciate a schedule and a set of responsibilities that keep me grounded.
Let me tell you a brief story of how it was for me, braving the crowds of travelers and the people who, to misuse a word, served them.
I make my way through the plane to my seat, as always, near the rear of the aircraft. Along the way, I encounter a dozen or so people who apparently have never flown before and who do not realize that there is not sufficient room in the overhead compartments to stow their steamer trunks and baby grand pianos. These are the same people who express dismay that the airline did not plan for stowage of carry-on essentials such as skis, fishing poles, step-ladders, sofa-beds, and strollers designed for fourteen year-old quintuplets. Personally, I would like to see the airline escort these people off the airplane and out to the tarmac where they and their belongings would be bulldozed into a waiting compost pit, but the airlines have never asked my opinion on the matter.
Why I allow myself to be persuaded it is safe to enter a massive steel tube that will, shortly, be launched into the skies by massive engines powered by highly explosive fuel that flows through tubes in the wings just a few feet from me I will never know. It is an act of blind faith that all of us, my fellow travelers and I, entrust our safety to the ability of this huge hunk of heavy steel to rise into the heavens and stay there and to someone in a tiny room at the front of the plane. As we’ve all heard, there are times when occupants of that little room decide to ingest massive amounts of alcohol before they fly. That always frightens me, but I fly nonetheless.
What I do know is that there is no point in worrying, once the plane pulls away from the gate. At that point, I no longer have any control. If the drunken pilot decides to do cartwheels in the sky, then I will simply have to cope with it. If a wing rips off and flames rush through the open gash in the sides of the jet, I can only hope the pain is brief.
One thing I can look forward to when the doors shut and the engines rev is the interactions among passengers with the flight attendants. Increasingly over the years, I’ve noticed that flight attendants are tending to be older, their faces harder, and their attitudes more and more surly. My guess is that they have finally come to the realization that they have dedicated the bulk of their careers to being airborne waitresses and they have become quite unhappy with their career choices. Now before you misunderstand, I do value flight attendants’ role in passenger safety…but I cannot understand why the airlines have turned them into the flying equivalent of burger joint car-hops. At any rate, their interactions with other passengers is entertaining, in an ugly and sordid sort of way.
“Sir, please take your seat,” the flight attendant whose name badge reads “Ms. Carson” says to a 30-something guy who, before boarding the plane drank the equivalent of a quart of scotch for breakfast and who is busy entertaining his buddies with loud, crude, and abrasive racist jokes. He turns to her and says, “Yes maam!” and reaches around behind him with his hands open wide and grabs his butt cheeks. “Sir,” the flight attendant says, “I’m not joking. Either sit down or I’ll have you removed from the plane!” The drunken target of her ire makes it worse: “You and who else? I’d love to wrestle with you!” Ms. Carson apparently had a bad night, because she is not finding the humor in the morning drunk. She strides toward him at almost full run, her eyes wide open and the veins in her neck bulging and pumping. “Sir! Don’t make me say it again. Take your seat or I will have you removed!” Drunk didn’t quite understand that she was serious, so he smiled broadly and said, “Say ‘please!’” Ms. Carson disappeared toward the front of the plane and, in a nanosecond, was back, this time escorted by what looked to be two football players and the pilot.
Never willing to fly with an empty seat when not absolutely necessary, the airline escorted someone else on-board to fill the seat formerly belonging to a now ground-bound drunk.
After the mass of steel was well beyond the safety of the ground, Ms. Carson announced that the flight had been delayed due to an uncooperative passenger who had to be removed. “And I’d like you to know that I’m not beyond having any other uncooperative passengers ejected en route, so if you’d like to arrive safely at your destination, I will appreciate your cooperation.” She then informed us that the result of the delay would be that there would be no in-flight service.
A passenger in first-class, obviously the only one who actually paid for the seat with money instead of miles, complained to Ms. Carson that it would take the same amount of time to get to the destination whether or not there had been a disruptive passenger. Ms. Carson’s eyes grew wide and her vein bulged again as she scowled at the impudent flyer and said, “Sir, you can take that up with the airline after we land!” and stormed away, her frizzled hair looking for all the world like rusty steel springs sprouting from her head, all jumbled and bouncing and dangerously sharp.
After we landed, the flight attendants walked off the plane first, leaving a bewildered ground crewman at the door of the aircraft, mumbling “bye-bye, bye-bye” to the passengers as they exited the plane. Of course, it took me 35 minutes to get off, because a number of people in front of me had to call for assistance to remove their luggage from the overhead wracks, frequently requiring the jaws of life to extract the larger pieces.
So, on that flight and on many more like it, I was able to soak in the luxury of travel, the beautiful spirit of my fellow travelers, the caring attitudes of the flight attendants.
Let me tell you a brief story of how it was for me, braving the crowds of travelers and the people who, to misuse a word, served them.
I make my way through the plane to my seat, as always, near the rear of the aircraft. Along the way, I encounter a dozen or so people who apparently have never flown before and who do not realize that there is not sufficient room in the overhead compartments to stow their steamer trunks and baby grand pianos. These are the same people who express dismay that the airline did not plan for stowage of carry-on essentials such as skis, fishing poles, step-ladders, sofa-beds, and strollers designed for fourteen year-old quintuplets. Personally, I would like to see the airline escort these people off the airplane and out to the tarmac where they and their belongings would be bulldozed into a waiting compost pit, but the airlines have never asked my opinion on the matter.
Why I allow myself to be persuaded it is safe to enter a massive steel tube that will, shortly, be launched into the skies by massive engines powered by highly explosive fuel that flows through tubes in the wings just a few feet from me I will never know. It is an act of blind faith that all of us, my fellow travelers and I, entrust our safety to the ability of this huge hunk of heavy steel to rise into the heavens and stay there and to someone in a tiny room at the front of the plane. As we’ve all heard, there are times when occupants of that little room decide to ingest massive amounts of alcohol before they fly. That always frightens me, but I fly nonetheless.
What I do know is that there is no point in worrying, once the plane pulls away from the gate. At that point, I no longer have any control. If the drunken pilot decides to do cartwheels in the sky, then I will simply have to cope with it. If a wing rips off and flames rush through the open gash in the sides of the jet, I can only hope the pain is brief.
One thing I can look forward to when the doors shut and the engines rev is the interactions among passengers with the flight attendants. Increasingly over the years, I’ve noticed that flight attendants are tending to be older, their faces harder, and their attitudes more and more surly. My guess is that they have finally come to the realization that they have dedicated the bulk of their careers to being airborne waitresses and they have become quite unhappy with their career choices. Now before you misunderstand, I do value flight attendants’ role in passenger safety…but I cannot understand why the airlines have turned them into the flying equivalent of burger joint car-hops. At any rate, their interactions with other passengers is entertaining, in an ugly and sordid sort of way.
“Sir, please take your seat,” the flight attendant whose name badge reads “Ms. Carson” says to a 30-something guy who, before boarding the plane drank the equivalent of a quart of scotch for breakfast and who is busy entertaining his buddies with loud, crude, and abrasive racist jokes. He turns to her and says, “Yes maam!” and reaches around behind him with his hands open wide and grabs his butt cheeks. “Sir,” the flight attendant says, “I’m not joking. Either sit down or I’ll have you removed from the plane!” The drunken target of her ire makes it worse: “You and who else? I’d love to wrestle with you!” Ms. Carson apparently had a bad night, because she is not finding the humor in the morning drunk. She strides toward him at almost full run, her eyes wide open and the veins in her neck bulging and pumping. “Sir! Don’t make me say it again. Take your seat or I will have you removed!” Drunk didn’t quite understand that she was serious, so he smiled broadly and said, “Say ‘please!’” Ms. Carson disappeared toward the front of the plane and, in a nanosecond, was back, this time escorted by what looked to be two football players and the pilot.
Never willing to fly with an empty seat when not absolutely necessary, the airline escorted someone else on-board to fill the seat formerly belonging to a now ground-bound drunk.
After the mass of steel was well beyond the safety of the ground, Ms. Carson announced that the flight had been delayed due to an uncooperative passenger who had to be removed. “And I’d like you to know that I’m not beyond having any other uncooperative passengers ejected en route, so if you’d like to arrive safely at your destination, I will appreciate your cooperation.” She then informed us that the result of the delay would be that there would be no in-flight service.
A passenger in first-class, obviously the only one who actually paid for the seat with money instead of miles, complained to Ms. Carson that it would take the same amount of time to get to the destination whether or not there had been a disruptive passenger. Ms. Carson’s eyes grew wide and her vein bulged again as she scowled at the impudent flyer and said, “Sir, you can take that up with the airline after we land!” and stormed away, her frizzled hair looking for all the world like rusty steel springs sprouting from her head, all jumbled and bouncing and dangerously sharp.
After we landed, the flight attendants walked off the plane first, leaving a bewildered ground crewman at the door of the aircraft, mumbling “bye-bye, bye-bye” to the passengers as they exited the plane. Of course, it took me 35 minutes to get off, because a number of people in front of me had to call for assistance to remove their luggage from the overhead wracks, frequently requiring the jaws of life to extract the larger pieces.
So, on that flight and on many more like it, I was able to soak in the luxury of travel, the beautiful spirit of my fellow travelers, the caring attitudes of the flight attendants.
Impeach Bush Immediately...Clear His Weeds
I've made it a point to watch and listen on the sidelines for awhile now, hoping that George Bush would miraculously prove me wrong about his competence. His decisions and his words have had the opposite effect. My self-discipline cannot hold up to the escalation in stupidity that Bush is demonstrating.
While I felt that many of the recommendations of the Iraq Study Group were silly and frail and pointless, I felt that many of its messages had merit. Bush listened to none of them and, instead, has decided on the worst possible strategy for taking his idiotic misadventures to new depths. Committing an additional 20,000 troops to Iraq without a political plan to bring this nightmare of presidential incompetence to closure is evidence that the man is deeply, deeply stupid, arrogant, and utterly incompetent. That is embarrassing to this country, but we can live with embarrassment. We cannot live with the other consequences of his lunacy, which include massive ruptures throughout the Middle East, sectarian violence spreading like wildfire throughout the region and into our own streets, and spending away our resources so there are none left to support our troops and none left with which to govern our country.
I believe it is time for Congress and the American people to do what only a few months ago I thought ludicrous to even hope for. We need this man and all his henchmen to be removed from office and we need Congress to immediately impose controls that will prevent the Bush plan from wrecking this country. The two should happen simultaneously. I do not profess to have a complete understanding of conditions under which impeachment can be done, but I feel absolutely confident that the conditions exist to warrant impeachment now (for god's sake, if Clinton could have been impeached for engaging in and lying about a tryst with an intern, surely deliberate lies that resulted in thousands upon thousands of deaths is enough, you think?). We truly need more than just Bush to go...we need all those around him, including his entire cabinet, to go. Whether they resign by choice or are forced out by Congressional action, we need them gone. And we need a plan in place to try to rescue this country from its current path toward oblivion.
While there may still be time...maybe weeks of time...left, Congress needs to get busy. For the time being, forget Medicare, forget health insurance issues, forget even global warming....just get the bastards out of office so we have a chance to save this planet.
While I felt that many of the recommendations of the Iraq Study Group were silly and frail and pointless, I felt that many of its messages had merit. Bush listened to none of them and, instead, has decided on the worst possible strategy for taking his idiotic misadventures to new depths. Committing an additional 20,000 troops to Iraq without a political plan to bring this nightmare of presidential incompetence to closure is evidence that the man is deeply, deeply stupid, arrogant, and utterly incompetent. That is embarrassing to this country, but we can live with embarrassment. We cannot live with the other consequences of his lunacy, which include massive ruptures throughout the Middle East, sectarian violence spreading like wildfire throughout the region and into our own streets, and spending away our resources so there are none left to support our troops and none left with which to govern our country.
I believe it is time for Congress and the American people to do what only a few months ago I thought ludicrous to even hope for. We need this man and all his henchmen to be removed from office and we need Congress to immediately impose controls that will prevent the Bush plan from wrecking this country. The two should happen simultaneously. I do not profess to have a complete understanding of conditions under which impeachment can be done, but I feel absolutely confident that the conditions exist to warrant impeachment now (for god's sake, if Clinton could have been impeached for engaging in and lying about a tryst with an intern, surely deliberate lies that resulted in thousands upon thousands of deaths is enough, you think?). We truly need more than just Bush to go...we need all those around him, including his entire cabinet, to go. Whether they resign by choice or are forced out by Congressional action, we need them gone. And we need a plan in place to try to rescue this country from its current path toward oblivion.
While there may still be time...maybe weeks of time...left, Congress needs to get busy. For the time being, forget Medicare, forget health insurance issues, forget even global warming....just get the bastards out of office so we have a chance to save this planet.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
A Modest Update
Don't leave...you're at the right blog! I just decided to spend my ice-storm-induced lock-in doing something productive, so I updated the appearance of my blog. I may do more, but didn't want to overdo it the first time...and I'm not sure I am crazy about the color scheme, but I'll let it settle for awhile to see if it grows on me.
Buddha Blogging
Another weekend morning. At this early hour, it's me and the sound of hard rain falling keeping one another company. I woke up feeling like I was being baked, even after I'd pushed all the covers off of me. The cold weather has drawn the temperatures inside the house far enough down that the heater kicks in periodically, making for a roller-coaster of temperatures from sublimely cool to ungodly hot.
Last night, despite our intent to make tilapia filets for dinner, we weren't up to it. So, despite the rain and colde, we opted to trade some of the pesos left over from a recent trip to Mexico for a pizza at Pizza Patrón. Despite their advertisements saying they will take pesos and give change in U.S. dollars, the young woman with a gold stud in her lower lip did not seem to understand that. She wanted us to get another pizza in lieu of change. I protested and she went to get the manager, who explained to her how to use the chart in front of her. For our 200 pesos, we got a large supreme pizza and about $12 in change. Pizza wasn't bad...not the best I've had, but the price was right.
My morning coffee tastes particularly good this morning, for some reason, leading me to believe this is going to be a good day. The little cordovan-colored figurine of Buddha sitting on my desk in front of me seems almost to nod in agreement. Speaking of Buddha, I'll share this photo from my trip to Beijing...this very large figure was in the entryway to a huge restaurant I visited while I was there.
We'll stay indoors for most, if not all, of the day and perhaps get some chores done that I too often postpone for reasons with little or no merit. I got started on the right foot, though...the dirty dishes are all in the dishwasher or have been washed and put away and the kitchen counters are clear. Good start.
Last night, despite our intent to make tilapia filets for dinner, we weren't up to it. So, despite the rain and colde, we opted to trade some of the pesos left over from a recent trip to Mexico for a pizza at Pizza Patrón. Despite their advertisements saying they will take pesos and give change in U.S. dollars, the young woman with a gold stud in her lower lip did not seem to understand that. She wanted us to get another pizza in lieu of change. I protested and she went to get the manager, who explained to her how to use the chart in front of her. For our 200 pesos, we got a large supreme pizza and about $12 in change. Pizza wasn't bad...not the best I've had, but the price was right.
My morning coffee tastes particularly good this morning, for some reason, leading me to believe this is going to be a good day. The little cordovan-colored figurine of Buddha sitting on my desk in front of me seems almost to nod in agreement. Speaking of Buddha, I'll share this photo from my trip to Beijing...this very large figure was in the entryway to a huge restaurant I visited while I was there.
We'll stay indoors for most, if not all, of the day and perhaps get some chores done that I too often postpone for reasons with little or no merit. I got started on the right foot, though...the dirty dishes are all in the dishwasher or have been washed and put away and the kitchen counters are clear. Good start.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Short
I sometimes think that my posts contain valuable information whose relevance depends on one's circumstance. For example:
The other day, I found a motel for sale in Tucumcari, New Mexico and I posted a reference to it here. A year or so ago, I posted a recollection of a trip through Tucumcari. Taken together, the information I posted and the links can be valuable...again, depending on your needs.
The other day, I found a motel for sale in Tucumcari, New Mexico and I posted a reference to it here. A year or so ago, I posted a recollection of a trip through Tucumcari. Taken together, the information I posted and the links can be valuable...again, depending on your needs.
Winter Rain
Today has been, and continues to be, dark, gray and dreary. Late this afternoon, heavy rain started to fall and has not let up since. A flash flood watch is in effect until later this evening. I can imagine several areas of town that probably have already begun to flood. This nastiness will be followed, we're told by the local meteorologists, by very cold temperatures (for Dallas), dipping into the low thirties tonight and never rising above freezing tomorrow and Sunday. We should expect temperatures in the twenties or lower for much of next week. A winter storm watch (not yet a warning) is in effect until late Sunday. They tell us to expect ice pellets and sleet and nasty, slick roads all weekend. It sounds to me like the time to stay indoors and get wrapped up against the cold.
This turn of events may derail my plans to get out and about this weekend. I had no particular destination in mind, I just wanted to get out of the house and wander a bit, perhaps explore some funky neighborhoods and visit some bookstores. Not likely this weekend.
So, we'll just plan on nesting here at the house and hope to hear that my wife's mother has improved after getting treatment at the hospital in Santa Rosa, CA.
I think sleeping in, or at least having time to really relax (I tend not to sleep in, particularly not on weekends), is a good thing to plan on this weekend.
This turn of events may derail my plans to get out and about this weekend. I had no particular destination in mind, I just wanted to get out of the house and wander a bit, perhaps explore some funky neighborhoods and visit some bookstores. Not likely this weekend.
So, we'll just plan on nesting here at the house and hope to hear that my wife's mother has improved after getting treatment at the hospital in Santa Rosa, CA.
I think sleeping in, or at least having time to really relax (I tend not to sleep in, particularly not on weekends), is a good thing to plan on this weekend.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Dealing with the Inevitable
My wife got a call from her sister today, informing her that their mother had a gallbladder infection that the medical staff of the nursing home could not deal with. The 'do not resuscitate' order in my mother-in-law's living will is very strict...it provides that absolutely no unusual measures be taken to sustain her life. Apparently, in this case, the interpretation is that she was not even to be taken to the hospital to have antibiotics administered. My wife and her sister conferred and agreed that was not really their mother's intent. She would not have wished to have basic treatment withheld that would deal with a painful infection. But both of them have strong beliefs that, when the time comes, they should not intervene to prolong her life. That's tough and painful and makes tears flow. My emotions are always just under, if not on top of, the surface, so my own tears fell when my wife came in to see me today, trying to stay composed but terribly upset at what could be the iminent death of her mother. That's very, very hard to deal with.
So, there is worry and concern and wishing and hoping going on tonight in my house, and in a 2-story house on a little island just north of Boston, where my sister-in-law lives.
My mother-in-law is far away and she has been essentially incommunicado for a couple of years, due to a stroke. She is being cared for in California and I believe her care is first rate. But when things get shaken up, like today, lots of fears surface. Is is the right place? Did we do the right thing? Will we do the right thing? Losing a parent is gut-wrenching...at least it was for me. I still have a hard time controlling my emotions when I think back to the times my father, and then my mother, died. Love is a deep, deep emotion, one that ignores our most powerful efforts to remain stoic. Love does not 'truck' stoicism. And it's a damn good thing.
It's odd that I would have written, within the last day or two, of someone dealing with those last moments of life. I sometimes understand how coincidence breeds belief in the most unbelievable things.
Tonight's not the night for me to write much that I want to leave behind. So I'll pause here and think about what I do want to leave as my legacy, later. And I'll wipe away those tears that have accumulated as I contemplate what is going on in my wife's family.
So, there is worry and concern and wishing and hoping going on tonight in my house, and in a 2-story house on a little island just north of Boston, where my sister-in-law lives.
My mother-in-law is far away and she has been essentially incommunicado for a couple of years, due to a stroke. She is being cared for in California and I believe her care is first rate. But when things get shaken up, like today, lots of fears surface. Is is the right place? Did we do the right thing? Will we do the right thing? Losing a parent is gut-wrenching...at least it was for me. I still have a hard time controlling my emotions when I think back to the times my father, and then my mother, died. Love is a deep, deep emotion, one that ignores our most powerful efforts to remain stoic. Love does not 'truck' stoicism. And it's a damn good thing.
It's odd that I would have written, within the last day or two, of someone dealing with those last moments of life. I sometimes understand how coincidence breeds belief in the most unbelievable things.
Tonight's not the night for me to write much that I want to leave behind. So I'll pause here and think about what I do want to leave as my legacy, later. And I'll wipe away those tears that have accumulated as I contemplate what is going on in my wife's family.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Coughs...Congratulations
Last night's post...my unexpected fiction...bubbled out without much thought. On reading and rereading it, I decided there is much good to be gained from self-critique. I will, before long, expand the piece a bit and correct some rather glaring problems with it. I won't expand it by much, because the intent is for it to be a short burst of intense emotion. I want it to be something worth publishing, but I am not looking at it as the seed of a short story or a book. Instead, my intent is for it to be a vignette that, if successful, will cause the reader to think and, if I'm particularly successful, cause the reader to become emotional in some way.
It's damn near impossible to develop a character is such a short piece, but my revisions will attempt to do just that. The revised piece will capture, I hope, through presenting select instances of the guy's experiences and memories, a snapshot of what defines him at his core. I want this little piece to be powerful, evocative, and emotionally charged.
Those few paragraphs, in and of themselves, are not important and won't be...except to me. I want to massage them until they merit admiration. When I think I have been successful, I will present them here again and wait to hear...silence?...coughs?...congratulations?
It's damn near impossible to develop a character is such a short piece, but my revisions will attempt to do just that. The revised piece will capture, I hope, through presenting select instances of the guy's experiences and memories, a snapshot of what defines him at his core. I want this little piece to be powerful, evocative, and emotionally charged.
Those few paragraphs, in and of themselves, are not important and won't be...except to me. I want to massage them until they merit admiration. When I think I have been successful, I will present them here again and wait to hear...silence?...coughs?...congratulations?
Pattern
Work. Eat. Eat. Work. Eat. Rest. I think I've found the behavior pattern responsible for my waist size. Will work on that.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
That Last, Long Sleep
More of my efforts at fiction....
He tried everything he knew to keep his eyes open. Every wave of exhaustion that swept over him made it harder and harder to fight, but he fought hard. He did not want that last, long sleep to come. He wasn't afraid, but he felt a deep, aching sense of loneliness coming on and he thought it would just get worse if he allowed himself to close his eyes.
Finally, he couldn't fight it any longer. His eyes slowly closed and he felt the energy in his body slip gently away. There was no pain, no discomfort, only relief, though he didn't quite understand the sense of relief. It was more a sense of bending to the desire to rest, to give in, to give up.
He was sad, very sad, as he felt his will lose the battle it had fought for so long. There would be no more conversations, no more arguments, no more laughter and tears and pride. There would be nothing. Once his eyes shut, there would be blackness and nothingness and that would be it. He knew his children would still be there, that their feelings and their emotions would roil on. But for him, the world would end when he shut his eyes. He was sad. He didn't want that to happen. He didn't want his children to feel the heartache and anguish of his loss. But he was almost ready. He was ready, except for the permanance of it all...nothing, forever.
When the time finally came, he didn't even know it. He had lost consciousness moments earlier, silently weeping at the thought of his children without a father.
So it was for an old atheist. Unlike his friends who felt certain they would go to a better place, he was certain he would go nowhere. He would just stop being. Yet his friends who had gone before him were just as sad as he when the final moments came. All of them sensed, finally, that they were near the end of everything. They would go nowhere. It would all just be over. And those who remained would be the only ones who cared. And they would be gone one day, too. So what did it all mean? The answer came just before he took his last breath, but by then, it was too late.
He tried everything he knew to keep his eyes open. Every wave of exhaustion that swept over him made it harder and harder to fight, but he fought hard. He did not want that last, long sleep to come. He wasn't afraid, but he felt a deep, aching sense of loneliness coming on and he thought it would just get worse if he allowed himself to close his eyes.
Finally, he couldn't fight it any longer. His eyes slowly closed and he felt the energy in his body slip gently away. There was no pain, no discomfort, only relief, though he didn't quite understand the sense of relief. It was more a sense of bending to the desire to rest, to give in, to give up.
He was sad, very sad, as he felt his will lose the battle it had fought for so long. There would be no more conversations, no more arguments, no more laughter and tears and pride. There would be nothing. Once his eyes shut, there would be blackness and nothingness and that would be it. He knew his children would still be there, that their feelings and their emotions would roil on. But for him, the world would end when he shut his eyes. He was sad. He didn't want that to happen. He didn't want his children to feel the heartache and anguish of his loss. But he was almost ready. He was ready, except for the permanance of it all...nothing, forever.
When the time finally came, he didn't even know it. He had lost consciousness moments earlier, silently weeping at the thought of his children without a father.
So it was for an old atheist. Unlike his friends who felt certain they would go to a better place, he was certain he would go nowhere. He would just stop being. Yet his friends who had gone before him were just as sad as he when the final moments came. All of them sensed, finally, that they were near the end of everything. They would go nowhere. It would all just be over. And those who remained would be the only ones who cared. And they would be gone one day, too. So what did it all mean? The answer came just before he took his last breath, but by then, it was too late.
Stuff
'Stuff.' It's not what makes me happy. I may like 'stuff' sometimes, but happiness comes from someplace else.
Happiness comes from what I think and what I feel and who I'm with. That's a hard concept to grasp for an old fart who grew up believing that money and the 'stuff' it would buy would solve all my (and the world's) problems.
At the moment, my work is not making me happy...I either chose the wrong field or I am one who needs new fields from time to time. I think it's the latter. I enjoyed doing what I do for 25+ years, more or less. Sure, I had times I hated it, but mostly, it was the right thing for me, most of that time. Now, it's not. I need to move on but, as many who have run headlong into their mid-50s might know, it's become tough to do. So, I'll either adapt or I'll figure out a way to move on and deal with the attendant issues such as discarding a business, coping with cancelled contracts, etc. Time will tell.
Back to happiness and 'stuff.' I've actually made a 180 degree adjustment in my attitude about 'stuff.' I look around me, at all the crap my wife and I have accumulated during a marriage that has so far lasted 27 years and I wonder: what in the hell were we thinking? The flexibility we both always treasured gets compromised when you have to deal with 'stuff.' We opted not to have children, in part, because we didn't want the inflexibility that comes as part of the baggage. But we have succumbed to the temptatation to acquire and accumulate 'things.'
Fortunately for us, despite having more than we need, we have not morphed into living, breathing, accumulators. We can, on occasion, get rid of things…even things we’ve had for years. I think we both comprehend that we’ll both be gone one day and our material possessions will have even less value and importance than they do today. So why get overly attached?
Just before my wife got home tonight, a fleeting thought went through my mind for no apparent reason, but it relates to the theme of this post. The thought had something to do with collecting things and wondering what to do with them…build a room, rent a storage facility…do nothing? It seems arrogant, in my present state of mind, to collect useless crap when people the world over could be sustained for days or weeks with the value attached to the things we collect. It’s immoral, but it’s so hard not to succumb to it. After all, we’re just people. And we can’t solve the world’s problems. And once we started down that slippery slope of what is moral and what is not, we’d discover that almost nothing we do is moral.
Happiness comes from what I think and what I feel and who I'm with. That's a hard concept to grasp for an old fart who grew up believing that money and the 'stuff' it would buy would solve all my (and the world's) problems.
At the moment, my work is not making me happy...I either chose the wrong field or I am one who needs new fields from time to time. I think it's the latter. I enjoyed doing what I do for 25+ years, more or less. Sure, I had times I hated it, but mostly, it was the right thing for me, most of that time. Now, it's not. I need to move on but, as many who have run headlong into their mid-50s might know, it's become tough to do. So, I'll either adapt or I'll figure out a way to move on and deal with the attendant issues such as discarding a business, coping with cancelled contracts, etc. Time will tell.
Back to happiness and 'stuff.' I've actually made a 180 degree adjustment in my attitude about 'stuff.' I look around me, at all the crap my wife and I have accumulated during a marriage that has so far lasted 27 years and I wonder: what in the hell were we thinking? The flexibility we both always treasured gets compromised when you have to deal with 'stuff.' We opted not to have children, in part, because we didn't want the inflexibility that comes as part of the baggage. But we have succumbed to the temptatation to acquire and accumulate 'things.'
Fortunately for us, despite having more than we need, we have not morphed into living, breathing, accumulators. We can, on occasion, get rid of things…even things we’ve had for years. I think we both comprehend that we’ll both be gone one day and our material possessions will have even less value and importance than they do today. So why get overly attached?
Just before my wife got home tonight, a fleeting thought went through my mind for no apparent reason, but it relates to the theme of this post. The thought had something to do with collecting things and wondering what to do with them…build a room, rent a storage facility…do nothing? It seems arrogant, in my present state of mind, to collect useless crap when people the world over could be sustained for days or weeks with the value attached to the things we collect. It’s immoral, but it’s so hard not to succumb to it. After all, we’re just people. And we can’t solve the world’s problems. And once we started down that slippery slope of what is moral and what is not, we’d discover that almost nothing we do is moral.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Sequence
During our recent trip to Mexico, we had occasion to play a game called Sequence, which is a combo strategy/card/board game that my brother and his wife had on hand. Ordinarily, I'm not one to enjoy card games...or board games...not even a little. But I got the fever with Sequence. The only problem was that the board on which the game is played has images of tiny little playing cards (the game's premise, simple though it is, is too involved for me to explain here). Geezers, like me, with poor eyesight have a hell of a time seeing the cards.
I liked the game enough that I ordered the geezer version, with a much larger board and much larger card images. It was delivered by FedEx today, so I see a game in our near future. All we need now are some people to play with...though it is suitable for two people. I think it's probably more fun with at least four, though, because players have to try to anticipate what their partners' hands are and what strategies they are employing to either win the game or block their opponents.
Off topic: when we arrived at DFW airport on New Year's Day, I exchanged my Mexican pesos for U.S. dollars...but discovered later than I missed 320 pesos (equivalent to about $29 US) that were hidden in my wallet. Today, I heard that Pizza Patrón, a pizza chain that caters to Hispanics (by locating in Hispanic neighborhoods), has announced that it will, effective today, accept pesos in payment at it restaurants. I like the idea...I think it's a brilliant marketing ploy. I've heard that the company is getting negative feedback, saying the company is encouraging illegal immigration (that is an amazing stretch of logic). But what they are doing is differentiating themselves from their competition and making a emotional investment in their customers. Paco Underhill, the retail guru, would definitely approve, and I do, too.
I liked the game enough that I ordered the geezer version, with a much larger board and much larger card images. It was delivered by FedEx today, so I see a game in our near future. All we need now are some people to play with...though it is suitable for two people. I think it's probably more fun with at least four, though, because players have to try to anticipate what their partners' hands are and what strategies they are employing to either win the game or block their opponents.
Off topic: when we arrived at DFW airport on New Year's Day, I exchanged my Mexican pesos for U.S. dollars...but discovered later than I missed 320 pesos (equivalent to about $29 US) that were hidden in my wallet. Today, I heard that Pizza Patrón, a pizza chain that caters to Hispanics (by locating in Hispanic neighborhoods), has announced that it will, effective today, accept pesos in payment at it restaurants. I like the idea...I think it's a brilliant marketing ploy. I've heard that the company is getting negative feedback, saying the company is encouraging illegal immigration (that is an amazing stretch of logic). But what they are doing is differentiating themselves from their competition and making a emotional investment in their customers. Paco Underhill, the retail guru, would definitely approve, and I do, too.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Information Wandering
I finally arose at about 5:30 this morning, after first awakening and then drifting back to sleep at 1:30 and then again several more times. By 5:30, I was ready for the day. Unlike yesterday, when I crept out of bed without a thought of showering or shaving, I decided to start the day clean and clean-shaven. After making myself as presentable as possible, I made a pot of coffee, washed yesterday's dishes (another piece of evidence of my slovenly lifestyle...yesterday's dishes), and went to the computer.
I was pleased to read a comment posted by Bev of Burning Silo, responding to my post about the 5 things I commit to do this year. She has a few commitments of her own that I find laudable. Then, I began my weekend morning tradition of reading, online, various news stories from papers around the world. The fact that I'd just read comments from Bev, who's from Canada, prompted me to start my trek there.
I opened the Globe and Mail website and came across this article that just wrenches my gut. An animator/filmmaker and her husband, who returned to New Orleans at her urging, were among the victims of the recent upsurge in violence in that city. Helen Hill was killed and her husband, Paul Gailiunas, a doctor, was shot four times. When these tragedies--so long after Hurricane Katrina has passed--are personalized through stories such as this one in the Globe and Mail, it makes me think back to the promises that were made to the nation and to the city of New Orleans by George Bush. Like so many other things he has uttered, his promises were empty lies. And people's lives are shattered, in ruins, or lost completely because the city has been effectively abandoned.
Farther south, in Chile, large international corporate interests (in one project, Swiss, Canadian, Spanish, and Chilean companies are involved) continue to work to build dams to generate vast amounts of hydroelectric power, with the potential of devastating enormous expanses of pristine rivers and river basins. Who cares? It's way down in Chile, so why should it matter? Unfortunately, I suspect there are a lot of people who feel that way.
My Internet wanderings next took me to Venezuela, where I read an interesting interview in which the interviewee (Heinz Dieterich) argues (though I believe in a fundamentally specious way) that the foundations have been laid for Socialism of the 21st Century. I did find the article interesting, with its argument that replacing price, the 'regulating principle of the market econonomy,' with value, the 'regulating principle of the socialist economy,' is the key to the transition to 21st Century socialism. The definition of value the guy uses, the amount of labor used to produce products, disregards nonlabor components of production, e.g., investments in equipment, etc. The key to socialism, he says, is to attach equal value to things that are traded or sold...so, for example, if I wanted to buy a watch, I would pay for it with either something that an equal amount of labor went into creating as that which went into creating the watch or with a monetized version of that labor time. If you read Spanish and have an interest in the topic, here's a link to a paper that sets forth the principles of Socialism of the 21st Century.
After perusing the news and a few other items of note, I began to explore motels for sale...not entirely sure why. I found many of them for sale in the southwest, typically at prices in the neighborhood of $3 million for 80 unit properties, which sounds rather steep to me. In the unlikely event that readers of this blog have an interest in buying motels, here are some links that may be of interest: first link; second link; this one interests me...only $140,000 for a hotel in Tucumcari, NM, across the street from Dels!
OK, last item. I have an interest in information about Mexico, so when I found the National Institute of Geographical Statistics and Information, I was delighted. It's all in Spanish, but with enough time and perserverance, I can wade through it and get lots of interesting information.
I was pleased to read a comment posted by Bev of Burning Silo, responding to my post about the 5 things I commit to do this year. She has a few commitments of her own that I find laudable. Then, I began my weekend morning tradition of reading, online, various news stories from papers around the world. The fact that I'd just read comments from Bev, who's from Canada, prompted me to start my trek there.
I opened the Globe and Mail website and came across this article that just wrenches my gut. An animator/filmmaker and her husband, who returned to New Orleans at her urging, were among the victims of the recent upsurge in violence in that city. Helen Hill was killed and her husband, Paul Gailiunas, a doctor, was shot four times. When these tragedies--so long after Hurricane Katrina has passed--are personalized through stories such as this one in the Globe and Mail, it makes me think back to the promises that were made to the nation and to the city of New Orleans by George Bush. Like so many other things he has uttered, his promises were empty lies. And people's lives are shattered, in ruins, or lost completely because the city has been effectively abandoned.
Farther south, in Chile, large international corporate interests (in one project, Swiss, Canadian, Spanish, and Chilean companies are involved) continue to work to build dams to generate vast amounts of hydroelectric power, with the potential of devastating enormous expanses of pristine rivers and river basins. Who cares? It's way down in Chile, so why should it matter? Unfortunately, I suspect there are a lot of people who feel that way.
My Internet wanderings next took me to Venezuela, where I read an interesting interview in which the interviewee (Heinz Dieterich) argues (though I believe in a fundamentally specious way) that the foundations have been laid for Socialism of the 21st Century. I did find the article interesting, with its argument that replacing price, the 'regulating principle of the market econonomy,' with value, the 'regulating principle of the socialist economy,' is the key to the transition to 21st Century socialism. The definition of value the guy uses, the amount of labor used to produce products, disregards nonlabor components of production, e.g., investments in equipment, etc. The key to socialism, he says, is to attach equal value to things that are traded or sold...so, for example, if I wanted to buy a watch, I would pay for it with either something that an equal amount of labor went into creating as that which went into creating the watch or with a monetized version of that labor time. If you read Spanish and have an interest in the topic, here's a link to a paper that sets forth the principles of Socialism of the 21st Century.
After perusing the news and a few other items of note, I began to explore motels for sale...not entirely sure why. I found many of them for sale in the southwest, typically at prices in the neighborhood of $3 million for 80 unit properties, which sounds rather steep to me. In the unlikely event that readers of this blog have an interest in buying motels, here are some links that may be of interest: first link; second link; this one interests me...only $140,000 for a hotel in Tucumcari, NM, across the street from Dels!
OK, last item. I have an interest in information about Mexico, so when I found the National Institute of Geographical Statistics and Information, I was delighted. It's all in Spanish, but with enough time and perserverance, I can wade through it and get lots of interesting information.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Neighbors & Kimchee and Such
It's interesting how things develop. This morning, after I announced the 5 things I will do before year's end, I began work on one of them: endeavoring to create a sense of community in my neighborhood. I wrote a piece introducing myself as a someone who has lived in the neighborhood since 1997, but who has yet to meet most of my neighbors. I intended for the piece to be mailed and/or otherwise delivered to my neighbors. I suggested several things to get people to know one another, including Geezer Weekend Coffee Treks, Ethnic Food Nights Out, EatAbouts (neighbors making snack-type foods and serving them from tables in their front yards), etc. I liked the ideas...sounded fun to me. I was getting excited about meeting the neighbors and socializing with them.
Just after I emailed my little piece to a neighbor who publishes a periodic neighborhood newsletter, my wife got back from the post office, where she picked up a certified letter. Turns out it was a "notice of violation" from the City of Dallas, informing us that the grafitti that was painted on the brick garbage container in our alley must be removed within 21 days or we will face a fine. Now, the code enforcement folks don't patrol our neighborhood looking for violations. One of the neighbors I want to engage obviously decided to "turn me in" to the authorities. How dare I allow teenage thugs to paint my trash bin...and how dare I not clean it up quickly enough to suit my neighbors?
Goddamn it. I had forgotten one of the reasons I don't socialize with my tight-assed, fascist Republican neighbors. Nonetheless, I shall keep my commitment. I will, by god, insist that we socialize and let our guards down and behave like people who care for one another. Either they will cooperate in that endeavor or I'll slit some throats! (Just kidding...don't call out the men with guns.)
Well, my wife did not go to the office today, after all. She was not feeling well, so she napped for a considerable time. Then, we went shopping for groceries, but not before she bought me an espresso, using the Starbucks card I put in her Christmas stocking. She's not a coffee drinker, but she will tolerate their chai and their green tea. And she's nice to share her little gifty with me. (I have to say, though, that Starbucks' espresso is a pretty poor example of espresso.)
Back to the grafitti. I bought Goof Off, a product promoted as something to remove grafitti. It cost $6.47. It did not work. At all. Zip. Nada. If anything, it cleaned the brick and mortar so that the grafitti stands out better now. I have considered demolishing the brick garbage container. It serves no purpose at all. Maybe I shall. If not, I may paint the entire thing a happy, cheerful color.
I wrote a story once, back when I was taking a creative writing class in college (Michael Mewshaw was the professor...a real, live, published author), I wrote a story about a young couple who tried to 'gentrify' an old working class neighborhood. The story described the neighbors' lack of appreciation for their efforts and followed the husband's growing appreciation for the neighbors' attitudes at the same time the wife became increasingly upset at the neighbors' failure to adopt her attitudes about what looked 'right.' I'm feeling a bit like the husband in my story...I hope my wife does not adopt the story-wife attitude. I am not happy that someone would call code enforcement, instead of offering to help me figure out how to deal with the grafitti. I do have an opinion of the 'artists:' they deserve to be scalded with hot grease. I know, it's cruel, but it's honest.
My wife and I happened to drive by a newly-finished building on the campus of the University of Texas at Dallas today. It's a modern-looking building with an extremely interesting facade on parts of 3 sides. It features some 'scale-like' materials that are brilliant-colored reflective blue and purple and orange and ... I don't know... It's very attractive. There is no sign that says what the building is. Maybe I should ask my neighbors. I know, I need to be nice to my neighbors. I guess it could have been a wandering code enforcement officer.
I'm guessing my two brothers and my sister and my sister-in-law I left in Mexico a week ago will soon be returning to the Chapala area. I envy their trip to the southern Mexican coast and wherever else they went. I keep forgetting why I did not stay longer...oh, yeah, it was the prospective client who showed up January 4.
An Indian buffet lunch today ruined our plans for a steak dinner tonight...we were too full. So, we have been grazing on things like popcorn, beef jerky, cashews, and other such stuff from the major food groups. I had hoped to buy some kimchee today, but the only market we visited did not seem to have any, despite its normally realistic claim to being an incredible source for almost anything edible. I want some kimchee...right now. I should learn to make it myself.
Just after I emailed my little piece to a neighbor who publishes a periodic neighborhood newsletter, my wife got back from the post office, where she picked up a certified letter. Turns out it was a "notice of violation" from the City of Dallas, informing us that the grafitti that was painted on the brick garbage container in our alley must be removed within 21 days or we will face a fine. Now, the code enforcement folks don't patrol our neighborhood looking for violations. One of the neighbors I want to engage obviously decided to "turn me in" to the authorities. How dare I allow teenage thugs to paint my trash bin...and how dare I not clean it up quickly enough to suit my neighbors?
Goddamn it. I had forgotten one of the reasons I don't socialize with my tight-assed, fascist Republican neighbors. Nonetheless, I shall keep my commitment. I will, by god, insist that we socialize and let our guards down and behave like people who care for one another. Either they will cooperate in that endeavor or I'll slit some throats! (Just kidding...don't call out the men with guns.)
Well, my wife did not go to the office today, after all. She was not feeling well, so she napped for a considerable time. Then, we went shopping for groceries, but not before she bought me an espresso, using the Starbucks card I put in her Christmas stocking. She's not a coffee drinker, but she will tolerate their chai and their green tea. And she's nice to share her little gifty with me. (I have to say, though, that Starbucks' espresso is a pretty poor example of espresso.)
Back to the grafitti. I bought Goof Off, a product promoted as something to remove grafitti. It cost $6.47. It did not work. At all. Zip. Nada. If anything, it cleaned the brick and mortar so that the grafitti stands out better now. I have considered demolishing the brick garbage container. It serves no purpose at all. Maybe I shall. If not, I may paint the entire thing a happy, cheerful color.
I wrote a story once, back when I was taking a creative writing class in college (Michael Mewshaw was the professor...a real, live, published author), I wrote a story about a young couple who tried to 'gentrify' an old working class neighborhood. The story described the neighbors' lack of appreciation for their efforts and followed the husband's growing appreciation for the neighbors' attitudes at the same time the wife became increasingly upset at the neighbors' failure to adopt her attitudes about what looked 'right.' I'm feeling a bit like the husband in my story...I hope my wife does not adopt the story-wife attitude. I am not happy that someone would call code enforcement, instead of offering to help me figure out how to deal with the grafitti. I do have an opinion of the 'artists:' they deserve to be scalded with hot grease. I know, it's cruel, but it's honest.
My wife and I happened to drive by a newly-finished building on the campus of the University of Texas at Dallas today. It's a modern-looking building with an extremely interesting facade on parts of 3 sides. It features some 'scale-like' materials that are brilliant-colored reflective blue and purple and orange and ... I don't know... It's very attractive. There is no sign that says what the building is. Maybe I should ask my neighbors. I know, I need to be nice to my neighbors. I guess it could have been a wandering code enforcement officer.
I'm guessing my two brothers and my sister and my sister-in-law I left in Mexico a week ago will soon be returning to the Chapala area. I envy their trip to the southern Mexican coast and wherever else they went. I keep forgetting why I did not stay longer...oh, yeah, it was the prospective client who showed up January 4.
An Indian buffet lunch today ruined our plans for a steak dinner tonight...we were too full. So, we have been grazing on things like popcorn, beef jerky, cashews, and other such stuff from the major food groups. I had hoped to buy some kimchee today, but the only market we visited did not seem to have any, despite its normally realistic claim to being an incredible source for almost anything edible. I want some kimchee...right now. I should learn to make it myself.
5 Things: The Real Deal
I said I would post on this blog five things I resolve to accomplish this year and I said I would post them before the end of January. I said each of them will be significant and, for me, life-changing. They may not shake up the world, but here they are:
OK, so those are my five things. I'd be interested to hear about your one or two or thirty things...things that you are committing to do for yourself. I'll be reporting my progress from time to time and I hope you will report yours.
- Begin the process of building a family compound in ‘Falba’
I have title to two acres of land. One of the two acres has been partially paid for by a brother, but I think he will be willing to cede it to me or share in ownership. He owns another, adjacent, acre. I've often talked about building a 'compound' where all members of the family can gather with their extended families, a place that my wife and I can retire. Unless I win the lottery, I won't have much money on which to retire, so I need to plan now to have a place to live. I believe I can muster the money and the will to build a place on that land, a place that will have sufficient room. I don't necessarily plan to complete building it this year, but the foundation will be laid before year's end. - Encourage conversations on my blog, and then beyond my blog, about ways each of us, readers and writers alike, can make significant differences in our communities
Time Magazine bestowed 'person of the year' on You. It was, in my view, a just recognition for all of us who have the capacity to make differences and who do, simply by communicating with one another. I want to be a bigger part of You by engaging in conversation and discussion and debate about how each of us can make a difference, whether it be in our own little neighborhoods or in the larger community of our states or our countries or our planet. It seems that these sorts of conversations tend to take place more frequently around elections and certain holidays...I want them to take place year-round. I want them to move from the Internet into our individual lives. I'd like this blog, and other blogs whose authors share my sensibilities, to be a place where we share specifics of how we can and do make a difference, year-round. - Become at least modestly proficient in conversational Spanish
I hear people complain about visitors to this country...and people who move here...failing to learn our language. I understand the concern, but I also appreciate the difficulties they face in uprooting their lives and moving into a foreign environment. When I visit Mexico, I feel that I am missing so much because I do not speak nor do I understand the language. By learning Spanish, I believe I will be able to better appreciate my visits to Mexico and I will be able to better communicate with people who have come to this country from Spanish-speaking countries...and perhaps my facility with Spanish will enable me to have conversations with them that will allow me to persuade them that it is in their best interest to take the time and the effort to learn English. - Help create a sense of community in my Dallas neighborhood
This relates to my desire to turn this blog into something that makes a difference. I want to do more than talk about the importance of community. It's easy to talk about it and it's easy to complain that no sense of community exists. But my neighborhood's lack of a sense of community is not its fault...it is my fault and the fault of my neighbors. We can, if we try, turn it around. Whether it happens remains to be seen, but I want to try. So, beginning today, I shall. - Submit at least one piece of fiction for consideration for publication
Like talking about building a sense of community, talking about submitting something for publication doesn't make it happen. My commitment is that I will finish at least one of the dozens of things I've started and make a concerted effort to get it published. I know, from personal experience in the business world, that getting something published gets me fired up to do more. So, I'm going to work on generating my own motivation by getting that first piece of fiction in the marketplace, with the expectation that its ultimate acceptance will provide the fire in my belly that I sometimes lack.
OK, so those are my five things. I'd be interested to hear about your one or two or thirty things...things that you are committing to do for yourself. I'll be reporting my progress from time to time and I hope you will report yours.
Saturday AM
I'm back at my old tricks. It's just shy of 6:00 am and I've begun my first cup of coffee. I awoke quite some time ago, but drifted back to sleep and even managed to have an odd dream during that brief slumber.
In my dream, my staffer who has been out on medical leave had been dropped at my house by the hospital staff (she's been out of the hospital for weeks, but this is a dream...it does not follow reality). She said she would wait for her boyfriend to pick her up, but I insisted I would drive her home. As I opened my garage door, I inadvertently hit a button that backed my car out of the garage. I was able to control my car with a remote button...but not well. I stopped it from backing into my neighbor's garage, but succeeded in making it lurch forward and smash into my fence. My staffer was standing under the eve of my house, next to the garage, insisting it wasn't worth my trouble, when it started raining heavily and she was getting soaked as the rain poured off the roof; she finally agreed to the ride. I woke up just about the time another car was heading my way down the alley at high speed, with no indication that it would stop before hitting my car that was lodged against the fence.
It's Saturday again, time for my fantasy world to collide with reality. As I try to reconstruct the dream, I realize how absolutely real a dream can seem to be while it's happening, but how utterly surreal it can be in retrospect. Note to self: make it a point to understand the real meaning of dreams before the end of the month.
It's approaching 6:30...I've drifted in and out of writing this post...so I'll call this one done and come back another time.
In my dream, my staffer who has been out on medical leave had been dropped at my house by the hospital staff (she's been out of the hospital for weeks, but this is a dream...it does not follow reality). She said she would wait for her boyfriend to pick her up, but I insisted I would drive her home. As I opened my garage door, I inadvertently hit a button that backed my car out of the garage. I was able to control my car with a remote button...but not well. I stopped it from backing into my neighbor's garage, but succeeded in making it lurch forward and smash into my fence. My staffer was standing under the eve of my house, next to the garage, insisting it wasn't worth my trouble, when it started raining heavily and she was getting soaked as the rain poured off the roof; she finally agreed to the ride. I woke up just about the time another car was heading my way down the alley at high speed, with no indication that it would stop before hitting my car that was lodged against the fence.
It's Saturday again, time for my fantasy world to collide with reality. As I try to reconstruct the dream, I realize how absolutely real a dream can seem to be while it's happening, but how utterly surreal it can be in retrospect. Note to self: make it a point to understand the real meaning of dreams before the end of the month.
It's approaching 6:30...I've drifted in and out of writing this post...so I'll call this one done and come back another time.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Drift
Today was another one...one of those days that argue vehemently for early retirement. Another staffer, this one only 3 months into the job, gave notice. As it works out, it's not a big loss in one sense but...it's another one! I learned from her that 'there is too much stress' in the job, which requires her to switch from one function to another and back again on a regular basis. I understand her position, but consider her and those who share her traits to be rather useless. Upon learning she was leaving, another of my staff declared that she was not disappointed because the one leaving was constantly talking, interrupting the work flow, etc. Ah, well, I need to hire people who fit better. But I have a long, long history of inept hiring...it's the exception that proves the rule...my ocassional good hire is exceptional.
To mourn this new nasty turn of events, which really will impact my wife's work more than mine, we went out for sushi. Lots of sushi. Tuna, more tuna, mussels, crawfish, scallops, etc., etc. Oh, it was delightful...but when will my diet begin? Oh, and I had some nice cold sake (why do I always try to spell it Saki?).
My five new promises to the world are taking shape. One of them will involve building a compound that will serve as our refuge, our family protectorate. I may need money, so if anyone out there is willing to donate, or perhaps to buy my kidneys, please let me know.
A program I watched last night on our local PBS station struck a cord with me. It dealt with the demise of neighborhoods and the emergence of isolationist mini-castles in suburban neighborhoods. Many photos of monstrously ugly homes in Plano, Texas, just up the block, made me cringe. Mini-mansions that are replacing real homes are ripping up so many communities. I vow to meet my neighbors and, if I can tolerate them, help them create a personality in this neighborhood...a personality and sense of purpose that, today, does not exist.
My wife will go to the office tomorrow. I hate it, but she insists. I probably should go, too, but my commitment to my company and my business has waned. I need, I desperately need, a real vacation that will give me time and space to reconsider my life and what I want from it. I am feeling strongly that I need to make a quick exit from this path I'm on, lest I croak without ever having realized my dreams. That happens to too many people. I'd rather it not happen to me. It shouldn't happen to anyone.
I've had 2 drinks tonight (in addition to the sake at the sushi joint), making me incapable of writing what I think I should. Tomorrow, I'll make up for it. I may not write in this blog, but write I shall!
My poetry meter is not working tonight. I would have liked to end this bit with a provocative poem, but it's not in me. John, you have to regain some focus...someplace, on something...for something. I'm adrift and not sure where I'm going; I'd like to think it's not on a rocky shore.
To mourn this new nasty turn of events, which really will impact my wife's work more than mine, we went out for sushi. Lots of sushi. Tuna, more tuna, mussels, crawfish, scallops, etc., etc. Oh, it was delightful...but when will my diet begin? Oh, and I had some nice cold sake (why do I always try to spell it Saki?).
My five new promises to the world are taking shape. One of them will involve building a compound that will serve as our refuge, our family protectorate. I may need money, so if anyone out there is willing to donate, or perhaps to buy my kidneys, please let me know.
A program I watched last night on our local PBS station struck a cord with me. It dealt with the demise of neighborhoods and the emergence of isolationist mini-castles in suburban neighborhoods. Many photos of monstrously ugly homes in Plano, Texas, just up the block, made me cringe. Mini-mansions that are replacing real homes are ripping up so many communities. I vow to meet my neighbors and, if I can tolerate them, help them create a personality in this neighborhood...a personality and sense of purpose that, today, does not exist.
My wife will go to the office tomorrow. I hate it, but she insists. I probably should go, too, but my commitment to my company and my business has waned. I need, I desperately need, a real vacation that will give me time and space to reconsider my life and what I want from it. I am feeling strongly that I need to make a quick exit from this path I'm on, lest I croak without ever having realized my dreams. That happens to too many people. I'd rather it not happen to me. It shouldn't happen to anyone.
I've had 2 drinks tonight (in addition to the sake at the sushi joint), making me incapable of writing what I think I should. Tomorrow, I'll make up for it. I may not write in this blog, but write I shall!
My poetry meter is not working tonight. I would have liked to end this bit with a provocative poem, but it's not in me. John, you have to regain some focus...someplace, on something...for something. I'm adrift and not sure where I'm going; I'd like to think it's not on a rocky shore.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
5 Things...Resolutions and Promises
Before the end of January, 2007, I will post on this blog five things I resolve to accomplish this year. Each of them will be significant. Each will be life-changing, for me. Some of them will require buy-in by readers of this blog if I have any realistic hope of achieving them. And every one of them will test my limits in some way. I don't make New Year's resolutions; I make New Year's promises. I won't disappoint this year..at least I hope I don't.
Hands
In the wierd dim light of my computer screen, my fingers look like strange blue sausages and my hands look too much like puffy blue biscuits. If I did not know any better, I'd say I'd just taken a much-too-powerful dose of a mind-altering drug. I know better. It's just the strangeness of the light and the plumpness of my odd little hands.
My mother wrote a story many years ago about her hands. Well, it was about her hands and her relationships with her brothers and sisters and her feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. But the story focused on her hands. They were beautiful hands, in her story. I wonder if my mother's story is coming home to roost in my plump little hands, the little hands that struggle to produce anything of value in this dim blue light, this wierd dim light of my computer screen.
My mother wrote a story many years ago about her hands. Well, it was about her hands and her relationships with her brothers and sisters and her feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. But the story focused on her hands. They were beautiful hands, in her story. I wonder if my mother's story is coming home to roost in my plump little hands, the little hands that struggle to produce anything of value in this dim blue light, this wierd dim light of my computer screen.
CubedNews
News 1
I attempted to impress a gaggle of leaders from a prospective client organization as they gathered at my office this morning for about 3 hours. Whether I succeeded remains to be seen; I should learn whether they recommend my company to the organization's full board just after mid-month. If they do, then the fun begins; an ultra-high-speed transition from another company to mine, smack in the middle of our busiest time of year...a small staff of six of us, which should be eight but for one vacancy and one person on sick leave. Who convinced me that I should run my own business? Whoever it was...you won...you got what you wanted...make the pain stop! What did I do to you to make you so angry at me as to persuade me not to work for someone else and just take their paycheck? I continue to want to try my hand at creating and selling genetically-produced lime/avocado mixes...maybe I'll call them limocados or avolimes. First, I have to acquire the skill to create them.
News 2
Today's weather in Dallas was typical for early January: cool, cold, wet, dry, warm, hot, windy, still, sunny, cloudy, sunny, cloudy, cloudy, cool, warmish, wet, warm, dry, cool, still, windy. Then, this afternoon we had a change. But it's back to normal again this evening.
News 3
A friend just bought a year-old Lincoln, the 2006 equivalent of the 2007 Lincoln MKZ. Despite my typical loathing of American cars and my desire to dislike irrelevant luxury, I have been impressed when I see the 2007 MKZ. I have invested a small fortune in my 1997 Toyota Avalon within the last few years, so I cannot justify getting a new, or even a used, car. But I'm feeling the fever. I promised myself that I would drive mine until I have at least 175,000 miles on it; I only have 147,000 now. And I've told myself I should wait at least until 200,000 miles. Silly me.
I attempted to impress a gaggle of leaders from a prospective client organization as they gathered at my office this morning for about 3 hours. Whether I succeeded remains to be seen; I should learn whether they recommend my company to the organization's full board just after mid-month. If they do, then the fun begins; an ultra-high-speed transition from another company to mine, smack in the middle of our busiest time of year...a small staff of six of us, which should be eight but for one vacancy and one person on sick leave. Who convinced me that I should run my own business? Whoever it was...you won...you got what you wanted...make the pain stop! What did I do to you to make you so angry at me as to persuade me not to work for someone else and just take their paycheck? I continue to want to try my hand at creating and selling genetically-produced lime/avocado mixes...maybe I'll call them limocados or avolimes. First, I have to acquire the skill to create them.
News 2
Today's weather in Dallas was typical for early January: cool, cold, wet, dry, warm, hot, windy, still, sunny, cloudy, sunny, cloudy, cloudy, cool, warmish, wet, warm, dry, cool, still, windy. Then, this afternoon we had a change. But it's back to normal again this evening.
News 3
A friend just bought a year-old Lincoln, the 2006 equivalent of the 2007 Lincoln MKZ. Despite my typical loathing of American cars and my desire to dislike irrelevant luxury, I have been impressed when I see the 2007 MKZ. I have invested a small fortune in my 1997 Toyota Avalon within the last few years, so I cannot justify getting a new, or even a used, car. But I'm feeling the fever. I promised myself that I would drive mine until I have at least 175,000 miles on it; I only have 147,000 now. And I've told myself I should wait at least until 200,000 miles. Silly me.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Night Fishing...more to come
If you read my post on night fishing, you might have gathered that it was not fictional. It was a snippet from a memory that has slowly faded over the years. I'll write more about it in the coming weeks and months, trying to capture the thoughts and ideas and emotions of a teenager who felt older (and wiser) than his years, but who was afraid to drift too far from the mainstream, lest his need for acceptance go unmet.
I've decided that I will try to capture as completely as I can the emotions and the sensations I have felt in various situations and then, later, will translate and transfer them to fictional circumstances. By doing that, I will allow myself to use real experiences and their attendant pains and joys and emotional dips and swoops to describe situations that I want the reader to really experience. I've done it before, but never consciously...this will be like going to 'being an author' school.
It will be awhile before I can write something like this in a way that won't cause someone to snicker:
"My nose captured the odors of the movements of the muscles in her thighs, causing my sense of balance to drift left and right and back again. I could sense the sweetness of the sweat dripping slowly down the nape of her neck. Suddenly, I was embarrassed, wondering whether anyone else on the bus could read in my eyes or in the twitching movements of the tendons in my wrists that I was able to read her physically, like a book."
I've decided that I will try to capture as completely as I can the emotions and the sensations I have felt in various situations and then, later, will translate and transfer them to fictional circumstances. By doing that, I will allow myself to use real experiences and their attendant pains and joys and emotional dips and swoops to describe situations that I want the reader to really experience. I've done it before, but never consciously...this will be like going to 'being an author' school.
It will be awhile before I can write something like this in a way that won't cause someone to snicker:
"My nose captured the odors of the movements of the muscles in her thighs, causing my sense of balance to drift left and right and back again. I could sense the sweetness of the sweat dripping slowly down the nape of her neck. Suddenly, I was embarrassed, wondering whether anyone else on the bus could read in my eyes or in the twitching movements of the tendons in my wrists that I was able to read her physically, like a book."
Who's gonna love you when your lips are gone?
How strange is my family? When I was visiting Mexico over the holidays, my brother and his wife had music on the iPod and a Paul Simon piece that included the phrase "who's gonna love you when your looks are gone?" Everyone there thought it sounded like ""who's gonna love you when your lips are gone?" I am still laughing about it. I'm easily amused.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Fact and Fantasy
We tried to enter the new work-year today with a positive attitude and I suppose we succeeded, at least to some degree. We took our staff out to lunch to an Indian restaurant we frequent, but which recently has changed names and owners. It is no longer the place we liked so well, but it is nonetheless a pleasant buffet experience for those who like Indian food. We closed the doors to the office, walked out, and had lunch. That's not something I'd normally do...leave the office phones unattended...but I am becoming highly adventurous and risk-tolerant in my advancing age. Actually, we left the guy who installed a new and outrageously expensive server for our LAN...he was doing a few odds & ends to finish the job. It will take until the far end of time to pay for that job, but we desperately needed it and feel safer now, with a new mirrored server and much better tape backup system requiring only one tape per night!
After a shorter-than-usual workday, my wife and I headed toward home, wondering what we might eat for dinner (though I know I could have skipped it altogether...and should have). We settled on a Cuban restaurant we've wanted to try, where my wife had ropas viejos and I had extremely flavorful beef steaks, smothered in tomato and garlic sauce. My order was tasty but too much food, so I practiced my Spanish a bit, asking our waitress for a small box to go. She corrected me, and I appreciated it, when I said "¿Tiene una cajita para ir?" Her correction was "¿una cajita para llevar?" I told her my Spanish was poor and I wanted to practice...she was gracious and smiled and said "Si."
On the way home from dinner, we stopped at a brand-new Barnes & Noble bookstore, hoping to find a Sunday paper. No luck. So, we will have to depend on the internet for news and the satellite guide for information about what's on the airwaves.
I took a couple of little breaks during the day today to read some blogs I've not visited as frequently as I'd like in recent days. It never ceases to amaze me that there is so much worth reading...and it never ceases to amaze me that there is so much with such little value. The internet is what we make it. I hope it continues to evolve more toward the New Yorker than toward The Star.
If you've happened to have read this blog much of late, you'll know that I've recorded a few bits and pieces I want to keep in my vault for future use in serious efforts to write. I think I have almost enough of a backbone to begin to construct the framework for what may become at least a potentially-publishable short story or two. I am ready to start trying to put the meat on the bones and fill in around the voids with the copious fat I've set aside. I will not record it here, at least not initially, but will put it in the hands of people who can make decisions about whether to pay me for it. It's a scary step, in some sense, but in other ways it's not. I have always written primarily for myself. That having been said, I often wonder if what satisfies me will satisfy others? Only time and luck will tell.
Through the lens of wishful thinking, I see myself explaining to a screenwriter and an actor the rationale behind certain elements of a storyline. I watch as the actor portrays a character I created and I flinch because his interpretation seems so far-removed from what I intended. But, as I listen to him and to the inflections in his voice and to the almost imperceptible movements in the muscles around his eyes, I begin to see a transformation before me. In place of the person who flowed from my brain and through my arms, down to my fingers and out along the page, I see a new character arising. This new character blends the clarity in my brain with an equally complete clarity from someone who must understand this character at least as well as I. Just as the actor did not conceive of the character I created on the page, I did not conceive of the character that will fill the screen or the stage. As I watch this unfold before me and marvel at how my character can become a new being, I begin to understand how the creation of a film or a play is a conspiracy between writer and director and actor and audience. The creation of a book may be, simply, a conspiracy between the writer and his demons, but the enjoyment of that book is always a conspiracy between the writer and the reader. It is for that reason that most books retain their superiority over the films and plays they become. The intimate relationship between writer and reader demands fidelity. The relationship between writer and film viewer or audience can never demand it; there are too many people naked and hungry in the bedroom. The channels of lust are washed with the lubricants of faithful unions.
OK. Pick the phrases above that qualify for the phrase: "These are your brains." Now, pick the phrases above that qualify for the phrase: "These are your brains on drugs." Any questions?
After a shorter-than-usual workday, my wife and I headed toward home, wondering what we might eat for dinner (though I know I could have skipped it altogether...and should have). We settled on a Cuban restaurant we've wanted to try, where my wife had ropas viejos and I had extremely flavorful beef steaks, smothered in tomato and garlic sauce. My order was tasty but too much food, so I practiced my Spanish a bit, asking our waitress for a small box to go. She corrected me, and I appreciated it, when I said "¿Tiene una cajita para ir?" Her correction was "¿una cajita para llevar?" I told her my Spanish was poor and I wanted to practice...she was gracious and smiled and said "Si."
On the way home from dinner, we stopped at a brand-new Barnes & Noble bookstore, hoping to find a Sunday paper. No luck. So, we will have to depend on the internet for news and the satellite guide for information about what's on the airwaves.
I took a couple of little breaks during the day today to read some blogs I've not visited as frequently as I'd like in recent days. It never ceases to amaze me that there is so much worth reading...and it never ceases to amaze me that there is so much with such little value. The internet is what we make it. I hope it continues to evolve more toward the New Yorker than toward The Star.
If you've happened to have read this blog much of late, you'll know that I've recorded a few bits and pieces I want to keep in my vault for future use in serious efforts to write. I think I have almost enough of a backbone to begin to construct the framework for what may become at least a potentially-publishable short story or two. I am ready to start trying to put the meat on the bones and fill in around the voids with the copious fat I've set aside. I will not record it here, at least not initially, but will put it in the hands of people who can make decisions about whether to pay me for it. It's a scary step, in some sense, but in other ways it's not. I have always written primarily for myself. That having been said, I often wonder if what satisfies me will satisfy others? Only time and luck will tell.
Through the lens of wishful thinking, I see myself explaining to a screenwriter and an actor the rationale behind certain elements of a storyline. I watch as the actor portrays a character I created and I flinch because his interpretation seems so far-removed from what I intended. But, as I listen to him and to the inflections in his voice and to the almost imperceptible movements in the muscles around his eyes, I begin to see a transformation before me. In place of the person who flowed from my brain and through my arms, down to my fingers and out along the page, I see a new character arising. This new character blends the clarity in my brain with an equally complete clarity from someone who must understand this character at least as well as I. Just as the actor did not conceive of the character I created on the page, I did not conceive of the character that will fill the screen or the stage. As I watch this unfold before me and marvel at how my character can become a new being, I begin to understand how the creation of a film or a play is a conspiracy between writer and director and actor and audience. The creation of a book may be, simply, a conspiracy between the writer and his demons, but the enjoyment of that book is always a conspiracy between the writer and the reader. It is for that reason that most books retain their superiority over the films and plays they become. The intimate relationship between writer and reader demands fidelity. The relationship between writer and film viewer or audience can never demand it; there are too many people naked and hungry in the bedroom. The channels of lust are washed with the lubricants of faithful unions.
OK. Pick the phrases above that qualify for the phrase: "These are your brains." Now, pick the phrases above that qualify for the phrase: "These are your brains on drugs." Any questions?
Monday, January 1, 2007
American Airlines Has Miserable Customer Service
My first post of 2007 is a brief rant against American Airlines. After arriving on the ground in Dallas on time, despite leaving Guadalajara a bit late, we waited more than 20 minutes just a few feet from our gate so they could find ground crew. Then, once inside, we waited for well over an hour and a half for the idiots in their luggage handling division to bother to even look for luggage. And that happened after I bitched and moaned loudly and took a photo of the jerk who was ostensibly their customer-service rep...who spend most of the time while I waited (along with many others) on personal telephone calls. When I snapped the photo, he and his colleagues threatened to call security, saying photos were not permitted. Somehow, some way, they finally got the bags off the plane and onto the luggage carousel. I did get the bastard's name, and he will be the subject of a very nasty letter to American Airlines. They will not even respond, because they do not care about customers...at least not as evidenced by corporate policies.
If any who read this blog flies American Airlines, I wish you luck. The company is just loaded with incompetents who don't give a damn about customers.
By the way, not a single apology from anyone connected with American for the delays, for the luggage screw-up, for the kid who spent a good 15 minutes on personal calls while customers waited.
If any who read this blog flies American Airlines, I wish you luck. The company is just loaded with incompetents who don't give a damn about customers.
By the way, not a single apology from anyone connected with American for the delays, for the luggage screw-up, for the kid who spent a good 15 minutes on personal calls while customers waited.