Actually this is not a simple task for me. I tend to ramble. Maybe I just dream too much. All too often the best thing about the present is the future or the past. Not that the present is unpleasant or unsatisfactory. I am generally quite pleased with the present. I love the present, the problem is it is already gone the moment we realize its here. The joke ends in one line, but the laughter can last for hours. Laughing at laughing. All my big victories have not really been finishes. Graduation from nursing school was was huge, getting my Masters degree was huge. Of course there was a great feeling, but really there was little doubt it would come eventually, at least after the half way mark. At the same time both meant I needed to use my new knowledge. Great fun, excitement and pressure. Victory was not assured, not in the clean and tidy sense. My wedding was a victory. A far greater event, double huge. Pure joy! Hardly a finish. A victory without an opponent, except maybe time, or myself. I imagine the birth of our daughters seemed like quite a finish for my wife and yet we are far from finished with them.
Finishing things has always been difficult for me, just look at my house. Some days I forget to finish shaving.
Maybe that is what attracted me to pottery. I can throw a pot in a matter for a few minutes or even seconds depending on the size. With a bigger piece it is slow motion excitement. Tiny moves can completely change the form. Rarely can an unwanted change be corrected. But when it blooms out of a pull of the wrist or a pinched finger it really is crazy good. But its far from done. There is still shaping, trimming, carving, shaping again, drying a little more each step. Finely painting and glazing. The opening of the kiln. That is great. That is finished. What you see is new, never before, never sure, at least not with me. I know some potters can make the same plate or cup every time, art fairs are full of them, God bless them, that is without a doubt a great skill and proof of their knowledge and command of the craft. I seek the unknown in everything I make. The only times I have tried to copy something I made before was then I was not sure how I did it and was pretty sure I Could not do it again. I have gotten close. Even when the kiln is opened and success is in my hands I am still left looking for a home for my new piece,
Maybe the best feeling of finished is moving house. When the last item is out and the keys handed off. To enter again would end in a call to 911.
The move in has the same quality but in reverse. The last stroke of paint pulling off the masking tape, pushing the couch against the wall and breaking down the empty boxes. The move is finished, Ah. A unknown future ahead in the new home, but finished the move. I guess a published book would have that sense too.
Day 2- Childhood
Childhood was a gas, is a gas. Not just fun, flatulence, one big fart. A huge wave of laughter and disgust. My grandfather had a big old pick-up truck with one flat slippery, shiny, hard, torn vinyl bench. It made tons of noise from the moment you pulled the door handle, partly because you had really yank it out. I had to jump on the step pull on the handle and jump back to the ground to flip the latch. We would bounce down the street laughing, gram-pa was always laughing unless he was telling a joke and he needed to act mad. Or he was silent and that meant he was going to fart. For me it was pure bliss. He was the only adult I knew who was proud of his farts. I loved him more than anyone in the whole world. He lived in a small central valley farm town, the smells were huge. Back then even the president didn’t have AC in his car. We drove around with the windows in the 100 degree heat. There was a tomato field at the end of the block. Before we even got to the end of the street the whole world smelled like a tomato plant. Not at all like San Francisco. San Francisco smelled like fog and something a lot worse than my gram-pa’s farts when we walked by the guys that slept on the sidewalk downtown. Looking back I guess I have always been a dog. Sniffing stuff and sticking my head out the windows.
I remember the smell of water in the tomato fields too, like it was going to rain, but no clouds and 100 degrees. Cotton candy, the smell of burnt sugar, oranges and grapefruit, he had a cactus garden too. Some had big needles they hurt when you touched them, but it stopped when took your finger away. Others had tiny needles. They looked soft and didn’t really hurt when you touched them expect the stuck into you, so when you pulled away they when with you and when you tried to rub the off or touch something else it hurt pretty bad. I loved touching the big needles, I hated the the little ones. Playing tag meant running between the cactus garden and the orange trees. In the 100 degree heat. I loved the heat. I still do. Now my kids ask me to plant orange trees and pomegranate trees. I tell them they don’t like the 30 degrees below zero temperatures we have. They don’t seem to understand and look a bit disappointed, even sad. Then I fart, if I can and they laugh with joy. I feel the 100 degrees and smell the tomatoes so much. I feel the tears and I chase them around the backyard and tell them I am going fart on them again. The humor or potty humor is the purest human humors, maybe because we all experience it for the first time with the ones we loved the most and first. As long a humans fart my gram-pa lives. Yours too.
Day 3 – Anything you know well
So this could be the shortest piece yet if it weren’t for the 500 word thing. Someone once described me as “a person who didn’t even know what I didn’t know”. To which I responded, “I don’t understand”. Honestly it made me quite mad at first and then it made me quite scared. What if she was right. I then I decided that she just didn’t know me very well and she needed a reason to create distance between us. It worked, that was the last time we saw each other. I imagine she has passed away by now, RIP.”
Since that day I have been resolved to always declare
that “I know nothing”, like Senior Master Sergeant Hans Georg Schultz.
While this has relieved some of my internal pressure to know things it
has not been a high performance job interview technique. Thank God for
all the jobs he has given me without interviews. Once hired I do well, I
love to solve problems, look for new solutions, use materials at hand
rather than buy new ones. I am good at smiling even when others
aren’t(this can be a bit dicey at times, but works about 60% of the
time)
Anyways I am not writing about ignorance today, for a change.
Today my topic is fear. Yesterday I read that we think fear of failing
inhibits our dreams, but in fact the problem is fear of succeeding. The
logic being that if we fail in a new dream path, we stay where we are.
Where we are is what we know, expect in my case because I don’t
anything. If we take the steps we know toward our dream then we will
arrive at a new place, if we dream about a new place. A place we don’t
know and a scary place maybe. This scared me a little. Personally I
kind of like fear, pain not so much, but fear is exciting. I like
success even more than fear, see pain statement. Generally I am even
good with change without success, provided pain statement remains true.
This may help explain the last 50 years, of my life and quite possibly
the last 2000 years of mankind. On the scale of eternity both time
periods are equal, however success and the non existence are not equal
other than in the shortest of time scales.
In all fairness to
myself and mankind we have had many instances of great success, lets not
get into the points of pain here. All the same I do believe we can do
better. We must do better. Part of doing better may be in seeing the
pain of the present state, thus pushing us toward a better dream. This
might explain the high degree of negativity in politics today. Or it
could just be that our political system is just very negative. As stated
previously, I know nothing and avoid pain.
I think the solution lies
more in the dream, of the unknown or the known. A person who grows up
seeing their parents and people around them living a certain way an
dream of that future for themselves with much less fear than a person
who has only seen others from an untouchable distance live that way.
Why is the lottery so popular? All the fun of the dream without the
pesky fear of change. And when is change the most fearful? When we are
not sure of ourselves. We need to have our foundation of who we are
solid. With a good foundation we will express our good in the change.
With a foundation of “bad” (you define that as you will) we will express
this in the change. Sorry about returning to politics again.
Thankfully something I know so little about, although that is such a
vast area.
Unfortunately I am afraid politics has become so corrupted
because so many of the good people have jumped in, got burned and
jumped out. And we need to correct this.
Day 3 – Give your own eulogy
He never passed up the chance to may people laugh even if it meant causing them to think.
A person so insignificant that his greatest achievement was the smile on someone else’s face.
If there is one thing I remember about him, he would probably not want me to say it.
His life was one long one liner. His death, a welcome break for everyone.
He never seemed to fear death, it was life that drove him crazy.
And so it might go on forever. Truth is a smile is probably my biggest achievement.
Not the smile of passing gas or a well placed finger under a rib or toe. What I really love are the smiles that come when we unwrap some little or big truth about ourselves that we have been hiding from or suppressing. A truth that maybe we have already discovered in ourselves before and were not pleased. Those big truths that may have pissed us off or made us hate that in ourselves or that we contributed to it in someone else. (God knows these are no big problems or faults within ourselves.) I love it when it happens to me, whether it comes from my own mental drifting or waves thrown up against the side of my boat by someone else. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without the help of others, in fact I might still be alive.
Clearly death is a
reality we can not escape, otherwise there would not be a word for it in
every language known to mankind. Take the word Unicorn, not every
culture has unicorns. Thank God I was born in a land that has
unicorns. And thank unicorns I was born into a family that had God. At
different times in my life there have been people I didn’t like or was
not happy with and in all honesty I was probably rather displeased with
God at times too. The greatest personal event for me was the day I met
God face to face, although He was a bit unGodly looking so what I saw
was probably not God. However the voice and the following discussion
was most certainly God. To those who might say I was just hearing my
own ego, I saw then that makes me God so take my word for it.
I had
always felt I was more than a rock or a multicellular organism. Today I
guess I am just dust again, but I was and I am more than that. It is a
wonderful thing to love and be loved. Some one had to start the love,
love needs a point of view to start and love needs another point to
love. God is both. Love doesn’t end with death. My grandparents are
dead, my love for them, our love for them is not. My hate for people
is. Hate does die, if you let it. The day I really met God I let go of
hate. Yes it has crept back into my world monetarily a couple times,
but what a great thing it was when I let it go again. A powerful
reminder of God and Love again. The smiles of others were my greatest
achievement, without a doubt. My biggest smile and longest lasting
experiencing the eternal love of God. We are waiting for you, but no
need to hurry!
Work
I have many different jobs probably the 2 best were as a ski Patroller at lake Tahoe and as a nurse at the San Francisco VA. One was getting up to the top of the mountain for sunrise before there were tracks in the snow and the only sounds were the wind and birds. The other was answering a call light of a person facing their own personal battle with life and death, or just a bed pan. Very different from each other and yet if I could back to either one I would feel excited and blessed. The hardest part would be picking which one. Ideally I would do some form of half and half. But that was in another time, another life.
Now my dream job would be to do nursing half time and stand up comedy half time. Maybe I should say sit down comedy, standing up can get old pretty quick and since I am clarifying things it might be better just to say speaking, comedy is too much pressure. I think I am funny, but I can’t afford my own tickets and anyone who could afford the tickets would not find me funny at all. I will need a business agent.
More seriously I do like comedy, but not pointless humor. I mean laughing is never worthless, there is always a therapeutic effect for the person laughing, but I really want to see people reflect on themselves in a new way. They can even reflect on people like me in a new way as long as its non violent reflection. I find great joy in seeing people laugh at old pain, when I was younger I enjoyed seeing them laugh a younger pain. Not that laughing is the only way to gain insight or grow as a person, crying and sadness can not be avoided or hidden, I am just a fan of laughter.
So my job is to think, write, speak and listen. Always has been, always will be. Its not in my job description as clearly as that, mostly it mentions bedpans and other secretions, etc. Secretions are important, even once my speaking and writing demands require more time and travel I will still keep my hand in secretions. They are a part of life and part of my identity as a nurse and parent. I could continue as I am with the bulk of my time spent with only local secretions of a few individuals, but I love the idea of helping other people get involved with other people’s secretions. It is through close contact with people’s heart’s and lives that we know each other and ourselves. We tend to see our definition of secretions change as we age. Likewise our concept of love and life can be a bit fluid at times too. Seeing love and life through the eyes of God has been a good experience for me. Seeing life through the eyes of someone else seeing life and themselves through the eyes of God is just as great. This is my dream work.
Disappointment
One of the aspects of humans I find interesting is our memory. Of course when I say “we” I can not truly speak for all humans, but only my own experience. It may seem silly to say this, but I am not an expert in memory, even my own memory often escapes me at times. Disappointment can be a very strong memory, it can be brutal and consuming but its not like physical pain. Physical pain is sharp, I can go back to the time I broke my ankle and see myself in pain, see my ankle looking like a grapefruit and yet the pain is not really there. I could remember this pain while running, if I were every to run (a highly unlikely event), I could keep running right through the remembering. Disappointment is really quite different. If I were to remember any of my biggest disappointments I would probably need to stop running. My father was very sick before I was born so he was never a big part of my life. I met him again when I was in my early 20’s it was really weird to say the least, but really great too. It was a time in my life when family was not a very important part of my life. My friends were my family. So I only went to see my father a couple times a year. As we got to know each other, or at least as I got to know him. He had severe limitations with memory and reality. Coming from a person like me indicates a serious problem. where was I? After the second or third visit I dreamed of taking him to Disneyland one day. This is the kind of person I was back then. My idea of a good time was to take a person with a fragile grasp on the shared public reality of the time to a location with a shared public unreality. I don’t think it was mean spirited, I wanted him to experience the pure joy of amazing fantasy in living color right before your eyes, like a small child. It didn’t happen. I kept putting it off. There was always another crazy unreality event I wanted to go to. Some other project I wanted to work on. Maybe I was just afraid getting that close to him. He was living in a group home as a ward of the state. He seemed happy, it was a nice, place from what I could tell. At the same time I couldn’t help thinking he should be cared for by his family. It would have been a life changer for me. No doubt the state would have some concerns releasing him to me as a crazed 20 something. Who knows I might have needed to kidnap him, ala “Rainman” or “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s nest”. For whatever reasons we didn’t go. The day my uncle called to tell me he passed away the feeling of disappointment was huge and heavy. We never got to Disneyland. I have been with other family, nothing traumatic or overly thrilling. Mostly a feeling of waiting in line. Maybe the reality of the day or a manifestation of my sense of waiting to go with my father. With disappointment, the pain may not be as sharp a memory as a broken bone, but it can be a deep and broad ache. For me it is the type of pain that allows me to keep running and in fact seems to push me to run faster and farther to build happiness to repaint the past with a better color. I may not take my kids to Disneyland but I will not wait to take them to crazy unreality together. We will not be disappointed!
Travel
Most of the travel I have done, do these days and will likely do in the future takes place in my head, or mind or heart….kind of like most of my wealth. No this is not going to be about reading, although I am a firm believer in the value of reading, other than what I write. I will only believe in the value of reading what I write until after someone has told me it has value. Until that point the value of what I write is only in me writing it.
In a way I came to feel the same about traveling. I took to amazing trips to Mexico. The first trip was in a $500 beat up mini station wagon. With a old beat up Sesame Street Bert doll tied to the roof rack. We started in Santa Cruz California. I love the idea of starting every voyage at the cross. My best friend and 2 other girls, one breast feeding her 6 month old baby and me. Brave girls. I would save all 3 girls today, but not sure the 6 month old knew enough to fit that title. Anyways it was my first time out of the country, if you don’t count Canada, back then we didn’t, it was just a part of Minnesota, a big part.
Always the careful prudent traveler I pulled off the highway a few miles before the Mexican boarder and stopped in the parking lot of a large shopping mall. I nonchalantly lifted up the branch of a shrubbery, Ever since I watched Mont Python I have wanted to say and write that word as often as possible, and I hid my pipe and herb. 30 minutes later we crossed the boarder into Tijuana. Our car seemed to fit in with the locals almost immediately, except for the doll on the roof. It was pure adventure the whole trip. The car broke down in the middle of nowhere and almost fell on me, but we fixed it and kept heading south. Driving over a mountain pass in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere we passed a car broken down with several guys waving us down. We stopped and helped them and continued on. A few days later we saw them at a little market in the sleepy fishing village where we were. Smiling, pats on the back, not much common language skills between us. Later when we got home I heard the older folks were not happy about the 2 gringo couples living in sin on their beach. Little did they know it was not at all what they thought. Then again who knows what they thought. I do know that there were quite a few sins we were not committing. The girl with the baby did squirt milk at me a few times when she was breast feeding her baby. First time for me, kind of funny and kind of weird, but that was about as close as any of us got to physical intimacy. Mostly we were there to look at the whales, the beach, the cactus and survive an adventure. Like a 4 year old going to the corner for the first time. That’s what travel should be. Go with the eyes and heart of a 4 year old, but practice the manners of a polite 90 year old.
Write strong, no adverbs
I love adverbs. I could use only
adverbs. Who needs nouns or verbs? Is it possible to be subtle without
adverbs? While I am not convinced no adverbs makes writing stronger or
better, it can create focus. It is also difficult. Difficult means
something. Difficult builds character, or Kills it. Why stop with
adverbs? Lets stop using adjectives. Focus increased. The pure
message. I am. Finished. Difficult and easy. At the same time. Bad
English. Wait a minute bad English was never the point, just the
medium. Who controls, defines good English? That is the point. I have
no control over English. Good or Bad. Short sentences are key. I was
taught this when I was young. When I don’t know what to write I write
small. When I know what to write I force myself to write small.
Writing big makes me appear small. What I am doing now is not big. Not
small, just bad. No point, just difficult, so good. This could be a
long 500 words. Thankfully 500 words is 500 words. Confusion can
appear with one word or thousands, but 600 words can not be put inside
500 words. 500 words puts a limit on reading time, not comprehension
time. Unless the 500 words are Chinese then reading time could be
unlimited because my Chinese is limited. If the 500 words are Egyptian
then the reading time has a limit. Zero reading time, just gazing time,
like a Van Gogh. The difference between a Van Gogh painting and
hieroglyphics is with Van Gogh I dream of sunflowers. With
Hieroglyphics I dream of Hollywood memories. I think in images. I hear
voices, but I think in images. No adverbs, but not clear or focused.
This is like cooking without oil, salt or sugar. It is not cooking. It
is cutting raw fruit. I like to cook. It makes me, me. Despite
people who call me a fruit or a fruitcake, I am a cook. Understand this
would all be much more clear with adverbs. Or not. It would taste
better.
Lots of kids home yesterday, I guess I just should have “Kids home yesterday” its more powerful, sorry I mean “its Powerful”
Anyways, I was 150 words short of 500 on this one, lucky my publisher is cool.
Sorry,
The End
It is finished. No more fighting, I don’t mean no more competition. Competition is good, great. Challenges are great. Struggle, opposition and hard work all great! Even anger can be a great motivator. Anger at our self, or some other external problem. The problem with fighting is the mean part, the dishonest part, the part that “makes” people sell their soul. The part that allows us to cheat or lie. Imagine a society that looks down on fighting and arguing in the mean and nasty sense.
The Vince Lombardy “Winning isn’t everything, its the only thing” attitude is our problem. And how do we define winning? Cash, power, new toys, when the other person cries. Going to the moon was so much better. We had a goal, we were going to make our goal and we would lose no lives. Yes we lost a few astronauts, but we would succeed, it gave us a mission. Sure we wanted to beat the Russians, but that was more for fun and bragging rights than out of a desire to be mean and nasty or prove them wrong. Were there some folks spying and cheating? Selling our government $4 dollar screwdrivers for $4,000? Of course, but the general mood and tone of the people was, “We are going to do this!”. Not by attacking the other guy or by cheating, but by working together, using our brains and brawn.
We don’t need a war to rise to our greatest potential. We need to work together for a lofty goal that inspires us. Maybe its why people built the Vatican and all the Mega churches in the US. Personally I doubt God is impressed or flattered. I am pretty sure God’s preference would be that we help feed the hungry, provide care the sick and help the frail and vulnerable to grow strong and then help others too. The thing is big goals motivate people and leaders like motivated people. Big churches require big artists, designers, big lists that require big money and the local contractors that collect said money. Not too pick on churches, government and business do the same.
Its the big idea that
counts, freedom, clean water, air, food, health, family, education. I
put “Freedom” first because that is how we are trained in America, but
the truth is without the rest freedom is not all its cracked up to be.
Its the whole package we need to be excited about. In fact the problem
is that its too easy for too many of us, we already have it. What makes
it a lofty goal is creating it for everyone. Without war or the mean,
nasty, paranoid stuff. Just the hard work and teamwork and innovation
part.
When I was teaching at a engineering university I asked the
students why we could go to the moon but not solve the clean water and
health issue of most of the world. Their main answer was because there
was no money in it. Like there was money on the moon. They said the
money came from the innovation that was discovered while going to the
moon. It isn’t just possible that solving the problems here might
require a few innovations that could be worth something someday?
When cooperation is held up as more beautiful than bling and flash, whether it’s a tower in New York, or a thick gold chain on Rodeo Drive that is when we will have freedom with a capital F
What makes you afraid? Anxious?
This could get ugly. I am not a
big fan of pain, I have had more than my fair share of but emotional and
physical pain, just look at my scars. Of course “fair share” is a lot
like beauty. In any case the idea of either is not a big fear. I know I
will have plenty more of each in my time to come, or at least expect it
and I don’t really have a large feeling of either right now, so enjoy.
The thing that gives me the greatest sense of anxiety is the idea that I
missed my calling in life. That God put me here for something
important. I imagine what we might have missed if, Lincoln, or Charlie
Chaplin, or Madame Curie, or Lao Tsu had decided to play video games or
go swimming and never did what they did (Disclaimer: this is a very
random list, I could just as easily have added Shakespeare, Twain,
Jesus, Buddha, or any of thousands of others). Its comforting to
imagine that someone else just stepped in and the world never skipped a
beat and its not unreasonable in some sense. Who knows maybe all those
folks were really second or third choice and the first choices were busy
polishing doorknobs or something equally important or enthralling. At
the same time its just as easy to imagine the world could be much much
better if many other people had stepped up with extra effort on the side
of love, peace and respect for life and our world.
Of course the
there is really no evidence that I have any exceptional value on a
global, by todays typical measures. So what I might feel could just be
my imagination, ego or need to some sort of external worth. This idea
is a little freeing but also quite a bit of a disappointment. I like
the idea of having value, both for myself and everyone else. Even the
birds and the bees. So I prefer to lean toward the idea that we all
have huge value and importance, just not always based on completion of a
certain task or mission. Sort of a parts of the body thing. Clearly
the hands do a lot of work, at least some peoples hand do. And the
mouth gets the joys of the first taste, unless you count smells. But
without certain constricting sphincters the whole thing gets messy in a
hurry and doesn’t last long. Not that I seek to be the latter, but I
have come to understand that I will never understand it all, but I can
push myself harder to contribute to others. I feel the joy in the right
little things and add more joy where I can. Pushy people may need to
push less, I need to watch my desire to be patient and grow and share
more. This is that, a small step admittedly, possibly misguided, God
knows I have a over-sized capacity for that. But it is a step and
better than getting poked with a sharp stick, at least for me anyways.
An embarrassing fact, an awkward truth
Writing about an embarrassing moment is an interesting concept. Like most people I could have quite a long list if really allowed myself the time to remember. I would prefer to list all the embarrassing moments of friends and family, but that is not the assignment and would only shrink my social circle further. Moments like these that are more distant are easier to expose. Sure it was embarrassing yesterday when I accused my wife of not putting the scissors back in the kitchen, only to find them on my desk where my alter ego had left them. But moments that unlock real insight and growth are usually rooted a bit deeper in our past. Awkward truth that hit us deeply immediately when they happen, are generally only embarrassing when we miss the awkward truth in them. The learning and awkward truth comes later….or never in some cases, which I will refrain from mentioning, again in vain attempt to avoid shrinking my circle of influence.
So I shall go way back in history and expose my awkward truth. No doubt for those of you who have seen pictures of me or met me this will shock you, but I used to consider myself very ugly. Not in the personality sense, that probably wouldn’t shock anyone, but really though I was unpleasant to look at, I don’t really remember when it started. I remember when I was really little and not even thinking how I looked, I was just happy or hungry, ugly was what the duckling was. It was what other people were when they were not nice to others. As I said I don’t remember when it crept into my Psyche but I do remember a seminal moment when I was in 9th grade and I opened my school photo. All I saw was a nose, huge the size of mount Kilimanjaro. And greasy hair, slick and shiny on top, combed over like I was trying to hide a bald spot, finishing the trip by sticking out into thin air in a wild frizzy mess. All of it highlighted by a white polyester shirt with red and blue squares in a random pattern like a Mondrian painting. No smile, I was ruined. I never had been much of a ladies man, courtship for me had been throwing a milk at the girl I liked. Once I made a “Wanted Dead or Alive” poster. At least that got me a smile, the milk was less successful. Anyways after the school photo fiasco I didn’t even bother thinking anyone could be blind enough to consider me, if they did it was clearly either a desperate person or there was so ulterior motive…..
Gradually I got used to myself image and focused on my other problems and the problems of others. I don’t remember the reason it changed, but it was around the time I first made $50, 000. I guess that makes me a true American male. Not sure if others treated me different because of it or if I just started thinking I had real value. It just seems like it happened around then. I do remember the exact moment I realized I was over it. I was writing about myself, or talking about my self image and I said “it seems like my head just swelled up around my nose and made it normal size”. Well I haven’t had time to actually measure the changes in my head to nose ratio, once I retire, but remember thinking I was done with the ugly thing. I am what I am. I understood with that sentence that it was my ego that grew up, not my head. And life has been downhill since then. Don’t let your self fool yourself.
Justice
Justice or freedom, can there be one without the other? Is there a difference? The answer is probably yes and no, or no and yes depending on your perspective. It is the perspective thing that makes both ideas in practice a illusive prize at times. Take “Pro-Life” and “Pro-Choice”, with such great names to define them how could positive value either even be questioned. Does “Anti-Life” or “No-Choice” sound attractive or make sense? We are created with a capacity for choice, I would even say an essential part of our freedom is our right to make choices. We choose who we worship, or not. who we love, or not. What we do for a living. Where we live, or not? Can we choose to live or not? Can we choose whether or not another person can live or not. I would imagine most people can see a space for debate around the question can a person take their own life if they no longer want to live. The space changes greatly when we discuss taking the life of another person. Justice is very personal and theoretical at the same time.
I have my positions on both camps, they are not so much
points of defense as points of todays arrival. I am perfectly willing to
look at new roads to different camps, but I have spent time exploring
many different points in the process of finding where I am today.
“Pro-Life” and “Pro-Choice” as they have come to be defined by the
media today and probably the groups who coined the terms are in probably
in direct opposition, however I choose to see them as much more similar
when expanded. I am “Pro-Life” all life should be nurtured and given
what is needed to grow. Yes from conception a life should be loved.
The word “should” is not “must”. If life must be protected, must might
imply then it might include killing to protect. While each case can be
different when we apply our justice individually we are applying our
choice. Protect the life of a baby, of an unborn baby, a full grown
baby, no Trump jokes please, a full grown baby that has taken the lives
of other babies unborn or full grown. Personally I have some trouble
understanding the position of protecting all unborn babies and carpet
bombing other countries, and their babies. I experience the same
confusion with the idea that unborn babies require top priority over all
but born babies don’t require health care, education, or the freedom to
love the person they feel they love.
It would seem the best way to
protect babies, lives is to support their growth, from conception to
grave. Not just delivery and service at their burial but at every step,
provide freedom to make the right choice, support the “best decision”
for life, theirs, ours, everyone’s.
My justice must be your justice
too, but for that to happen we need to talk to each other, listen to
each other, learn from each other. Without that we have no justice or
freedom, only order, or chaos.
I search for a better answer and I believe this is “Our” mission. Not just the search, but the application in life.
Write in the voice of someone else.
To write in the voice of someone else may be the most difficult assignment so far. Lying was far more easy. My first thought was to just start quoting politicians, like Madame, Thats my pet name for Hillary. I have heard we shouldn’t mention her on the Internet because Goggle sees it and raises her ranking in the trends. My guess is Goggle will not read my words before she is either president or dead, not that I wish either to reach with any haste. It would be wonderful if she never experience either, although with all due respect I do expect her to be unable to avoid the latter. Part of why I am not a supporter of her candidacy is the uncomfortable feeling that she seems to feel deep down inside that if she is president she will be able to avoid the latter. No doubt there is good in her heart, somewhere, but she reminds me of Caesar more than Lincoln or any other “Good” president.
Well it seems I have
already failed this assignment, these words sound far too much like my
own voice to be someone else. But are they really “my” voice? Isn’t my
voice really the voice of the voice I have heard and remembered? In
which case I would hope you are hearing a little John Steinbeck, Ernest
Hemingway, Maybe a little Kurt Vonnegut, John Irving. If I am really
doing well even a little Jesus Christ and Hunter Thompson, but without
the foul language or holy insight. More than anything I probably sound
like Scott Foresman, the author of the “Dick And Jane” series of books.
These are probably the first books I read in first grade. I don’t
think people tried to teach kids to read before kindergarten, or even
first grade. I remember pretty clearly the room I was in and the
teacher to started teaching us to read and it was first grade. It is
easy for me to remember because it was the first time an adult had
walked up to me and lifted me out of my chair by my ear lobe. It did
not feel good and she seemed to be smiling yet she was clearly unhappy.
In her defense while I was only six years old most likely I was already
channeling Hunter Thompson, not his prose, just his attitude. Some
gifts just come naturally to the lucky, the rest of us call them a
curse….until we turn them into cash and influence then we bow and say
what took you so long.
I pick up some pearls from Dick and Jane.
Write simple ideas. Use short sentences. Smile and wear clean
clothes, even when you don’t want too. Make your mom happy, she makes
dinner. And pie. When you make a friend, its for life. When you make
an enemy you have made a future friend otherwise your mom will not make
pie. Dogs are fun, but they cause a lot of trouble.
To this day I don’t understand how so many generations of kids learned to read given we started so late in life. Or why so many kids today have not discovered the joy of imagining the world in their own minds rather than in an electronic devise. What I do remember more than my sore ear was how much fun life was before she pulled my ear and how much more committed I became to continue having fun while avoiding having my ear pulled again.
I failed in my second goal, but did pretty good with the first.
Waiting….
For better or worse I have done a lot of waiting, I guess we all have. Right now you are probably waiting for me to get to the point. I could just make a list of all the memorable waiting experiences I have had, or just the worst or the best. Waiting for my kids to be born or my wife to arrive to the church would be good ones. I could make a pretty long list of bad ones I’ll save for a more than 500 words kind of day.
One thing I have done many times that day its very nature defines waiting is hitchhiking. There was a time in life, sorry I mean season, when hitchhiking had a very romantic allure to it for me. It symbolized both adventure into the unknown as well as faith in God and my fellow human. It was before the huge media wave of strangers are crazy, don’t talk to people. I grew up walking to school from the age of 5. I don’t know if I ever saw a classmate get picked up from school, unless they were going to the doctor, or maybe from the principle’s office after a fight or something. Like most things I started out with little rides. Waiting for the bus to go home from a friend’s on a Sunday and just stuck out my thumb thinking, if I saved 10 minutes of waiting in the cold what could it hurt. Then when I moved out west I learned about destination thumbing. Like from the ski resort back into town. Evey one was a skier and everyone was leaving either took a right or a left at the highway. You had something in common with the driver, talk about skiing, and skiers don’t murder skier unless they are skiing, its the skier’s code.
Then I got a real wild idea. I would fly back for my brother’s wedding and hitchhike back home 10 days later, maybe 3,000 miles. It was a great flight, they still fed, for lack of a better word, you on domestic flights back then. The wedding was fun, got to see some old friends and then day 10 arrived. A friend drive me to a highway on ramp heading south, so with backpack in place I took up my position on the side and waved goodbye. What a crazy feeling I had, thank God it was spring and not winter. I had made a sign. I was going to Tahoe, but being a rather cleaver I had put Des Moines on it. I waited so much on that trip its hard to remember how long I waited for that first ride. Looking back it did seem like a long time, but It was not a huge long time. The first ride got me most of the ways to Des Moines and I made it to Tahoe in 3 days, which was pretty impressive. I did a fair bit more of hiking after that, but it was on that trip that I developed my “Happy Craig” dance. Not much of a dance move really, unless I was cold and there were no cars approaching. It was more of a mantra. I just concentrated on singing to myself and praying to God for a ride. I am “Happy Craig” and I am grateful to God and grateful to you. I will make you glad you picked me up. Everyone loves happy people. I have not hitched in a long time and I am afraid I would not recommend it to my kids today, but the waiting and learning to project both inward and outward happiness is a gift I am forever grateful for and use on a daily basis.
A Manifesto of Sorts
And then… Viva la Revolution!
“On Earth as it is in Heaven” 100’s of millions of people pray it everyday, if not several times a day and surely once a week. People who don’t pray for it or even believe in heaven probably hope for it. I say we need to get busy and make it happen. I ask you, “Do you think you will need money in heaven?” Will you need to go to work everyday just to feed your kids, or will you be occupied with a work you love so much that you want to wake up and do it everyday? Even with the passion and excitement of your mission when another even arrives, birth of your child, marriage of a friend, grand opening of your favorite artist, you can put it on hold or pass it to a college and take as much time off as needed to prepare, attend, and celebrate 100%. Without worry or missing even a hint of your project and passion.
Currently this almost exists for many people, but many is a tricky word. We are so small, I am just one person, so a number like 1 million always seems big. And maybe there are 1 million people living who have enough, money, power, emotional and spiritual maturity to have this reality. Maybe? But we are 5+ billion . So 1 million out of is like maybe one person in your whole city or state, depending on where you are living when you might read this. That is not a lot. Then again maybe there is only 2 people in heaven, so that would be 50%. I don’t want to harp on the whole 1% thing that has been a bit over used these days. And no I don’t think people can be forced to love others or be kind. A true and lasting revolution can not be forced on people. It takes effort, and encouragement or teaching to be nice, but force alone will not last. A violent revolution will only last until the next revolution. A peaceful revolution incorporates the revolution into the society, or it doesn’t succeed and its not a revolution, its just a movement or moment in time. There has been a revolution in American culture, maybe even “Western culture” for lack of a better term.
I would guess there has always been at least a few people who had extreme wealth and money as their goal but for the vast majority of people their personal goal has been freedom, comfort, safety and security for themselves, their friends and family and others in the ever expanding circle around them which increased as their capacity to influence others increased. Currently most people would probably say this is still true, however I would propose that there has been a steady and stealthy revolution in our culture which has replaced this basic motivation with a new ambiguous goal of money. The concept being that with enough money we can met any potential need or desire at the drop of a hat, at the risk of being cliche ( need the stop using that word, its taking over my writing, much like quotation marks and commas and parentheses) {maybe I should start using brackets}.
Maybe I am too far north or just too white, although 80% of my household is not white (they are just as north as me, give or take 50 feet most of the time) But I feel like the revolution that ended slavery has slowly erased racism. Or is slowly erasing racism. Slavery is illegal but not ended. Sure open and public sale of humans is not allowed, it is illegal. However law enforcement professionals and victims are clear, it exists. A violent revolution has not ended the practice. Racism has undergone a more peaceful revolution, yes there were violent days at different places and sadly there maybe be again. But the internal change toward deliberate racism is much less. Is there still separation and advantage or disadvantage based on race? Of course the answer is yes.
Change does not always require anger, but it can be useful at times. The trick is to use it without violence and to actually turn our adversaries into our coworkers for a better solution for all of us.
719 words…. Interrupted by a 30 min Batman episode with the kids
Hope wins
At risk of alienating my non cynical readership, the idea of writing about “Hope” is a bit cliche these days. There I have said it. Nothing against hope. I love hope. I hope someone reads this. I hope I finish writing these 500 words before my patient wakes up and I have to “get dirty” in that ever so special nurse sort of way that keeps so many good and caring people out of the nursing profession. Not only do I love hope, I think hope attracts love, just as much as love creates hope. They are so connected they might even be different forms of the same “thing” for lack of a better word. This may be part of “The why” that so many people seem to live without hope and love. They are not a person, place, or object. They are not really feelings or emotions. Possibly Love could be a verb, but that too is far from complete and a bit cliche. My first impulse is to say hope and love are intangible and yet so often they are the most palpable element in the room.
All this is not the result of alack of something in love and hope as mush as an issue with human language. In my case mostly English. I am pretty good with French, at least my American friends say so and a few very pleasant French people have said they thought they thought I might be French. No doubt they hoping to make me feel loved. That said I have come across no word or word group in French seems to define either concept is a compact easily word. Like a rock. We all know what a rock is. Whether it is just sitting there or someone throws one in your direction, a rock is a rock. A duck is a duck. Hope is hope and love is love too, but its not the same. That to me is part of the beauty.
Beyond the beauty of hope and love are the practical aspects. They keep us alive. Like many teenagers, I suppose, there was many days, or seasons as they say in today’s best sellers, when I did not expect to make it to adulthood. I simply did not, no need for detail here, either you understand or you don’t. If you don’t consider yourself very lucky and thank your parents. If you understand, consider yourself lucky, it can increase your odds of survival and at the very least make your remaining time a bit more enjoyable.
Even when I did not expect to live long enough to be like my parents of Gandhi or President Lincoln I had a sense of hope. I could hope for something to tasty to eat, something interesting on TV, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom was always fun, or just that my brother would stop tickling me. I always had hope because I always had love, love from my family and friends. Looking back I am not so sure I really knew I loved them then or even that I showed them then. Sadly I probably don’t really show them very much now. But what I do know is that looking back on then I do love them all now, or at least I love that they were there with me then. And like soldiers who have been through war together, I love that we made it through those day together. Even the ones that are gone my love seems totally present. The rock that hit me in the head with I was 10 yrs old, not so much. That is the beauty of love and hope and why I need to share it more and make it so.
The half way point
I do like writing, its like thinking, but more time consuming. I like thinking too, quicker than talking and no worry of people not listening, although they do all too often respond incorrectly to my thoughts. This has lead to at least consider talking may be a valid exercises from time to time. So at the half way point in this 31 days of writing 500 words a day I can see how this would be a good job for me, the real question for me is would it be good for others. I pretty much talk to my friends and family like I write, for better or worse. Generally I think we all say for better. It must be said that there are some members of the family who can only hear so many of my words each day, depending on their mood. My children and mother can still listen to me non stop, but my kids are very young and my mother very old (with all due respect)… Once you get past 80-85, age should be something to proud of, its like completing your 100th marathon.. No need to run around waving it in peoples faces but don’t feel bad when people mention it. I have never run a marathon. I did a walk-a-thon when I was 12. 30 miles, great fun, raised money for breast cancer research or something like that. And I have been to maybe 100 Dead shows, which is a sort of marathon. Anyways, I can see writing as something I can do and love and might even be capable of improving my skill with practice. Based on my test market (my friends and family) using my test medium (oral production) my raw material, (Thoughts as talk)has a positive effect and therefore value. This process could be a good test for translation to a medium which larger number people could experience, as my time is limited. However this was not meant to be a blog or public material. The goal of the exercises is really just writing and flexing the writing muscle or muscles depending on how you define it/them. I like what it does to my head, possibly less so to my wrist and fingers. But no sacrifice is to great for art and country!
One point I have noticed and others may have too, is my tendency to jump around or digress as the big boys call it. I also like to toss around rather odd metaphors, You can only imagine how hard it was to use the word metaphor rather than use one of my standard crazy images, such as an ostrich with his head in a hole, or a little boy picking his nose. It seems I couldn’t resist. So maybe just straight text will not be my best medium. Maybe memes with a photo graphic element will work better for me. I do enjoy the colorful side of things, probably an untoward effect of the Dead shows. I remember a phase where I was writing thoughts on ceramic vases and platters I turned and then glazed with fun colors. Sadly in some ways the whole money culture has stifled all this. Or maybe it has/will push me to refine and improve my output. Time will tell, which is part of why I am intrigued enough to make the move from talk to write. Will others find it worthwhile or not?
Food
I love food. They say what you can’t live without is that which you love. I love food. Recently I read a piece about Breathetarians, people who practice the “art” of living without eating or drinking. They take in all the need through their breath. My first question is “why?”. Granted “How?” could develop into some rather interesting discussion or at least amusing answers, in a sort of “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”, “Alice in Wonderland” sort of way, but why would one want to give up such a pleasure and connection with life? I first heard of Breathetarians around the same time I met a guy who was living in his truck and working of discovering the key to time travel. He truly seemed to believe he was getting close, although he did admit it was difficult to explain to others. As I was living in my van at the time I was probably one of the few people who could truly understand his commitment to his efforts. At the time I was less concerned with time travel, I was more focused on the joy of freedom to seek joy in seeking freedom. I imagine that explains our ability to connect. Considering the current state of “popular” society, for lack of a better word, it appears he may have succeeded in traveling ahead of us and is not in control of the American political machine, all of it, them or however it might best be described.
But enough about time travel. Food is why we are here, its what concerns me now. Coffee to be more precise, its 10am, between meals. As I said before food is about connections. It gives our cells the materials needed to connect with each other and it gives our thoughts the moments we need to connect with our lives. Even when we have not food it is the focus of our existence. It links us to our past. At great risk offending someone by mentioning a forbidden meal or substance, I remember one meal of Mac and cheese, organic, rennet free, dye free New York Cheddar, (or the colored dry powder if you prefer. Personally I connect with both although at different times.)I need only think of that meal to return to that time in my life. Of course there are many more meals and food that send me nowhere.
Somehow I seemed to have returned to time travel again and again I return to why? Food is our connection to life. Why would we want to give up our attachment to life. Soon enough we will give up our attachment to life and we will have forever to practice that. Or not I guess if you believe we will return a as beetle or a Dali lama or whatever. Then again, that’s not really my image of the afterlife. I see heaven much more about experiencing the glory of God without my own personal baggage in the way. At that point will be more just a very funny joke and a clear example of God power to turn total BS into pure Bliss. Which is a little like how cows turn grass in the BS and then God makes papayas, mango’s and humans.
Back to food at last, but clearly time travel has more to say.
Tell us about your day.
Most of my days are the same these days,
or at least out of my control in many ways. When there is school the
kids do that, when there is not school the kids usually do me. Well
yesterday was the first day of spring break in 10-15 years that may mean
going to the ocean beach for sun and fun, but they can’t drive or fly
by themselves yet so thats not an option presented to them yet. They
have friends who missed the Thursday an Friday last week to “voyage” but
they haven;t figured out of horribly we are depriving them of that yet.
So a friend of ours offered to treat them to a day at the amusement
part. Him and 5 kids 8-4 years old. I was requested to go along as
support. This my normal roll. Stay out of trouble and toss out one
liners when necessary. The kids loved it, just telling them they can
leave the yard is a big deal, I guess thats why they love school so
much… We don’t have TV, never had cable. Even in France we only had the
basic broadcast stations. Its not so much about control as it is
limiting evil programing. I mean commercials and sassy kids. Anyways
they get to watch plenty of empty programing on the Internet. So its
kind of like spring break, its out there but its not day, so what should
we play.
Anyways they loved the adventure, I won’t bore you with
details, big smiles, screams of joy, frowns while waiting in line. I
love my kids, we made memories. When they are not with me I can cry
just thinking about how lucky I am, when they are with me I feel it too
and we do like each other. There really is no other way to talk about
my day and make it exciting or interesting. Yes we go places and do
stuff, we have been to Paris, San Francisco, Chuck cheese and Beijing,
but it really is the warmth we share and the drama that erupts between
us from time to time that makes time freeze or leap ahead without any
connection to normal reality. Not that normal reality is bad, its just
hard for me to spend time there. I guess for the kids that would be
school, in class while the teacher is talking to be precise. For me it
used to be what the National evening news talked about. I guess
somewhere around the OJ trial that all went sour. Watching attorneys on
both sides not asking the simple questions and making ridiculous
speeches. Followed by unknown experts asking even more crazy questions
while never asking the simple ones. As I said we don’t have TV, but its
everywhere but our house, so we see it and we know the direction and
distance it has traveled since then.
Anyways, a great day out was followed by frozen pizza at our house and 3 hours playing in the yard until it was so dark and cold that even Eskimos would have come in. The kids will no doubt claim that the roller coaster or the log chute was the high light of the day. But the 3 hours running around on the grass playing “tag” was the longest period of continuous laughter and smiling they had. I liked the roller coaster.
My Lie
Its funny how hard lying is right now when asked to lie. I have a pretty long history of lying. Maybe we all do and those who say they don’t may just be lying to themselves. Unless they say they don’t lie to someone else, then they are just lying to us and not themselves uniquely. If I were to say I am a saint surely that would be a lie and yet the Bible calls us all saints. Probably part of the problem in lying right now is in having labeled this text a lie. However one of the best techniques of history’s great liars has always been to start a lie by discussing lies, their own and others in the hopes of presenting their redemption to establish trust, as they say in the professional lying field.
But for me this whole 31 day exercises is more a training of myself to write than it is too learn to follow rules. This is something I gave up many learns ago. If a rule is worthwhile I know it instinctively and will follow it without effort. If it is not automatically I do not feel it to be correct right away I know this to be a rule not worth keeping. I realized this shortly after leaving jail one day. I worked in a jail for year or so. I knowledge of jail menus comes solely for my time as an employee not a resident. Hard to believe? I understand, but remember the Bible also calls me a saint. If that is not proof of God’s love and desire to forgive us, then I don’t know what is.
I don’t want to write lies, of course I will, that is the nature of writing and humans. Like fish stories, one can not finish one without at least a tiny lie. Which brings me to one of the themes of my life, subjectivity. I am not objective, never have been never will be. I don’t think I have ever met anyone who is, although I have met many who claim to be, most were well paid for gift claimed. I am not an expert on modern and post modern thinking, in fact its been quite some time since I looked it up. Maybe I will look it up after this and next time I write about it I will be an expert. But one of stronger traits is my uncontrollable tendency to forget ideas I don’t like. What I do remember about the modern-post modern thing was that it seemed like just another arbitrary label. I think up labels and categories as fast as I breathe, I rarely find them useful. Others generally find my labels even less useful and often offensive. I may be one of the reasons PC was invented. It did appear around the time of my birth, or at least the start of my verbal abilities, although some may question my abilities even today. Anyways back to modern-post modern. So there it is the best way to tell a lie is to wrap semi-truths and nonsense around it. Can you find the lie in this one?
“Persuade me”
Be a part of the solution, focus on what we agree on! They say we are a product of who we are around and what we think about. To a large extent I agree with this, probably has a stronger impact in the very short term and maybe the very long term as well, but as young as I am its not possible fr me to judge the long term. As this is another short piece it seems unsurprising that my topic is related to the current political environment. This is 2016, just in case it takes a few hundred years for this to be read. My request, not an order or a warning ( I have never liked either) is to get involved with our society! Speak up. No matter who you might support in the current presidential selection process. Its hard to call it an election, it seems more of a selection process than an democratic election. Some have called it an anointing or coronation. I really can’t say I see who is doing the anointing so that doesn’t work for me.
It does seem clear that most of the public agree there is way too much waste and fraud in our government. All the personalities presented as choices agree on that. The problem is probably how these words, ideas are defined. You may see, a lot of the welfare program as a waste or you may see much of the military system as a waste, just to pick two unrelated topics, if unrelated is even possible.
I would request us all to focus on the second word, FRAUD, this is something we can define much easier, or at least should be able to define easier. If we even cut fraud in half every year(to pick a random percentage), there would be huge savings to apply to cutting taxes or programs people want. We need to stop putting so much focus on what separates us and more power into meeting our common goal. Imagine a group of people around a tree with a child stuck high up in a tree. All the people on the ground stand around discussing who should climb the tree. How the tree should be climbed, when. How it can be prevented in the future. Whose fault was it this time. All the while a large thick blanket is sitting on the ground waiting to be stretched out to catch the child if she falls. See the blanket, pick it up with others. AND keep discussing the rest, but save the child.
Sports professional or amateur are not society. TV shows and movies are not society! Gourmet food, fashion, Art are not society! Those are all great things and I don’t mean they shouldn’t exist, they help make life rich and provide a place for us to meet each other and grow. You are not responsible for everything. The best thing we can do is do the best we can, rarely does that mean focusing on the worst in others or ourselves. There may not be good in everyone, I have not met everyone. But of the people I have spent more than a few moments with I have always seen a little good. Pick up the blanket!
“Teach Something”
I taught English for 10 years anyone reading
this “article” knows I should not do that today….or any other day for
that matter. I could teach pottery or skiing, love both and probably
would do better than with English, but they both advance better with a
physical experience addition that someone with limited English like
myself could never convey without a hammer. What I dream of “Teaching”
is “open thinking and open dialog” if there is such a thing. I say if
because if there is then I didn’t really need the quotation marks, but
they are fun to use , so I do. Just to clarify, for me open thinking
does not mean that there is no right or wrong or no authority (external,
internal or eternal) (PS: I enjoy parentheses too). To me open
thinking is looking at and discussing an idea or event from as many
sides as possible. Judgment can not be reserved or denied during the
process, but it can be held in tenderly knowing that there maybe
considerations not yet addressed. These days extreme polarity seems to
be the standard path. Even the “Center” is extreme these days. Take
capitalism. Some people think it is the answer to all, others say
Socialism. But is there such a thing? Is one better than the other.
Some would say Capitalism made America the richest and greatest country
in history. Others might say that it was due to virtually unlimited free
natural resources land. Others might question the idea of free and say
American Capitalists killed the owners and stole the land just like all
the other emperors. The Indians,if I am allowed to use that term had a
pretty good life going, they didn’t have fences or attorneys backed by
guys with guns. But they didn’t upset the natural balance of things.
Kind of cool to be able to just hike around and drink water out of the
streams and pick berries and mushrooms.
OK so that was bad and we gave them casinos before everyone else, so that’s behind us, you say.
Fair enough, but what about the slaves? What about the all the countries that gave up all their natural resources to American corporations without really keeping any for their citizens? (to be fair it wasn’t just American corporations)
“Well those countries were paid for what was taken, its not our fault if their leaders wasted our payment. And they didn’t have the ability to use what we took anyways” you say.
But how did those “Leaders” get into power? And is helping an old lady across the road and letting her fall down the hill really a good deed? More importantly would Capitalism have been had such huge success if people without power had been able to negotiate with the same respect as capitalists. Why can one person refuse to work or rent their land for less than $10,000.00 a day, but another person can not even refuse to work or rent their land when offered $10.00 a day? The Indians (that word again) or Africans, or Asian, didn’t have money enough, or guns enough, or attorneys enough or education enough. So I guess we could just call them poor.
“So giving them free money, guns, attorneys and education is the cure.?” you say
Well that is probably not a good idea and I understand your fear, or concern if you prefer, but fear is probably a fair response. My point was and is not to place blame on one or the other. To me “Open thinking” is being able to look at more than one side, however comfortable to gain better insight. The monetary success of capitalism may not be due solely to its ability to motivate people to work harder and be innovative. We may have seen huge increases in wealth accumulation not solely from greater production. Clearly there are many more ways to look at “our” history, the idea is to look at them together or individually with goal of improving our understanding. Then using that to fit our morals and values with hopefully are good
“Just Write a list”
For me a list is a difficult task, I don’t make lists very often unless there is a point, steps in a process fine, friends to invite to our wedding OK, animals with 4 feet, not so much. The whole idea of this 31 day exercises is to get words flowing get my thoughts recorded. So making this list has a purpose even if its just a list, but does a list require bullet points of numbers? Must it be just words without complete sentences?
I have never been good a following rules just for the sake of following rules, unless I decide to make my game seeing how well I can follow the rules, or want to impress a friend, or potential friend. So I will make a list of stupid things I did to impress a friend, not always by following the rules, sometimes going against the rules. One of my more stupid acts, I hope it is not too offensive to call my own behavior stupid. My kids tell me stupid is a really bad word, when I grew up it was just what everyone else was. I was often called stupid by others and they often called me stupid. For example one time I was riding my bike after just watching cartoons and laughing about the funny stuff they could do in cartoons. I wondered if I could do the same types of things, since I was on my bike I was in perfect position to try something out and see what worked. Without much thought I did a stupid thing. Now you could say I am being too hard on myself for calling it stupid. You could say my parents did not encourage me enough, or someone had taught me negative self talk. However, Stupid is a rather accurate word for what I did. While riding a steady speed in the street, asphalt surface, with one quick movement I turned my front wheel 90 degrees, perpendicular to the direction I was going. As any not stupid person, or even a stupid person having a non stupid moment, might expect my bike stopped instantly. I flew over my handle bars and kissed the street. As luck would have it there was one of the wise elderly neighbors out of a walk only a few feet away. Clearly he was not trained in modern politically correct child psychology because he almost fell over laughing. Me laying on the street, dazed looking up and all I can see is him laughing his head off. After a few seconds he was able to stop long enough to force out an “Are you OK?” and then returned to uncontrolled hysterics when I nodded “yea”. Slowly I stood up, no real damage, just a couple scrapes, standard fair for a great explorer of reality like me. When my “friend” could slow down enough again to ask a question he said “Why did you do that?”
I answered without thinking “I wanted to see what would happen.” To which he almost fell down himself with laughter possibly even stronger than his first laughing fit. It was at this point I began to tell myself that was a stupid idea. He did not need to call me stupid, nor did he need to call what I did stupid. I needed to call it stupid, because I never wanted to do that again. I am proud to say it has been almost 50 yrs since that day and I have never once attempted that maneuver again.
Well that is not much of a list and I didn’t even tell the story I wanted to about doing a stupid thing to impress a friend. Next time.
“Write something that you wish someone would have told you 10 or 5 years ago”
People live up to your expectations of them. My ex-wife told me several times that if I did not do things her way she would take our son and I would never see him again. She may have not said that exact sentence, because she said it several times but it was essentially that. After the second time I started to believe her and it was very upsetting to me as you might imagine. She sensed I was not relaxed and happy, which probably caused her to feel worse about us and or herself…the downward spiral. Long story short, I only have 500 words, we separated and she began to execute her threat. She received much help from a system and society that currently feels a great need to protect women and children from evil men. Which leads me to the next thing I wish someone had told me, Our judges and attorneys need to justify their actions in their own minds to avoid prison, they do not need to do what the law says. The law says men and women are equal and children have rights to both parents. A judge decides what they think is right and selects details to justify their decision. In judges defense I guess we all do that in our own lives.
Looking at my life today, I am extremely grateful
for my life today. A wonderful wife and 3 healthy happy girls. God is
great, kind and generous.
Looking back on yesterday, I clearly
remember a flash of enlightenment. I don’t remember the spark that
brought it on, maybe a moment of prayer, maybe and moment of laughter,
maybe the feel of light snow crystals on my cheeks as I skied fresh
powder. What I do remember was the click of the idea that had I just
laughed when she made her threat and replied “You love Peter far to much
t every do that to him” “You are a great mother.” “I am scared too,
we are going to be fine!”…. You get the idea, rather than reinforce her
threat and show I was ready to fight this fight with her I could have
tried to elevate her above the lowest part of herself. Would it have
made a difference, I will never know. Can it make a difference?
Clearly it can. It has made a difference in me at different times. In
high school things were not going well with my parents and I stopped
having much interest to prove myself in my teacher’s eyes. I learned
what I wanted to learn and they could “teach” anything they wanted. I
just wanted out, so I got on the work program. Which meant I took fewer
classes and received credit for work. Great for getting out of school,
pretty stupid for a school that was given the mission of teaching kids
valuable stuff. Anyways the brain surgeon they assigned to teach the
“work program” class told the whole class that we were losers. Our
whole generation was lost and beyond hope. We had been given everything
and were going to do nothing with it. I am paraphrasing, its been 30+
years. In a way some of what he said was true, some of that is probably
true of every group of 16 year olds. Being lost is part of being 16.
My point here is that it was not a good idea to encourage despair or
failure in the class. It was a huge difference from my 7th grade
English teacher who told me I was intelligent and a wonderful person, I
just needed to be a little less angry and focus on my dreams, because I
could certainly achieve what I want.
Thank you to Mr. Wolfe my 7th grade teacher, you left a spark of hope under my 12 year old skin.
And thank you to Mr. Postem, the other guy, at least you passed me and sorry about how I might have contributed to your foul mood, I know I was difficult.