Sunday, September 29, 2013

Dogs, cats and GPSs...

“Healing cannot be accomplished in the past. 
It must be accomplished in the present to
release the future. This interpretation
ties the future to the present,
and extends the present
rather than the past.”
Schucman, M. – A Course in Miracles


Dogs, cats and global positioning systems (GPS) – gotta love them.

What to they have in common, you say?  Ah, that is the question is it not?

It didn’t strike me at first.  I was so enamored with the technology I did not see it.  I mean, it was easy to get seduced by how well those things work.  Instead of memorizing the route to a place never before visited, just plug in the address and off you go!  It is practical, time saving, and relatively inexpensive…for what GPSs do, it doesn’t get much better.

This kind of technology is mind bending for someone my age.  The very idea you could put an address into a small transmitter/receiver and have it guide you BY VOICE to the place you have in mind, is really beyond the pale.  “Just a part of life,” you say??

It is hard for younger people to appreciate this, but as a kid in West Virginia we did not have dials or buttons on our telephones! 

“Operator…number please?” a pleasant voice would say.  Fairmont, West Virginia was small enough that the phone numbers were only four digits.  Our family’s? “7748.”  It was another time in this country.  The idea of carrying a mobile phone in your pocket wherever you go?  There was no way to even conceive of it then.

Back to that GPS…
The great thing about these devices is that they do not blame, recriminate, accuse or belittle my inability to sometimes follow their instructions.  Case in point.  I do not always pay attention and occasionally miss a turn.  When that happens, the thing DOES NOT raise its voice and say, “Hey, you missed the turn!” or “I knew you were going to go right by that street!” or, “I’m sorry, were you NOT paying attention??!!”  No sir, with a completely dispassionate and gently constant voice, they simply say, “Turn right on the next street,” and brings me around the block, or recalibrates and sends me the next best way.

They don’t look at my past driving history, nor are they interested in any character flaws I might have.  It doesn’t matter if I am young or old…smart or not so smart…tall or short…handsome or homely…wealthy or poor…black, white or yellow.  They simply have a job to do and do it with calm and deliberation.  They focus on the present, and move toward the future with none of the baggage we, as humans often carry into our decision-making processes.  While their circuit boards have no consciousness to care what I think…I admire them. 

A living counterpart…
That brings me to the cats and dogs.  I have had them both in my life.  While for the past few years it has been cats, the lessons are the same.  If you don’t beat them or deprive them of the things they need to survive, they are remarkably consistent in their behavior.  If they like you – frankly easier with dogs in my experience – there is little that causes them to change the way they feel.  They might be angry for a few minutes if scolded or punished, but none of that seems to matter as they climb back affectionately in your lap or lie by your side, because…well, because they live in the moment, looking to the future for a hug, a pat on the head, a stroke on their back, a gentle word – not the past.

They don’t care if you are young or old…smart or not so smart… tall or short…handsome or homely…wealthy or poor…black, white or yellow.  They don’t mind if you make a big mistake in your life.  Their circuit boards are filled with liquid chemistry that seem to be wired to be completely in the moment…then the next…and the next.

Wouldn’t it be great if we all operated like this?  You know, be in the ‘here and now.’ As you read these words, you are alive and only so in the moment your eyes scan the letters.  Previous sentences are in the past, the end of the blog in the future.  NOW is the only place we really live.

Wouldn’t it be great if we were able to take the present as a platform to create our future, or at the very least to be single minded in the present to focus our sight forward, without the recrimination, doubt and the guilt of the past.  Yesterday can’t be changed…but tomorrow? Tomorrow is activated by the decisions we make right now…each instant we have breath.

There is little doubt, our past experiences – those millions of ‘alive moments’ have built the present, making us who we are at any point in time.  They should NOT, however, keep us from moving forward in our lives.  They should NOT rob us of our future because they keep our eyes in the ‘rear view mirror’ of our journey.  This is not an easy task.

My friend Vert used to say grace, holding hands with family at the dinner table.  No matter the prayer, he ALWAYS ended by saying, “…and thank you for the future.”

Every morning, I take a few moments to remind myself it takes work to stay in the here and now.  I remind myself to be grateful that God has brought me to this moment.  I remind myself to keep my eyes forward take the day as it comes. I try to be a little more like that GPS or my cats...


As you read these words in your present, they will be in my past, but as I write them in my present and they come to a close, I am grateful for this moment and thankful for the future…

- ted

Sunday, September 22, 2013

The clock is ticking...

"...I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee."
- John Donne, 
Devotions upon 
Emergent Occasions

As we walked into Jerry Bob’s Family Restaurant, I had a sense of déjà vu…maybe even all over again!

“BL” – before lunch…
We had come into Tucson earlier in the week.  It was the first time I had gotten to see the work done on our ‘soon to be’ new home.  Molly has a lot of skill sets, but one I really admire is her ability to work with, direct and understand, plumbers, electricians, carpenters and other professionals that do things to houses…a reflection of her training as an engineer.

For most of the 30 plus years we lived in Missouri, our dwelling was a 100 year old farm house, that by the time we moved in was no longer in the country, but in the city.  That old thing took a lot of tender loving care making and keeping it livable.  It took constant maintenance – hence her talent for working with tradesmen. 

Often, when she was out and a project in progress, a worker would say he had a question and wondered where she was.  I would say, “What’s the question,” and almost without exception – and I mean WITHOUT exception – they would give me ‘the look’ and respond, “That’s okay, I’ll wait for her.”  Yes sir, if you want to find out your real place in life, have a man working for you, tell you your wife is the ‘go to person’ on project.  It is a humbling experience…I have had many!!

Lunch, that’s it…
Jerry Bob’s – that’s where this started before I got sidetracked.  As we pulled into a parking spot in front of the restaurant, the temperature read 105 degrees (40.5C) – at that temperature, there is NO DRY HEAT!!  We’ve been told we’ll get used to it.  Maybe, but it’s is mid-September with temperatures trending down and it’s still this hot – trending down?…are you kidding me??!!

The restaurant had a large single room filled with tables and booths.   The booths lined the walls both to the left and to the right.  On the left side of the room, another row of double booths separated by a partition added more room to sit.  Center right were four-top tables with chairs facing each other from opposite sides…the kitchen in the rear, separated by a wall and door.

The motif was…well, there really wasn’t much motif.  Light brownish earth tone paint provided a little color to the interior walls sparsely covered with nondescript cowboy/western painting reproductions around the room and inside the booths.  Along the wall to the right in bright letters read ‘Jerry Bob’s Family Style Restaurant’ with an “In business since….” in smaller letters below.

There was the low hum of people chattering with one another, mostly in groups of four and a scattering of two and three folk per table or booth.  We were hungry, so other than coming in and finding a booth in the back, there wasn’t much to notice other than the plainness of the place.  One had the feeling that if Jerry Bob faulted on his lease, the space could be emptied and replaced with a clothing store in an afternoon.

With menus in the booth, a cheerful, just on the edge of being cocky, young fellow came to ask about drinks and get our order.  Now that we were settled, I began to look around a little.  In the booth across the way were four older men chatting about golf.  As my eyes drifted to group in the next booth, there were three more senior citizens, the booth after that four more and the final booth next to the window a man and his wife, also somewhat ‘mature.’  I was beginning to see a pattern.  I looked over the partition separating us from the main part of the restaurant and saw pretty much nothing but older people – they were everywhere! 

I said to Molly, “All these people are old!!”  She gently replied, “This IS Tucson after all, and by the way have you looked in the mirror?  You are one of them!”  “Holy cow,” I thought, “I have walked into a restaurant full of classmates from my 45th – soon to be 50th – high school reunion!!!”  You would have to be in my brain, but it was kind of surreal.

Reality bites…
There are not many things that remind me of my age.  I suppose it is partly that I have continued to find creative things to do and I’m fortunate to be busy.  Things that get my attention, however, are when I hear that a friend’s children are in their twenties and thirties when they had been frozen in my mind as children.  Or, when one of my friends talks about a great grandchild – Wait!!  What??!! Really?? 

I haven’t yet in my life had, or found the time to hang out with buddies in the middle of the day grabbing a bite to eat and talking about golf or baseball or football or whatever.  Having said that, I am certainly in the age category to where I could be doing that sort of thing.  Perhaps when you don’t see it around you, it ‘doesn’t exist’ until…until it is in front of you and gets your attention.

Time and gravity…
Jerry Bob’s food was pretty good.  That waiter turned out to actually be a pleasant young man, AND the youngest fellow in the place.  I suppose the luncheon adventure was a bit of a cold shower…a ‘wake up and smell the coffee’…a small ‘come to Jesus’ moment.  I walked into that place hungry and ageless…at least from the standpoint of the way I feel and live my life.  While I may not be quite ready for ‘the coffee klatch culture,’ I walked out of the place a 66 year-old man realizing I wasn’t really any different than any of those guys having lunch and hanging out…except that my ‘hangout partner’ was a good deal better looking!

Déjà vu all over again?  Probably not, but it was a reminder that time marches on no matter what one thinks of it.  When we left Jerry Bob’s I felt a little older…wiser??  I’m not so sure.

ted


Ps to Molly:  When I look in the mirror I see an old thing that needs a lot of tender loving care making and keeping it (him) livable…one of her many gifts.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Shining shoes...

"Without the little things in life
there are no 'big deals.'"
- Anonymous

It wasn’t the first time we had met. 

Her thick, dishwater brown, kinky hair was a little longer, falling a couple of inches (5cm) below her shoulders. She wore a modest single piece black dress settling a little above here knees.  She looked to have put on a small amount of weight, but mostly, it seemed the sparkle in her ‘hair matching’ brown eyes was just a little dimmer…a little more knowing.

The first time…
A year ago, she was sitting just outside the elevators at the hotel reading a book.  I had seen her there before trolling for customers…sitting and reading.  Trolling might not be exactly the right word, but it was hard to miss her coming toward, or heading away from the elevator bank.

 “What are you reading?”  I asked.  She glanced up with that kind of look one gets when their minds have been in a distant place, and suddenly are brought back to the moment.  You know…eyes refocusing…a tiny bit of confusion in the face as one returns from…well, wherever.  There was a sparkle and a confidence in her eye.

She held the up the book with the kind of smile that suggested there were things and places only she knew, and where her mind would return when the two of us were done.  “When business is slow, I like to read.” She replied.  While I do not remember the book, I do recall being a bit surprised – not what I expected.  It was not philosophy, but something substantive.  Expectations…judgments…I mean, what kind of book should someone ‘like her’ be reading anyway?

Her name was Eva, she was a student in her late twenties, and had a nine-year old daughter. This job allowed her to help her with school, take care of the girl and along with her husband, make ends meet.  Because her work came in ‘fits and starts,’ she was either really busy or not so much. Reading was a good way to pass the time.

We chatted for a few minutes, and as it turns out she was quite bright.  While it was clear she had a ‘talking to a potential customer’ style, when asking her the kinds of things she liked to read or interested her, she easily got ‘off script,’ and was a clever conversationalist.  I liked her right away.  We had one of those little events life brings along when people just connect…no reason…no agenda…just two minds finding a brief place that energizes both – you know, where the ‘whole’ becomes greater than the sum of the ‘parts.’  It was a win!

Just then a fellow appeared, climbed up into the elevated chair next to where she was sitting.  “Gotta go,” she said.  As I drifted away, she went to work, doing what she was there to do – shine shoes.

Side bar…
I’ve always been uncomfortable with public shoe shining. It just seems to be an open metaphor for dominance and subservience…the king lording over the pauper…the wealthy overshadowing the poor.  I’ve done it a couple of times, but never felt comfortable.  It’s a quirk, I get it. 

Here and now…
This year, as I came off the elevator, there she was again…same girl…same place…same job, but this time it was different. 

She wasn’t reading.  She was staring off into space with an expression of mild disinterest. 

“Hi,” I said.  “You won’t remember me, but we chatted for a few minutes when I was here last year.” She glanced up with that kind of look one gets when their minds have been in a distant place, and suddenly are brought back to the moment.  You know…eyes refocusing…a tiny bit of confusion in the face as one returns from…well, wherever. 

“I see a lot of people.” She replied, glancing at my shoes.  This time there wasn’t much of a sparkle in her eye.  There was the tired look one gets when routine takes over the mind with hours left on the clock.

The year before, I reminded her, she had been reading.  “Yeah,” she said a bit dully, “They didn’t like me reading on the job, so they made me stop.”  I asked how school was going.  “I had to drop out.  To much on my plate, with my daughter and things.” She replied with a bit of a resigned look. 

“How is your daughter?”  I continued, looking for a spark.  The girl was well, but things had been tough.  School was probably not going to happen.  She made decent money, didn’t have to pay too much to rent the shoeshine space, but there were a lot of demands.  Tips really helped.  It was clear there was an agenda and it wasn’t a brief, edifying freewheeling conversation.  This year there would be no ‘whole’ greater than the ‘sum’ of the parts.

While there were just the two of us chatting – no potential customers…this year, I was a pair of shoes needing to be shined.  I did not feel energized.  In some ways, I felt a mild sense of defeat.  For her because the gravity of life seemed to have taken the shine off of her resilience…for me, because I really get pleasure from small interactions with people.  It wasn’t bad chatting with her, it was just…well, just chatting.  This time there was no win…no tie score.

I made a quick decision and asked her if she would shine my shoes.  Her eyes brightened a bit, as I climbed up into the chair feeling a mild resignation.  She chatted away working on my shoes as my mind slipped away to some distant place.  I was uncomfortable.

Yeah I know…it’s a quirk – I get it.



- ted

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Flying with my mother...

“That strong mother doesn't tell her cub, Son, stay weak
so the wolves can get you. She says, Toughen up,
this is reality we are living in.”
– Lauryn Hill

There is something about flying…I don’t mean sitting in an airplane, I mean, you know actually flying. 

For decades, off and on, I have flown in my dreams.  It would start with a little bit of a run and then up in the air I would go; maybe I might dive down a staircase in the house and drift out a window or the door.  For some reason the flights were never fast.  In fact, it mostly seemed in slow motion directed by thought…a sort of look and move dream technology.

Man, I loved those dreams.

Over the past year or so, I have come as close to flight as possible on the planet…I have been swimming. 

Backing up a step…
My mother was a camp counselor for many years before she met and married my father.  She spent summers in the Laurentian mountains of Quebec, teaching young girls to ride horses, paddle canoes, shoot bows and arrows AND swim.  When her own kids came along, we were the recipients of well-honed skills.  While our summers had no horses or bows and arrows, she took ‘hardening’ her children to water safety as a prime directive – once a camp counselor, always a camp counselor. 

There were rules.  No swimming for an hour after eating.  No riding in boats until we could swim 12 lengths of the family dock.  No riding in boats by ourselves until we could swim 18 lengths…no excuses – no shortcuts.  Once the minimums were in place, she opened up a whole world of summer wonder to us.

One year, my father surprised her with a 16 foot Peterborough cedar strip canoe.  I am uncertain how much of his soul he had to leverage to buy that thing (ministers seldom have discretionary income), but I cannot ever remember seeing her so thrilled.  After breaking it in, she went about the business of teaching her children how marvelous canoes were: dangerously unstable with hips above the gunnels (sitting or kneeling); wonderfully stable when hips were low.

She taught us to dump the canoe in deep water and climb safely back in…to fill it with water (they don’t sink); then empty enough to get back in and paddle to safety…never paddle from the back of the craft in head winds if we didn’t want to find ourselves going around in circles.  Yes indeed, my mother knew stuff about boating and water safety.

She was most careful, however, about the swimming.  Without teaching her children to be safe in the water, little else mattered.  With that task complete, her summers had much less supervisory stress.  After my late teens and the war, the cottage years drifted away and so did spending much time around water.

Then it happened!  I turned 65 and became a Silver Sneaker!! While I have been a solitary exerciser most of my adult years, qualifying for this program permitted me to join local health clubs. 

The club I joined that year had the one exercise item I cannot do on my bike, the streets (walking/jogging) or in my back yard (yoga) – a decent strength training area.  Exercise and diet are the two most important external things over which we have some control, investments in health really.

Among a number of other things the club has three pools.  A heated pool for old geezers…you know all those OTHER Sliver Sneakers and a shallow exercise pool for large aerobic exercise and youth swimming classes.

The third is a competitive lap pool with 11 lanes – 25 meters long.  I had been watching people swimming back and forth for a month or two.  I couldn’t figure out why one would get in the water to do anything other than play, but day in and day out, I saw people swimming lap after lap – really!! Who does that??

Sirens and my mother…
There was, however, something seductive about that pool.  I could hear my mother’s voice saying, “You should try it out.  After all, I taught you side, breast, back and crawl strokes.  Go ahead, you might like it.”  So with little more than my mother’s voice for inspiration, Molly’s support and the baggiest of swimsuits, I took the plunge – pun fully intended!  The first few weeks left me pretty tired after 15 minutes of wiggling everything that could move.  In addition I got a lot of chlorinated water up my nose and a fair amount down my throat. 

Eventually on the advice of some fellows in the locker room, I abandoned goggles for  a facemask and snorkel.  Back and sidestrokes were out, for obvious reasons, but for evident reasons they were a small price to pay.

Nearly a year later, head down and stroking away, I now swim for nearly an hour.  The curious thing is that moving in the water is very much like the feeling I have had in my flying dreams.  I still have those baggy swim trunks and a body that is well suited for them – not quite gotten the courage for the speedo trunks. 

Here’s the thing…
I am not certain how this happened…maybe it’s the quietness of my ears being underwater…the only sound, breath in – breath out…maybe it’s because my facemask eliminates peripheral vision and I can see only straight ahead…maybe it is the mesmerizing rhythm of watching my hands and arms emerge and disappear in the window pane through which I look – I really do not know, BUT in this surreal world of ‘flight’ many things seem to happen in my brain…one of which are visits from my mother.  I hear her voice, the texture of her gentle spirit, the encouragement that almost without fail came from her gentle heart to mine.  In this quiet space, I find these visits fulfilling, and in a way bringing closure.

My mother has been gone for many years, and for numerous prior to her death, she suffered, locked in a life-robbing struggle with Alzheimer’s disease.  We didn’t have much of a relationship the last few years of her life, and of course, none since…except in the solitude of the water as I find myself moving back and forth from end to end on a flight path I find transcendent.

The great thing about the human condition is that it truly only occurs in the reaches of our minds.  Everything we perceive, think, experience, or do…all of it is a function of the mind which finds itself housed in a piece of machinery designed to take it wherever it needs to go in order learn the purposes for which we find ourselves on this planet.  The even better news is that we can bring to remembrance any life experiences at any time.

In the end, my mother did not know who I was.  That was then.  Now?  When we visit, she is healthy and vibrant and loving and through the miracle of memory, spends time with me as I glide through the buoyant medium of water with her by my side…


Flying with my mother…I love it!

- ted