Sunday, September 28, 2014

Spinning wheels...

Never let the future disturb you.  You will meet it…
with the same weapons of reason which
today arm you against the present.
- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations


I built a bicycle earlier this year.

It was one of those experiences that fellows my age don’t often do, particularly fellows who are NOT serious bicycle riders.  I am a ‘noodler,’ a self-confessed ‘poker arounder’ who enjoys checking out neighborhoods, watching walkers with or without their dogs, lizards caught unawares sunning their cold blooded little bodies on the warm pavement, AND the occasional coyote who just likes trotting along an asphalt bike path as an alternative to the hot and dry cactus ladened landscape!  I gear up with a water-pack, helmet, sunglasses, long-sleeved neon yellow shirt, tennis shoes – no  toe clips – and a trusty GPS tracker on my iPhone.  The pathways are not always the same, but generally cover a 15 to 20 mile trip.

We live in Oro Valley, Arizona sitting just on the northwest edges of Tucson – the second most bicycle friendly city in the United States, next to Portland, Oregon.  Before coming to Arizona, we lived in San Diego in a part of town with the occasional bicyclists pedaling around our neighborhood.  A little further up ‘The 5’ in North County, where the zip codes are a little more affluent, weekends find pelotons of riders on expensive bicycles in brightly multi-colored shirts with black, skin tight, thigh hugging, discretely buttock padded, riding shorts. 

“Peloton” – I like that word.  It is French meaning ‘little ball,’ or ‘platoon’ – appropriate for a pack of bikers, sometimes as many as 20 or more, making their way, at breakneck speeds, like a collection of circus performers along the roads and highways of some of the best landscape in the country!

From the shore to the desert…
But now I live in Oro Valley in a small community that lies along La Cañada Street.  For those of you who are the great unwashed, you will probably pronounce the street like the country from which I entered planet earth – La Canada.  You would, of course, be wrong!  Yes, its kind of fun to listen to ‘newbies’ to the city say they were driving on “La Canada.”  I, of course, know the ‘ña’ carries the sound. ‘…nyà…’  It is La Ca-nya-da! 

To be fair, I was also of the uninitiated when I first came here.  It was a while before some gentle soul let me know my bliss was ignorant!  Until that time, and for some time I might add, saying I lived just off La Canada brought smiles to the faces to people I chatted with.

During the week there is a continuous morning brigade of riders pedaling up the hill by our little ‘La Ca-nya-da’ neighborhood on their way to who knows where.  On weekends there are pelotons everywhere, bodies leaning forward, necks craned up and pushing as hard as they can.  I on the other hand am content simply to noodle.

The plot thickens…
This weekend, I am taking a graduate course in bicycle building.  I am building a wheel from scratch.  That’s right putting that thing together from the elements, consisting of:
·      A Spoke Wrench
·      36 hole rim
·      36 hole hub
·      36 spokes
·      36 spoke nipples

As I looked at the basic materials lying on the table in front of me, I could almost hear them whispering “…sure go ahead…let’s see what your frustration level really is!”  While I have refused to give in to those thoughts suggesting failure with a capital ‘F,’ those who know me appreciate I have the mechanical skills of a poet laureate.  I am certain they scratch their heads in wonder every time I say I have previously built a bicycle!  You know, something about hell freezing over…

Keep moving…
Life is about stretching, not settling for current circumstances, and looking forward for the next thing to learn.  This is important for many reasons, not the least of which is peace of mind and a sense of self-worth.  Marcus Cicero, the Roman orator and writer says many people feel that as folks age, they become:

“…morose, troubled, fretful, and hard to please; and, if we inquire shall find some of them are misers, too.  However, these are faults of character not of age.”

He suggests there are lots of older folk who love life and embrace change for its own sake.  He says, while aging cannot be avoided, one should fight the good fight to remain active mentally and physically as long as possible.

I love this, because he wrote his essay on Old Age in his 80s.  That is particularly inspirational for someone who finds themselves at the tender age of 67!  It is said, “If you want to know what’s up ahead, ask someone on the way back.”  For me, this old Roman writer is, through the written word, ‘on his way back.’  Little doubt I find his thoughts comforting.

His formula for not being “…morose, troubled, fretful, etc…” is early lifestyle preparation – you know, preventive strategies.  He says these life-robbing characteristics can be avoided, by good habit and education!  We might say lifetime learning. 

I am pretty sure, no matter how long I find myself on this planet, I won’t have to fear falling into the trap of discontent and unhappiness.  If it happens, it will not be the circumstance of aging…it will by habit and choice.

“This weekend, I am taking a graduate course in bicycle building.  I am building a wheel from scratch.”  In fact, I am building my future…

ted

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Willing choices...

"Let us sacrifice our today so that our
children can have a better tomorrow."
Abdul Kalam: 11th President of India

It was early as Sae Chao made her way up the steep hill.  In the darkened morning hours, we passed one another.  The gym down the street was my objective; work was hers. I recognized her from the morning before, but had she even been looking in my direction, I would have meant nothing in the sea of faces that pass in front of the optical scanners of her mind on a daily basis…just another customer…just another nameless face in the crowd…

After exercising, I headed to breakfast on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the city.  She took me to the table where my colleague was seated, sipping a cup of black coffee and gazing out the window, as the streets and people below began to come to life.

The day before…
Late on the previous morning we had arrived at the hotel to find our rooms were not yet ready.  It was still the breakfast hour, so we headed to the restaurant to chat and grab a quick bite.  The waitress who brought us coffee and directed us to the breakfast buffet wore a nametag that said ‘Cathy.’ 

One of those things I notice are Asian women with Westernized names.  Often it is an accommodation for a name that is alien and hard to pronounce for the Western mind and tongue.  I wondered what her real name was, but thought it might not be polite to ask…it was, after all, our first meeting.

This day…
This morning, however, the restaurant was fairly empty as the day began; so Cathy and I chatted a little as she guided me to the table.  Her accent was American with no hint of Asian influence, suggesting she had been born in this country. 

‘Cathy’ looked young, so I asked whether she was a student.  “No,” she replied. “I have a degree in computer animation.”  I was a little surprised…she looked a lot more youthful than she apparently was.

“Your degree puts you in a highly competitive market,” I said knowing that animators have to combine technical wizardry with artistic creativity – not necessarily easy to do.

“I actually have a lot of work,” she said.  “Mostly ‘after project’ clean up and some original contracts.”  She mentioned her animation software, causing me to realize I had reached the edge of my knowledge base…nonetheless, I was curious.

What would a busy computer animator be doing working morning shift in a hotel restaurant? 

Being a thoughtful and creative conversationalist I said, “What is a busy computer animator doing working the morning shift in a hotel restaurant?”

“It’s for my parents,” she replied.  “They both have worked very hard since coming to this country from Laos.  My father is a landscaper and my mother school teacher.”

“They think when I spend hours behind the computer that I am playing games and wasting my time.” She continued.  “They do not understand how someone can make a living sitting for hours behind a computer screen.”

“So,” she said. “I took this job to make it look like I am really working.  I make a little money and it makes them feel better.  It is really out of respect for them and their feelings.”

“They gave me so much,” she continued.  “At this time in my life, it is the least I could do.”

I was amazed! 

That is when I asked what her Laotian name was.  “Sae Chao,” she replied with a cheery smile.  “I was born here and my parents gave me the name Cathy, but also Sae Chao.”  Sensing my earlier curiosity she continued, “Cathy? They just liked the name.”

This young woman, by her account, made a good living in her chosen profession, but remaining in her parent’s home, she took a part-time, low paying job – which, by the way she was very good at – out of respect for two people who had come to this country with nothing…making a way for themselves and for her.  In the flowing river of her life, she had created a small waterway of time in order to help her parents feel she was a productive member of society.  She seemed content with the decision and happy when describing it.

The week moved on…
I have thought a fair amount about Sae Chao this week.  I have thought about respect and honor and virtue and character.  I have thought about a young woman who embraced the ‘place’ she has chosen out of willing respect for those who have given her solace and love and protection.

It is one thing to be willing to do something. There is a difference, however, when one is “willing to be willing…” – that would be a ‘horse of a different color.’ 

Cathy, the computer animator and waitress had made a ‘willing to be willing’ decision to honor her ‘Sae Chao’ heritage out of respect and love.  She did not seem to feel this was a burden, but from an almost welcome duty to honor her parents.

I felt a bit shallow…
For years, I have worked to understand, embrace and express a consistent philosophy of life.  The ‘…nips and tucks…’ of experience have colored and shaded the way I think about it.  The descriptive verbiage has, over time, become more refined as successes and failures have chipped away at the rough edges of ignorance, self-righteousness and ideology, helping me appreciate things are not quite, as I had thought in earlier years, so ‘black and white.’

It has taken decades to distill these thoughts into this spiritual and philosophic place:  “Try to think of others first.”       

I suppose there is not a way for me to express in words what my brief interaction with Sae Chao meant to me.  Saying that this young woman seemed to inherently understand something that has taken me decades to formalize, would over simplify the impression she made. I was struck by the wisdom and understanding she had regarding the choices she had made, AND her ability to so easily express them…something I envied.

While I couldn’t fully appreciate her culture, I did value the gesture.

A soft reflection…
In that early morning hour when Sae Chao was making her way up the hill to work, the hard drives of my mind had only the sense of a girl serving breakfast the previous day.  After our brief and pleasant chat, I suspect I was still nothing more than someone “…in the sea of faces that pass[-ed] in front of the optical scanners of her mind on a daily basis…just another customer…just another face in the crowd…”

For me??  It was a reminder that wisdom and understanding do NOT reside only in the minds of the aged, and that in the schoolroom of life, appreciation can be brought into focus from almost anyone, anytime and anywhere.  I suppose it just requires a little willingness to be willing to look for it…

- ted                                                                                                                                                                 

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Can’t do it alone….

“You are never strong enough that you don't need help.” 
- César Chávez


Writing on a weekly basis provides a thread of continuity in my life.  The vast majority of time, I find it interesting and in many ways fulfilling.  Sometimes, however, it takes a little more work. 

Regardless, a routine has developed over the past several years, and goes a little like this:

Sunday morning the piece goes out, and there is a gentle warming calm that comes from hitting that ‘publish’ button as the blog is posted.

Monday, unless struck by some inspiration, the blog is the furthest thing from my mind.

Tuesday, when I check the calendar for the day, a small voice says, “Maybe it’s time to poke around a little and peek under a rock or two.”

Wednesday, if there is no inspiration, the day passes without much conscious thought about Sunday morning.

Thursday, however, is the day when my brain quits ‘poking around,’ and begins to put a little more earnestness into the weekend that is creeping its way toward me.

Friday, if all the digging around is fruitless, the ‘mountain’ begins to look a little more challenging.

Saturday, if the page is still blank, Sunday morning looms with a foreboding sense that the chasm lies ahead and there is no net.

Usually, the Saturday angst does not happen, because sometime during the week an idea or experience has emerged that provides inspiration.  In the end, however, it is about Sunday…the day when the ‘paper is due’…when the deadline is no longer on the horizon, but at hand.  Sunday, in the context of this weekly exercise, truly is the ‘…day of rest…’ when, and only when the morning task is complete and the forward step taken.

A momentary pause…
My father had Parkinson’s disease, which in the end cost him his life.  While this seems completely unrelated to the rhythm of weekly blog preparation, in fact, it has everything to do with it. 

Those with profound Parkinson’s are often unable to move which cause both they and their care providers considerable challenges in activities of daily living. Yet this devastating neurologic disease has some interesting phenomena associated with it.

For example, if my father wanted to lift his arm, he would have to consciously think about it for several seconds and then the limb would begin a slow jerky movement.  On the other hand, if I tossed him a ball or beanbag, he could quickly reach out and grab it.  On a flat surface, he shuffled his feet in a painfully slow gait, but if put on an uneven or broken sidewalk, he could walk almost normally.  This is one of the hallmarks of this disease.

In its later stages, many people simply cannot walk and stand still – frozen in space.  However, if an object is placed on the floor in front of them, they will step over it.  It is a curious thing to watch a care provider place items sequentially in front a person with this degree of Parkinson’s in order to move them from one place to another.  

My father was articulate regarding this disease as it took his life by inches, and spoke often to me of how frustrating it was to ‘see’ himself getting helplessly and progressively worse.

The connection…
The Sunday morning deadline is one of the ‘objects’ I have chosen to place in front of me – forcing movement ‘across the room of life.’  Forward movement is critical for growth, but sometimes a little help from friends is needed – self imposed or other wise.  Sunday morning is one of those ‘friends,’ looming on the horizon of self-exploration and conscious thought.  Without ‘Sunday morning,’ maybe there is no step forward…no step forward, no growth…no growth? Ouch!

I suppose, if I were to be completely transparent, I have spent my life looking for and placing ‘Sunday mornings’ in front of me in order to move forward personally, professionally and spiritually.  Some of those ‘mornings’ have come through the interest and guidance of others, some self-imposed.  Maybe this suggests I don’t have the will power and drive to simply move forward through life on my own…maybe none of us can.


I am uncertain I am smart enough to figure any of this out.  One thing I do know, however, is that ‘Sunday mornings’ when the task is done I rejoice in the “…gentle warming calm that comes from hitting that ‘publish’ button as the blog is posted.”

- ted

Sunday, September 7, 2014

The connections are good...

“Friendship improves  happiness, and abates misery,
by doubling our joys, and dividing our grief.”
– Marcus Cicero: On Friendship

“You’ve been here for a couple of days now, and we have chatted quite a bit.” Mike said.  “What differences have you noticed in me since we were together so many years ago?”

We had been waiting for Pam and Stewart at the Black Salt Restaurant in Geelong.  We weren’t actually sure they were coming, so we had looked at the menu.

The Entrée (that would be the appetizer in most of the English speaking world – you know Entrée, meaning ‘input’ (from entrer – to enter).  There were a number of delightful choices including Crab Biegnets, Pecan Crusted Goat’s cheese, a couple of shellfish offerings and Shwarma Spiced Kangaroo.  Surprisingly, I have never had Kangaroo, so it was my choice with a little tahini sauce, chickpeas and pickled baby beets – I passed on the beets.

The ‘Main’ (or as we think of it in the U.S. – the Entrée) also had a wonderful selection including pork (Grilled Pork Scotch), beef (Victorian Rib Eye and Victorian Eye Fillet), a vegetarian chlli & cumin spiced cauliflower ‘steak,’ and my selection for the evening Bannockburn Chicken Breast – a great choice!

By the time we were prepared to order, Pam arrived alone.  Stewart had not been able to make it, sparing me the pre-assigned roll as the ‘fifth wheel!’

Another day and time…
Mike, a soldier in the Australian Army, was stationed in Vietnam at the same time my best friend Bob and I were there.  Bob made the initial contact with Mike, but it wasn’t long before we all became ‘good mates,’ and spent as much time together as we possibly could.

We became such good friends, that Bob and I took an R & R (rest and relaxation) week to Australia during our year overseas.  The first two or three days in Australia were spent in Sydney where we, as I recall, slept on living room couches of a woman we met when we processed into the country.  How we actually got to stay in her place is a bit fuzzy, but she shared her apartment with a fellow (not her significant other), who as I recollect, brought ‘his’ girlfriend home one of the nights after we had gone to bed.

Sydney was exotic for a Yank and a conscripted Canadian as we took a harbor tour and attended the musical ‘Hair’ – popular in the day.

It was then off to Melbourne where we stayed with Mike’s family.  His mum and dad could not have been more gracious and open to us.  His younger sister Annette and brother Brian filled out this warm and generous family.  Mr. Byrne introduced me (us) to some Australian beer and showed us an AFL (Australian Football League) playing field – a game; by the way I just got the most rudimentary understanding of whilst with Mike and Rosie on this recent visit to Geelong.

Unexpectedly, or maybe it had been pre-arranged…I am uncertain in the cobwebs of time…Mike’s girlfriend Rosemary Baker and her best friend Pam Irwin drove up from Geelong to take us out for an evening in Melbourne.  I suspect Mike and his parents thought a couple of young fellas might appreciate an evening with two lovely, similar aged girls…and that we did!  Whilst a little unclear concerning the events of the evening, I remember we ate dinner at a restaurant where we purchased raw steaks from a cooler and cooked the meat ourselves.

The two girls were simply great, and even though all of the experiences of the night have slipped into the reverie and shadows of time, the spirit they brought to the evening left strong impressions on Bob and me.  The girls stayed over at the Byrne home, so we were able to have breakfast and spend a little more time with them and the family before heading back to the war.

It is hard to express how strangely curious it was to leave the environment of a tiny country in Southeast Asia, the most abnormal of places for young middle class American boys to experience, and in a few short hours find ourselves in a home of warmth and normalcy.  I can’t speak for Bob, but it was a bit tough to return to Vung Tau after being reminded how the love a family and friendship of an Australian lad had led to a memorable experience that remains so much a part of my mind to this day.

Back to the present…
By the time Mike asked the question, Pam had arrived and we had chatted a little.  While it was true that all of us had changed in appearance through the experiment of life, something had not changed at all, and that was the feelings that we all shared…the spirit…the energy of the soul that neither time nor distance could diminish.

I thought a few moments and answered his question. “We are older and there is little doubt years of experience has shaped our journeys and little doubt our looks have changed.”

“But, after these couple of days, ‘you’…the spirit and vitality I connected with when we were young has not been altered at all! It is as compelling now as it was then.”

Back in 1970, I had given Pam a small book of ‘sayings.’  It was the kind of thing that was popular in those days.  We had found a coin of some sort when on our ‘date,’ which she had taped to the front page.  She had kept it all of these years and brought it with her to dinner.  Sharing that token of appreciation reminded me more clearly of the wonderful time we all had together…the breath of fresh air from a place and country where nobody really wanted to be. 

It is true, I don’t remember much of the evening in Melbourne, but I do remember the sparkle in Pam’s eye.  At dinner Thursday evening at the Black Salt restaurant, time and gravity had not diminished that one bit.

The evening was excellent, but Mike, Rosie and I had planes to catch in the early morning hours – they to Johannesburg to be with their son and his family and me to my home in Tucson – so we all said goodnight.

I will cherish the time Mike, Rosie and I were given together these past couple of days in Geelong, Australia.  I know of a certainty the threads that connected those youngsters in another day, at another time, will remain as open and rich memories in my life.  In some ways it was closure for the journeys we have been on.  In others, however, it was just a ‘semi-colon’ in lives that I hope will intersect again.

As my friend CaroI from Boston is fond of saying, “My life is an embarrassment of riches.” 


And so it is…

- ted