Sunday, December 20, 2015

Does it ever end...redux

"Whether the universe is atoms or Nature, let this first
be established, that I am part of the whole
which is governed by nature..."
- Marcus Aurelius: Meditations

“Will you go with me to Muskoka?”

That’s how the end began.  This 'end' was closure to what had been a pretty rugged past few years.  This is not a sad or thoughtful piece, just a note of closure…

My younger sister Nancy, for completely unknown reasons, contracted (inherited?) Alzheimer’s disease and lost the war in February of this past year.  Her journey ended on a Sunday afternoon, and a week later we celebrated her life with a few stories and dancing to the music she loved.

A lot happens in those times of unexpected – or even expected – loss.  You don’t plan the memorial service before someone passes away…you simply start the game full blast at a time when you need to gather yourself in.  That, of course, comes later…after the dust settles…

‘…the dust settles’ – an interesting phrase, because that is precisely why and where we found ourselves on an incredibly sunny day on the shores of Lake Joseph…in the Province of Ontario…in the land of my birth – Canada.  The property, in the family for nearly 100 years, is now in the hand of someone else.  The cottages that contained so many memories for so many decades all gone with only small patches of cleared land remaining on forest floor…and yet…and yet, nothing built or taken away had affected the shoreline one bit.  No sir, the rocks…the trees…all of it…all of it was as familiar as the back of my hand.

Home at last...
Here, as a gentle westerly wind came down the bay, in the shade of a very old cedar tree, we remembered once again and committed part of my sister’s…her mother’s ashes…to the lake Nancy had so dearly loved.  It ‘was’ a tender moment.

There was a little more to be done, for on this 212 acre (85.7 hectare) piece of land sits a 10-acre (4 hectare) lake we all called 'Lily Lake,' for surely it had hundreds of them on pads in the shallow waters along her shores.   On the maps, it’s call Arnott Lake – my mother’s family name – but to us…it was always 'Lily.'

This lake is connected to Lake Joe by a small stream, growing to its size through the work of beaver families that building and maintaining a dam through ‘their generations’ long before my birth.  There are cranberry bogs…lots of frogs and other little living things that can be found in the small lakes of Central Ontario.  And the air…the air…there is something…some subtle cosmic pheromone that reaches so deeply inside…its familiarity so gently intimate, one not experienced in its ways, might miss its seductive draw.

Here, on this dazzlingly sunny day, we committed the rest of Nancy’s ashes to the waters of Lily’s shores.  She had been waiting for us…her water’s still and clear…the ashes drifting away beneath her surface…away from the shore like the mists across the glen, propelled by an invisible wind…the task complete.


Mariah said when my time came, she would honor me in the same place, in the same way…we quietly wept...

I should be so blessed

- ted

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Sometimes you just have to walk away...

“It’s almost never the decision itself,
but the difficult path getting there.”
- Anonymous

It’s hard to know how the day is going to start. Yet as long as we have breath, each morning begins as it does for every living creature on the planet. Sometimes those days are predictable, but mostly they are not. This day things went badly…and went badly quickly.

The lioness escaped the sudden events that swiftly unfolded…her cub did not. In the aftermath, she looked around, and following a whimpering sound located her young offspring. The cub was not dead, but had been trampled by a herd of antelope or water buffalo or some other migrating pack that had been frightened by something unknown.

She came nuzzling and nudging the cub to move, but its lower back was broken – it could not. She picked it up in her mouth and carried it for a while. Whether it was the weight or fatigue or a combination…she put the cub down and slowly walked on. For a short period, it dragged itself along by its two front legs trying to keep up with its mother. She walked slowly allowing it to keep a distance of about ten feet between them. Then she stopped and sat…the cub paused, staring intently at her from behind.

The photographer had captured this rare and astonishing moment - the camera filming from the side as the drama played itself out. A second camera found itself positioned in full frontal view of the mother lion, sitting erect and regal – the cub plainly visible several feet behind her.

The war between the mothering instinct and struggle for survival appeared to be in play. The lioness seemed to be thinking… calculating… considering her options…running through some nameless decision making algorithm known only in her own mind. They say animals don’t make subtle facial expressions, but watching her as she sat for those moments was riveting – the battle between the instinct of motherhood and for survival…almost in prayer.

Then something appeared to click in her mind. Something ancient…something primal…something tragic…a realization, a decision that telegraphed itself through the unseen camera directly into my heart. Like the arrow released from Paris’ bow heading for Achilles’ heel, there was no turning back…the endgame clear.

She glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at her cub…the fruit of her womb…the flesh of her flesh…and then turned to look straight ahead. She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.

It was one of the more profoundly moving and unexpectedly touching things I have seen in my life. It was not what I had expected. It was not the pleasant “…isn’t that nice…” resolution to a potentially lethal situation. I did not smile at a satisfyingly haunting lyric like ‘The Gambler’ written by Don Schlitz; sung by the American artist Kenny Rogers:

“You got to know when to hold ‘em
Know when to fold ‘em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run…”

It was stark…real…life…death…decision…choice. All of that played out in a few astonishingly brief moments. In the most paradoxical of ways, the act was compassionately courageous. The mother had assessed the situation, tested the possibilities for survival, and made the most merciful decision for both she and her cub. The very rhythm of nature that brought the cub to life would now take it away…neither act either particularly willing or unwilling…simply a part of nature’s ‘what is.’

As human creatures in our culture, leaving our young would be unconscionable. As thinking social beings, we understand the future is not simply about our personal survival. We understand it is the transmission of conscious thought that builds the foundation, for our personal future, and that of our species. We understand we are, in fact, spiritual creatures housed in physical bodies…bodies, which in some cases not completely whole, hold the most wonderfully creative minds.

There are so many situations in life where we find ourselves unable to make decisions to move on from circumstances of hopelessness…the death of a loved one…the loss of a relationship…an abusive situation…the failure to succeed where time and energy has been spent.

The metaphor of choosing life, over the potential tragedy of two deaths, touched me deeply. Making conscious decisions, in spite of the difficulty in doing so, for a better life…a better future…all of that has played itself out in the theater of my mind since seeing that poignant video. Those few moments, calculated on the basis of the instinct for survival and choice for life, were profoundly touching.

“She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.”

ted

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Subways in Berlin redux...

“The robbed that smiles, steals
something from the thief."
Shakespeare - Othello

Sometimes you get a win when you didn’t even know you were in the game.

She was about five years old holding her mother’s hand when they got on board.

The setup…
The subway car had been full when I climbed on ten stops earlier…full of commuters heading home for the day. I was in Europe for a conference and had a little time to see the city. It was Berlin and I had just finished 10 hours of visiting museums and getting around the city to find them…I was really tired – the kind where you have reached the edge of your brain’s capacity to absorb another piece of information and your 64 year old body is asking, “What were you thinking!?” You know what I mean.

I hopped on the subway at Mehringdamm station - well, not exactly ‘hopped’ – for the 18-station trip to my hotel near the Rohrdamn station. I had taken a seat facing backward across from a young man listening to his iPod, completely oblivious to me or anyone else – his head moved to a beat only he could hear. You have no doubt heard the saying attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche: “…those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” This would describe him exactly…it was nice to see this young man in doing his own thing and in his own world.

As the people thinned out, a bench facing forward opened up across the Isle; I slipped over and settled in with a little more legroom. All four seats (two forward and two backward) were open except for the place I had taken by the window.

The event…
The little girl got on at Wilmersdorfer with her mother who was pushing her to sit facing backward, directly across from me. It was a seat by the door and would be an easy ‘on’ and ‘off.’ I’m a pretty big fellow, and the girl looked a little unsure about sitting across from me, but was obedient in the rush and sat down. She was tiny, as most five year olds are, cute with a knee length jumper and full length, brightly colored stockings.

I looked over and noticed she was staring at me. I caught her eye, and she did what most children do when caught glancing at a stranger, she looked quickly down. We rode together for 3 stops to Mierendorflpl with four stops left for me, when I noticed she was carrying a small plastic bag in her right hand. Through the plastic, I saw a 5”x7” (15x18cm) portrait ‘head shot’ of the little girl. As she nervously turned the plastic back and forth, I could see another picture of several children posing for the camera – a class picture from her school.

The train was just pulling into the station when I pointed to the picture and then to her, raising my eyebrows and smiling. This is, by the way, my international sign language for short messages with children. It was all I had…I don’t speak German! She nodded, grinned brightly...a warmth that could have lit the afternoon sun with a full ‘tooth showing’ smile – we connected!

The payoff…
As she and her mother got off the train, I wondered with a little anticipation…had the magic between us worked? She trotted off toward the exit holding her mother’s hand, and then it happened…she turned to see if I was watching – we connected again – her smile widened and she waved the little hand that was holding
the pictures of she and her classmates – A WIN!!

In that moment, all the tiredness of the day slipped away. The unspoken and knowing connection between two human beings had occurred in one of the great languages of the soul…the open smile. It did not require a hard earned vocabulary, hours of repetitive practice, nor finding a place for subtle expression in written or spoken thought – No! The only elements necessary for this to happen were proximity (being near one another) and a willing heart. The scriptures says, “…if first there be a willing mind…” All things are possible and in
that moment the universe was working well.

On that day, in that city, sitting exhausted on that subway car, I was once again reminded of how much we all are alike…young-old, tall-short, black-white-yellow-red…we are connected by the fabric of humanity, and when that connection happens, WE KNOW this is the way God intended for life to be for all of us, if we just take the
time to listen and be refreshed.

The smile from that little girl, was more rewarding in the moment, than all the reading, listening and watching I have done in my life, to try and understand what any of this life means. That little girl, in that moment, reminded me that we can share with each other the most profound of things, in the lightening briefness when two souls touch through the magic of a shared smile.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Sometimes you gotta ask...

“Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.”
- François-Marie Arouet (Voltaire), French philosopher

There is little doubt a good question is often better than a great answer!

Getting the right question, however, is not so easy as it seems.

While we often think of ourselves as question askers, Elizabeth Johnson in Quest for the Living God says:
“…our questions, driven by profound yearning to know,
are made possible by the very structure of human nature…
human persons don’t just ask questions: we are (emphasis
mine) a question in search of the fullness of truth.”

Pretty heady stuff, considering the “…fullness of truth…” is like the ever-receding horizon slipping away at the speed with which we try to approach it. Nonetheless, her comments are a reflection of the universal nature of wanting to know more.

Starting somewhere…
You know how a thought begins to formulate in your mind, and you just can’t quite capture the thing with clarity?

I had been thinking about the tragic events in the world (that we know about), and the people who find themselves in the gravest of circumstance.  Stimulated by the happenings in Paris, many other similar occurrences found themselves in the forefront of my mind related to the utter inhumanity our species inflicts upon one another.

Yet there is resilience to the human spirit that appears to transcend the darkness…to seek the better…to find hope in the face of despair.

Each of us has found ourselves in ‘places’ or ‘circumstances’ that seemed inescapable, and yet somehow, we persevered.

How do we do that?

When I find myself unable to express things floating through my head, I turn to friends to help me sort through them. In this case, it was my friend John in Canada. During his career as a Diplomat in the Canadian Foreign Service to Africa, he had seen and experienced much.

I sent him a note.

The email…
After a general greeting, the vaguely formulated question began:

”What are the kinds of things you think about? …I suppose I am simply curious about the sorts of less than random thoughts that you find yourself visiting…. a thing [place] or two that you find yourself returning to on a moderately regular basis.”

John responded with a lovely note of gratitude for a life he had been presented with and embraced in a meaningful career serving others in foreign lands. He had indeed seen and experienced so many things.

I resonated deeply with his appreciation for having had an amazing journey, but it wasn’t exactly what I was after.

I hadn’t asked the right question, but it was a start.

The call…
The next day, I was on a call with Bill, my friend from San Diego.

When I lived in that city by the sea, he and I met weekly in the early morning hours before he began seeing patients in his busy practice.

We have found a way to continue the ‘open ended’ conversations via Skype on a moderately regular basis.

I ran the question by him…we talked about it…he wrote me back suggesting there were many things he might have done differently in his amazingly adventurous life.

I still had not formulated the question I had been ‘feeling.’

I responded, “Turn the corner…where do you go for strength?”

BINGO! Where do you go for strength? That is what I really wanted to ask!

Now I was getting somewhere.

Coffee break…
Once a week or so, Frank and I get together.  It was within a few days of my email to John, and the day after my note from, and response to, Bill.

Slipping into the passenger seat of his white SUV, I buckled up the seatbelt and said,

“I’ve been thinking about some stuff and wanted to run a couple of things by you.“

He nodded…I continued,

“When there have been dark times in your life, have there been anchors…places you have gone for strength…places that helped you weather the storm?”

“You don’t have to answer this now; I just wanted to plant the question.”

He glanced over, “I don’t need to think about it. Let’s just talk now.”

It didn’t take much for him to relate a story about and event in his life when he was embroiled in a very difficult situation. Somewhere during this crisis, he found and internalized the expression,

“I refuse to be a victim!”

This was not a new idea to him, but when it became actualized, the ‘volume’ of the unchanged circumstances completely changed by the words that had given him strength and protected his mind.

Visiting my neighbor…
Finally, or rather at this point in my quest, I felt like I was ready to ask my friend Gail the question. She had been in two extreme life-threatening situations. I was a little uncertain if I should ask, but she has a clarity that few people I know have. I knew if she took on the question I would get a thoughtful response….

I asked…she wrote:

“I must go back a few years to a time when pain dominated my life.  What was my anchor then?  What kept me choosing to live one more day?  It was HOPE.  There were periods of remission from pain: days, weeks, even months when the pain subsided and I could live a normal life.  So each day, as I sat in my recliner racked with pain, I was hoping that tomorrow would be a remission day.  That kept me going.  One day at a time…’

So what?...
Growing up, I was loaded to the gills with catch phrases, quotes from different people, clichés that seemed so…well so cliché.

Somewhere along the line…it was NOT in my youth, but decades later I came to realize that words actually have power.

By now I have asked this question to about six or seven people, and each one of them has given me a bit more than I thought I would get.

I am going to keep asking and refining it when necessary, because seeing how others manage ‘their worlds,’ helps me refine mine.

By the way, where do you go for strength when the sky is not so bright? What are your anchor points?


- ted

Sunday, November 22, 2015

It's hard to write...

Since the events in Paris, I have found the things I normally write about and that catch my eye pale in context.  

Paris was the ‘flash point,’ but as any number of my friends from around the world have suggested, these things have been happening in Cameroon, Nigeria, the Philippines, Mali, Pakistan, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, Egypt and China to name just a few places. 

Maybe it took the symbolic 'City of Lights,' a city so many Westerner’s identify with, to shake our sensibilities.

The language of sorrow, as the language of joy, has no culture, no shade of skin, no social status…the vocabulary is common to all mankind.

I simply cannot write at the moment in a contained way to express all that I have been feeling.

It is easy to demonize and entertain thoughts of fear, hatred and revenge…the greatest revenge, however, is to NOT become like the perpetrators…The greatest revenge can be found in the powerful words of Antoine Leiris who lost his wife in the Paris shootings last week.

"Vendredi soir vous avez volé la vie d’un être d'exception, l’amour de ma vie, la more de mon fils mais vous n’aurez pas ma haine.”  (On Friday night, you stole away the life of an exceptional being, the love of my life, the mother of my son, but you will not have my hatred).

The greatest revenge is, as Christ said, “…pray for them which persecute you and say all manner of evil against you…”

Steal from the ’thief’ who is intent in taking human life, and then through concentric circles of thought after thought after thought steal our very hearts…steal from the 'thief' by denying him his investment of fear...steal from the thief by cultivating all the love you can muster for those within and outside the circle of your life.

Our life is but a vapor…and yet…and yet…every breath precious.

I hope to write again soon…

- ted

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Riding with a cop...

“To become a good guardian, a man must by nature
be fast, strong and a spirited philosopher.”
Plato, The Republic

It was supposed to start at 6:30AM…the place was dark…a little more so than the grayness of the early morning sky...daylight pushing its way at the edges of the Arizona Eastern horizon.

I had wanted to make sure I didn’t hold the process up, so had gotten there a little early. The instructions indicated that if the main lobby was closed, go around to the back of the building and enter the North Lobby…it was – I did.

The small North lobby was stark…sterile beige walls, hard, but clean linoleum flooring, and a few chairs scattered around the edges of the room…a photograph collage on the wall to the left showed what the place had looked like in decades past. 

The room wasn’t ominous in feel, but gave the distinct impression that if you didn’t absolutely have to be there, it would probably be a good thing.  A sense of warmth? NO!  Efficiency? Yes!

Straight ahead was a large darkened window. Just to its right was a small sign instructing people that if no one was there…use the phone by the door, and call somebody. I made the call, took a seat and waited.

I closed my eyes wondering what it might be like to be here under non-voluntary circumstances…waiting to be led into the bowels of the unknown behind the glass…behind the door.

The arrival…
It wasn’t long before the door opened and a young man entered the room.

“Hi, I’m officer Matt G., and it looks like you are with me this morning.”

He was young – late 20s, around six feet tall with short blondish hair. He was in full working gear to include a bullet proof vest, personal communication system - an earpiece connected by a coiled wire to a small box tucked away somewhere out of sight, and a black utility belt holding a number of easily accessible tools of the trade including his service pistol.  He projected an air of enthusiastic efficiency.

Wearing nearly 30 pounds of equipment can be somewhat obstructive, but he moved with a smoothness suggesting he was athletic and fit.

We left the lobby, retracing my earlier steps to his squad car idling in front of the station.

So began my first civilian ride along as part of the Oro Valley Police Department’s Civilian Academy.

Good cops – great quality of life…
Oro Valley is one of the 10 safest communities in the United States, and there is a reason for this.

The police department here has a strong community policing philosophy, meaning they work very hard to be visible and to interact as much as possible with people living here.

They do a number of things, like ‘shop with a cop,’ during the Christmas Season. This program provides money to disadvantaged kids, who then shop along side police officers to buy presents for themselves and families.

On a regular basis, there are ‘coffee with a cop’ events at local coffee shops and restaurants where the chief of police and other officers make themselves available to answer questions or just chat over a cup of coffee.

An important part of the philosophy of this department is: “Call a cop - get a cop.” The average time from a call for assistance to the arrival of an officer here is between 5 and 8 minutes. It is further the philosophy that it is better to call 911 for any reason of concern. The department strongly believes in prevention and community partnership.  Here, citizens are encouraged to call if they are suspicious of anything…so, make the call…even if it is a false alarm, an officer will show up AND thank you for calling in.

Citizen’s Academy…
One of the offerings is 12-week community program called the Citizen’s Academy. This is made available to the community twice a year.  

One evening a week for three hours different officers and civilian employees come and cover every aspect of police responsibilities and activities in the Oro Valley community. Generally speaking, two to three separate presentations are made during each three hour block.

Some of the topics include (but are not limited to):
Public information                School resource programs
Crime prevention                  SWAT team demonstrations
Collision investigation          K-9 demonstrations (police dogs)
Victim’s services                   Crime analysis/investigations
911 Call center                      Community Action Team

The Academy is a free service to the community, and comes with an evening meal.

Civilian ride along…
One of the opportunities for folks taking this course is the chance to ride for a few hours with one of the patrolmen…hence my early morning arrival at the station.

A lot of things happen as a result of riding with a police officer. Of course, if calls come in, you are an observer, but more importantly, you see the police as human beings…people who feel a calling on their lives for service.

Matt was the son of a military dentist and had lived a number of places around the world. He had a degree unrelated to law enforcement from the University of Arizona and had been a collegiate athlete. 

He was a young man with a strong spiritual base, who loved getting up every day to put on the uniform and face whatever presented itself, from helping someone who had fallen and couldn’t get up from the floor, to risking his life with people intent on hurting him or others. My few hours with him were enjoyable and instructive...a chance to see what happens 'behind the curtain.'

There is no doubt, every profession has both its good and bad people. It is easy to demonize everyone in a cultural group or profession based on the actions of a few. I am not Pollyannish about this, but we are grateful to live in this little town where “Serve and protect,” means exactly what it says.


“Hi, I’m officer Matt G., and it looks like you are with me this morning.”

- ted