Sunday, June 25, 2017

All good things must...

“Your presence edified.  Your
contribution missed.”
– Anonymous

I lost a friend and companion this weekend.

I really don’t want to talk about it, but at my age, I have learned that it is good for the soul to express sorrow…it is a cleansing thing.

My companion and I met some twenty or more years ago. In the beginning, it took time to sort how best to interact. I suppose that's the case in any relationship. Before long, however, we found a place. It was effortless to work with her…the relationship professional all the way.

I was clear with Molly from the beginning that the girl and I would be seeing a lot of each other. As it turns out Molly was all right with it, although she made comments from time to time about the continual relationship. I argued that the girl matured over the years, and although like all of us got a little long in the tooth and worn, she was consistent as the day is long.

We began traveling together on short hops and expanded to longer trips. We have logged more than two million miles together. Oh, I had opportunities to travel with more attractive colleagues, in fact, it happened a few times. But in the end, I always came back to her.

The great thing about it is that she never once complained…not a jealous bone in her body. Whenever I tired of the others, she was there – no fair-weather friend she. Her presence was comforting. The rhythm we developed, the nuances of her body…all of it – every single bit felt right.

Now, however, it's time to say good-bye. The breakup began on a trip to Europe this past week. Like most things to which one is committed I did not see it coming. I mean, we shared a comfort that I felt would go on forever.

We had just checked in at the Aalborg Airport when the accident happened. It seemed odd because we had done the exact same thing hundreds of time. My young friend, Andreas, was helping me by taking her arm and giving it a tug. Bang! It broke.

In an instant, I knew it would never be the same again. I was even concerned I would not be able to get her home. There is nothing worse than an unexpected accident when one is tens of thousands of miles away – and yet, there it was…she was, broken…not just in arm, but in spirit. Hers and mine.

We still had a long way to go. From Aalborg to London, a small hotel room together, before the final leg home to Tucson. We both knew it would be our last. I left her in the room and went for a walk that misty morning on the streets near Heathrow airport. I had already begun to mourn, for I knew it would never be the same.

Molly was waiting for us when we arrived after this trip. While she shared my sorrow, I could tell it was not to the same depth.

I took my time with her at the house, going gently through the routine we had so often done. It would be the last time, the damage permanent.

I know there will be another day, but damn, I am going to miss that suitcase!


- ted

Sunday, June 18, 2017

A little kindness - a long way…

“Civility costs nothing, and buys everything.”
– Mary Wortley Montagu: 17th Century Poet

The car of the London Underground (transit system) between Heathrow and Leicester Square in London’s West End was completely full with a couple of dozen people standing in the aisles and groups congregating in the open spaces by the doors…think sardines. At each stop, people got off and more people seemed to get on.

An older woman squeezed her way onto the train at Turnham Green, standing with the crowd just inside the door. A young lad, head bobbing to the secret sounds coming from his iPhone and tunneling their way into the inner sanctum of his mind, stared vacantly off into space. For some reason, his eyes focused for a moment and he saw the woman packed tightly by the group in which she was standing.

The boy got her attention and waved her over to his seat. As she moved toward him, he got up and she sat gratefully down. These cars are loud as they clack their way under and over the ground. She smiled and mouthed thank you. He smiled back, grabbed the overhead railing, unfocusing his eyes, returning to the mental space he had momentarily left. Three stops later he made his way through the crowded aisle, slipped out the door and faded into the departing crowd.

I was impressed as I watch this. It seemed like an aberration of kindness in the hustle-bustle world that carries such a large volume of people in London's underground.

How nice, I thought and returned to people watching.

In the course of the forty-five minute trip into the city, I saw this act repeated several times. Men and women, young to middle age, giving up their seats for someone they perceived needed it more than they. There was no show about it, but sometimes it looked like it had been choreographed.  An older person would get on and in synchrony, as if timed and planned, the younger person would get up milliseconds before the elder sat...a glance being all it took to initiate the dance.

My hotel was at Heathrow, so I made this trip each day for the three days I was in London. Every day, people gave their seats not only on crowded portions of the trip, but also when the trains had fewer people, meaning all the seats taken, but not so many folks filling the aisles or congregating by the doors.  It was refreshing to see these small random acts of kindness. It was a reminder, in this growing ‘me first’ society, there is an innateness lying within that reflects our better angels.

Watching people is a pastime that keeps me engaged when traveling. For this reason, riding public transport is something I greatly enjoy. I used to see people reading the newspaper or a book as they created a small mental compartment to inhabit while in transit. Nowadays with the advent of smartphones, many appear to be doing things on their screens. Others just clutch them apparently for comfort like the blanket holding Linus Van Pelt in the Charlie Brown cartoons.  These folk assume the distant and existentially vacant stare.

It is hard to know what they are thinking. Maybe the rhythmic rocking of the cars puts them into a trance. Maybe they’re planning their day or dinner or contemplating the state of world politics. Maybe they are just taking the time to entertain the bliss of not having to talk anyone about anything.

That being said, there are people who listen to their inner radar alerting them there is someone in need. It was heartwarming to see, that in spite of an increasingly disappointing environment of social disconnect and isolation, there remain those folk who respond to the innate human need to be actively engaged with one another…even if it’s just sharing a seat.


- ted

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Just a backyard...

“The desert brings no expectation. It’s barrenness
belies its vibrancy and life…”
– Anonymous

Sometimes you have to give up the things you enjoy to fill a higher calling.

There have been many days in the last couple of weeks where the temperatures exceeded 103 degrees (39C). For example, as I write this at eight o'clock in the evening it is still 92 degrees (33C). Although I have heard people often say, “Well, it’s hot, but it’s a dry heat,” as if there were a difference. That is mostly said by people who DO NOT live in the desert. Trust me on this. One hundred and three degrees IS HOT, dry or not!

The morning tomorrow will be a different story. The gods of the universe turn the thermostat down from some darkened place on Mount Olympus, and by daybreak, before the morning rays top the Eastern mountain peaks, it will be a lovely 66 degrees (19C).

The darkened sky passing through grayish dawn is the best part of the summer’s days here. Sipping Coffee and reading, clear my mind to face the first event of the morning – usually exercise at the gym or brisk walks the neighborhoods. That has been the routine until recently.

Living in the desert brings stark contrasts to living in…well, the not desert. The first thing one notices is that the vast majority of homes do not have grass. Front and back yards are filled with small earth-tone stones and an array of cacti, bushes, trees, and succulents – plants that have evolved to live in harsh, practically waterless desert environments.

This brings me to the changes in my early morning routine. A couple of weeks ago, we did a landscape facelift to our little back yard. We added two Desert Willow trees, several hummingbird-attracting Chuparosa plants, a Creosote bush, two Desert Lavender bushes and a smattering of Blackfoot Daisies. These were added to the already blooming tall-stalked Desert Spoon, Golden Barrel Cactus, Dwarf Grapefruit tree and a Texas Ranger. Unlike the stalwarts already in place, the babies need to be watered morning and evening for two weeks after planting (Click on photo to left). 

While I have taken this task on, in all fairness I do not do it alone. Leah, my faithful early morning outdoor companion, lounges in a comfortably padded patio chair, supervising the work.

Looking at the yard, thinking about the heat, and what appears to be nothing but hot, dry sand, makes it seem practically impossible for anything to grow in this hostile environment. Everything changes, however, when you look below the surface of the soil and understand that it is teeming with microscopic life, built for desert survival.

It is chock full of rich organic matter and nutrients. The desert carpet, while fragile, is alive and well. Just beneath the surface is an interconnected world full of arthropods (from insects and spiders to those so small they can only be seen with a microscope), nematodes (think translucent micro worms), mites and bacteria. The soil is a vibrant minuscule ecosystem teeming predators and prey, made hearty in an ‘only the strong survive’ environment.

While the plants and trees we put in the backyard are well suited for desert survival, priming the pump with dawn and dusk showers helps them overcome the trauma of being transplanted from the nursery to our backyard. It takes about an hour to make sure all sixteen of new inhabitants get their necessary liquid refreshment. My task is to ensure this little botanical garden receives the water it needs. 

It’s a question of the long run, isn't it? Plant seeds now, reap benefits later. It is the only way any of us can move forward with our backyards or our lives. Watering and eventually pruning. That’s the ticket.

I'm not sure a renewed and more environment-friendly back yard is actually a higher calling, but it will bring more life to our little world, and that may simply be enough.

- ted