A day of memory...

Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, 

and your government when it deserves it."

- Mark Twain

There is little to say about tomorrow that hasn’t been said many times, by many people.

There is little to feel about tomorrow that hasn’t been felt many times, by many families – brothers…sisters…parents…cousins, aunts and/or uncles.

There is an uncontrollable, and heightened human chemistry when a loved one is in harms way.  The busyness of the day masks the quiet, ever present gnawing thoughts that sit beneath razor thin membranes of our minds, hoping against hope for their safe return.

A lot of hearts...

Less than one percent of the American population are on active duty, compared with somewhere in the neighborhood of nine percent during times of war in previous decades.  A relatively small number compared with the 314 million people who live here.

A relatively small number until you consider that is 3.1 million men and women who serve at any given time in the United States Armed Services.  A large percentage of these folk have been to the theatre of war more than once…many more than three or four times.  Each time there is an increased sense of concern, sometimes helplessness, in those left behind, as they watch their family member depart.  Nobody wants the knock on the door…

I am a veteran of the Vietnam conflict, and every day I was away, my family prayed that their son, brother, cousin and nephew would have a safe return.  Everyday I was away, I thought about the things familiar to me in a homeland I was unsure I would see once again. 

Floyd Eberhard…

My wife’s father was a career soldier, serving in the Korean and Vietnam conflicts.   He was a good man, a decent man, an honorable man, an honest man and he was a patriot.  You never heard of him.  You never felt the resonance of his laugh, nor the clarity of his eye…the intellect he possessed, nor the gratitude he felt to live in this land.  BUT those of you reading this blog in the United States were protected by this man…by this man and so many others who knew life is not kind to all…not fair to everyone – a man who understood the importance of work and discipline and duty for others…for others.

His family – three children and a wife – understood the sacrifice.  They understood the sacrifice, but in their humanity as with all whose people are in danger, they prayed…they hoped…they endured.  Their family, like mine, was rewarded with our return.

So many were not…so many were not!

While my view of recent wars in which our country has been engaged, is one of uncertainty, there is NO uncertainty regarding the men and women who have volunteered to defend this country…willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.  It’s hard to appreciate that some people are wired like that.

Privileged indeed...

We live in a land most of us take so much for granted that it boggles the mind.  As we sit in front of our wide-screen TVs, strive to consume more and more things, go to social events relatively unimpeded, and move through our cities, counties, states and country at will…most do not appreciate what a truly dangerous world we live in.  Most of us only know people in other lands by what we see on cable news or National Geographic specials regarding other cultures…beautifully edited for color and storyline.  Life in this world, for the vast majority of human beings…the VAST MAJORITY…has little in the way of “,,,beautifully edited…” anything.

So for tonight when each of us goes to bed and breathes a prayer for the day past…tomorrow morning when each of us gets up to greet a new day…when each of us looks at our children or spouse or significant other or speaks to someone, with whom we have a relationship of meaning…surely thank God for the things we have. 

But in this land…in this country, for all its difficulties and flaws – thank God for the young men and women who have been willing, regardless of the call and the era in which they served, to risk their lives for all we have been given.

To my brothers and sisters who have sacrificed time or life, and particularly for those who are in ‘…arms and harms way…’

Thank You!

- ted

36 hours in Wellington...

“It’s an amazing thing how you watch your garden grow…

Yes it is a wonder…it’s your mind.”

 – The Seed Song

The email came last Sunday late in the day. 

It wasn’t unexpected - he had been ill for sometime.  Indeed the watch was on…but that’s the thing about losing someone for whom you have a great affection, isn’t it?  Preparing for the event and being confronted with it are not the same things. 

Perhaps its because something inside us says death should not come to living legends…icons ought not leave our presence.  Brilliance, true brilliance does not come that often.  Of little doubt it came…and of little doubt the light will continue to shine.  That’s the big light, but there was the less apparent…intimate light that personally touched so many. 

In the end his family was with him to support the transition.  It is a sacred, in many ways a holy moment.  Not in a religious sense, but a commentary as to the nature of the ‘entrances and departures’ into and from the transient theatre of humanity…the magic of life – the mystery of death.

In the air…

The aircraft is a ‘long haul’ 747…it is appropriately named and it is full.  It takes 14 hours from Los Angeles to Sydney, crossing the international dateline, and a second flight 3.5 hours to Wellington.  On a flight of this length one has a lot of time to think.  There is a choice – consider the time as an irritant…a necessary, but unpleasant delay to the purpose of the trip…or as a gift, a period of solitude in which God smiles and allows some quiet space.  I prefer the latter.

Back at home – wherever…

When the news came arrangements began to be made by many people in many places.  Getting to New Zealand on short notice is not the easiest thing to pull off.  Yet, in the minds of those who were close…those who had known the intimacy and had engaged the gift, there was no question…schedules were adjusted and they came.

They, like me are in transit.  They will drift in from Europe and Canada and Scandinavia and Asia and Australia.  If they encounter one another en-route, they will quietly greet…making small talk about his passing and other things in their lives.  This is what people do.

Once they arrive, they will continue in small groups telling stories and whimsically smiling, as each – in the richness of his or her own mind – remembers a personal experience…an event…a touch.  With it will come those curious human feelings of comfort and loss.  Comfort for their common path, and moments of intimacy they experienced…loss knowing the ‘path…the intimacy,’ will forever be for them a memory – a yesterday.

Who was this man?

Robin Anthony McKenzie was a physiotherapist from New Zealand, and became in his lifetime, possibly the most influential person ever in the evaluation and treatment of people with low back pain.  His full bore curiosity and determination brought a method of helping those suffering from this universally common, personal and societal affliction.  He treated thousands of patients, but understood that for his knowledge to have an impact, he would need to duplicate himself.  He did so by establishing an institute with more than 27 teaching branches worldwide.  He would say he never set out to change the world of back care...he simply wanted to understand.  In the end, he did both.

Between now and Tuesday morning I will spend a little time with those other souls who found their way to this tiny country, to say goodbye to this man so full of questions..so full of life.  A man who understood the universal axiom, that the more one gives, the more they receive – a lesson worth remembering yet once again.

- ted

A simple day...

“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”

- Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

“All aboard,” the conductor cried as the doors of the SurfLiner’s opened at the Old Town Station. 

It was Saturday morning with blue skies and temperatures in the early 70s (21C) as I climbed on train #769, car #2134 and headed for the upper deck.  The lower levels are reserved for seniors and the infirmed.  I qualify for the former, but really…I mean REALLY!!  While there is little I can do about the way I look, there is PLENTY I can do minimize the way I think about the number of years I’ve been exposed to the toxic, skin withering, effects of planet earth.  You know, “…you are only as old as you feel.”  By the way, I believe this, but I can’t remember any older people ever saying it to me.  It is usually those young folk!

I was heading to meet a friend for lunch in San Juan Capistrano, a small town some 70 miles north of my home.  It is not a long drive, but even on weekends, Interstate 5 – ‘The 5” – is full of traffic and requires a fair amount of mental focus.  Riding the train takes a little longer, but there is no comparison in quality of the ride!

I always enjoy the train that travels between San Diego and points north.  Maybe I imagine I am the conductor and running it like the Lionel train set my parents had gotten me when I was a youngster.   As I recall, the engine (the most important part) came first before we could afford the tracks and transformer.  Never mind, because when I had all of the parts, it was thrilling to watch that train make its circle of the track at speeds I could control with my little electrical convertor.

The trip north takes an hour and a half from station to station.  For a large part of the trip, the rails hug the beaches along the coast where there are legion of surfers, sunbathers, walkers and joggers.  Occasionally in the first twenty-mile stretch or so, Highway One wedges its way between the shoreline and the tracks.  This means rather than being practically on the edge of the beach where you could hit it with a hefty stone’s throw, you might find yourself as much as a quarter mile (402m) from the shore.

Highway One is the fabled coast-hugging thoroughfare that runs most of the length of the Californian coast, occupying the majority of the United States Western Shore.  It is a long way as the crow flies and much longer as the ‘One’ makes its way along the edge of the State.  In the South, it is fairly straight, but once it gets to Northern California (San Francisco and points north), it becomes a wondrously windy road with tight curves and breathtaking views.  A drive up the coast of California is something special.

On the train…

Between San Diego and San Juan Capistrano, little beach towns with quaint coffee shops and eateries, dot the landscape before the tracks dip back to another beach loaded with folk enjoying the warm Southern California Sun.  On these brief breaks from the coast, road bikers and joggers make their way up and down the byways in their quest for eternal youth.  It seems the pricier the bicycles appear to be, the more colorful the riding shorts and shirts of those speeding ‘leg pumpers.’  Some of the outfits look as though they belong in the circus rather than the road.  I realize they make the riders more noticeable to traffic, but anywhere else but on their bikes, this clothing would seem very strange indeed.  Sometimes you will see them in packs of 10 to 15 riders…occasionally more.

En-route the train passes through Solana Beach… Encinitas… Carlsbad… Oceanside…all beach communities filled with visitors on the weekends, vacationers during the week and where in the evenings, people gather in small groups, in a kind of quiet reverence, to watch the sun disappear into the ocean on the western horizon.  There is something about this daily rhythmic event that places a sense of spiritual wonder over the watchers.  They sit for a few minutes once the giant candle has slipped to an afterglow before getting up, heading home, and spending the next day in preparation to be awed yet once again.

My destination…

San Juan Capistrano is small tourist town containing one of the largest Missions in Southern California.  Many of the communities in this part of the state began as Missions for the Roman Catholic Church.  This small municipality is one of them, and the city has preserved or restored much of what had been there in its early days.  It is a destination tourist spot and on most days there are long lines of people wanting to visit this landmark.  For many years, long before the first mission, Swallows (birds) stopped here during their migrations.  In the 1950s they inspired a popular romantic song, “When the Swallows come back to Capistrano.”  You can see Swallow nests all over the mission grounds, and if you are here during the migration, you will see them too.

The town has many little shops full of unique local art and craftwork.  There is a Starbucks near the train station, but there are any number of small boutique coffee/tea houses with quaint names and warm, authentic atmospheres.  Because the climate is so temperate, many people choose to sit outside under the shade of century old trees or large umbrellas where there is no foliage to protect from direct sunlight. 

A favorite spot…

I have come to this little place several times to meet a partner who comes south from Los Angeles.  It provides a laid back and relaxing atmosphere conducive to productive conversation and a wide variety of delicious food.  It is the kind of place where we can get away from our computers, mobile phones, email and all other forms of distraction.  Less ‘noise’ makes for better communication.

A few months ago, Molly and I came for the day and were looking for a place to have a bite of lunch.  We wandered around until we were both pretty hungry without finding what we really wanted.  It so happened we crossed through a little mall with small storefront businesses.  Right in the middle of the row we saw a line of Hispanic folk at the door of a small restaurant.  We peeked in to see working people standing at the counter ordering food.  We didn’t see any other Anglos and felt this was a good sign.  We hopped in line, and in the end had some of the most authentic and delicious Mexican food we have had since being in California.  This has become ‘my restaurant’ when coming to town.

Day was done...
Saturday turned out to be excellent. The train ride both ways was relaxing.  The time spent with my friend over a delightful lunch, made the outing leisurely and enjoyable.

There is no take away here…no lesson for the day…nothing particularly meaningful about the event.  It was simply a day to celebrate life and a place to share a little time with a friend.  If you find yourself in Southern California driving either north to – or south from Lost Angeles on ‘the 5,’ you will see a sign indicating San Juan Capistrano.  If you have some time and would like to experience a little ‘off the beaten track' pleasure, stop by this friendly community.  You will not be disappointed.

- ted